I’d like to know when the Feminine was labeled as soft. When being called a pussy meant you were weak. I’d like to know when Feminine meant slowwwwwww and laying back to receive without doing anything.
I am all for relax and receive. I’ve jumped on the “feminine” bandwagon myself. Wrote about it. Talked about it.
But something hit me last week.
My feminine is fucking fiery.
It’ll look fear in the face and pounce.
My feminine is cheeky and dark.
My feminine is hungry.
My feminine is more like the mama lion.
My feminine is more like the woman who has to pu-uuuuuuuush that baby out just when she wants to give up.
My feminine is more like my Russian Jewish Babushka who survived World War 2 and starvation and immigration at 60 years old… and still had the energy to laugh and feed me home-made borscht.
Yes, my feminine loves flow and rest.
My feminine is especially into surrender.
Yes, yes, yes.
I’m realizing that some of my past non-action was really resistance (and fear!)… Cloaked in a Feminine disguise.
This isn’t about negating the power of flow. Not. At. All.
What I most love about the Feminine is Her ability to slither, to shape-shift, to allow, to create.