I know I have spoken about this before, and I'm sure many of you have experienced it too. You have an epiphany, an "aha" moment, or a step forward in your growth or consciousness. Or perhaps (as in my last post) you get up the courage to say something that has long been on your mind.
For perhaps 24 hours, there is a feeling of liberation, lightness, freedom. It feels so good to move ahead, and reach new clarity and understanding. On Easter morning, I had my own personal celebration of rebirth, minus the rituals and hymns and Easter bonnets. But by Easter afternoon, I had totally crashed. The pushback had hit me. It wasn't unexpected -- this has happened over and over in my life -- so I reminded myself to keep breathing and just get through the hardest few days as best I could.
This particular tsunami seems to have two parts to it. The first may seem a bit fanciful, but I started to feel the presence of hundreds, maybe thousands of women from the past who had even fewer choices than I ever did, who lost family or friends to conflicts that they didn't understand or want to be a part of. There is such a huge well of historical grief, female grief, that still lingers in the world and I guess I tapped into it in a way I haven't before. I feel it in my heart, in my body. Coming from such a "stiff upper lip" background, I have sometimes seen news footage of women in other countries wailing over dead bodies, and I did not understand. But the last few days, I've gotten it. There's been a part of me wailing too.
The second aspect is grieving how male violence -- however subtly -- has been a constant in my life experience, and when not the violence itself, then being held hostage to potential violence or intimidation or belittling. I may only be alive because my father, after serving in Europe in World War II, returned to the US, crossed the country by train, and then was on a troop ship about to leave Santa Barbara for ground conflict in Japan when the atomic bombs dropped. The ship went instead to the Philippines, he survived, and the rest is history. He lived, I was born, but many thousands died horrible, cruel deaths. More than ever, that equation infuriates me now. My first letter was written to President Johnson, asking him to stop making nuclear weapons. Pleas like mine have been ignored for half a century; there are no greater hostage-takers than the holders of the world's deadliest caches. But words are powerful hostage-takers too, and many of us have been at the receiving end. Don't make too much of a fuss about singing the music you love because you'll look foolish. Don't delve into family issues and problems or you'll be disowned. Don't be so sensitive, you're being ridiculous. Don't question our all-growth capitalist construct, because otherwise you'll end up poor, with no health insurance. Don't show people how smart you are. Don't show people how creative and spiritual you are. And for goodness sake, don't show people how much of a feminist you are. Don't be who you are, basically. There is no room for you, no home for you, no need for you. That awful end to Orwell's 1984, the image of a "boot stamping on a human face -- forever", feels so real to me. At 66, I feel its accumulated blows to my body and soul. And for the last three days, I have simply felt overwhelmed at how in this moment, I see violence everywhere, violence I did not cause and cannot fix. It's hard to breathe, once you become aware of all of its countless, crushing manifestations.
What will keep me going until the worst of this pushback recedes? I have complete confidence that I am connected to the source of life, the divine feminine, the Goddess. Somewhere, there is a spiritual "energy" warmly welcoming me and wanting me to be exactly who I am. I believe that ultimately, Love, Joy, Truth, Life and Beauty are the only things that exist, and that the pushback so many women experience is because of our connection to the only real thing. Mother Earth is more powerful than any disease, any human conflict, and the mess we have made of the environment. My spirit will live forever, whether I "die" tomorrow from man-made stressors, or of old age at 90 or 100. I know that I am incapable of violent actions or reactions, and I just need to keep being myself. I need to stay on my "Liz Path". It's hard, and I feel more fragile than usual, but it's ultimately a good thing that I am actively processing this grief and pain; once I weave it into my life it should make me stronger.
