She found herself awake early on the morning of February 2. It was the fourth consecutive night her beauty rest was deprived by the curious case of the stomach flu. Oddly, it was also the celtic celebration Imbolc, coming from Old Irish i mblog meaning 'in the belly', which specifically honored Brigit, the goddess of fire, poetry, healing and childbirth.
Regardless of the synchronicities, she couldn't help but wonder if this was the gut reaction -- a final clearing of sorts -- of the ignorance of those key visceral signals for all those years prior.
She woke up the day before at a more normal hour for a Sunday with only one clear thought in her head: 'I'm tired of boys getting in my way. And I'm really tired of boys who don't understand their inner work...'
She began her day early, despite interrupted sleep. She was alone, and living it. Most importantly, loving the space it gave her.
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About Me
- Ali
- Fascinated by the movement of desire through Myth, literature, lyrics, religions, history, and shared experience -- and loving any good love story that arrests the heart and warrants a good sized cry towel -- I am a hopeless romantic at heart. But also a heady academic with a penchant for the feminine divine, who is rooted in a darling body wrought with emotions and feelings and perceptions of the vast and interpersonal relationships of the world, and effervescently intrigued by the dissolution of the fuzzy boundaries of self and other. More about me here: www.auspiciousprojects.com and twitterpated here: @manifestcookies
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