Lucy H Pearce Quotes

Who is She? She is your power, your Feminine source. Big Mama. The Goddess. The Great Mystery. The web-weaver. The life force. The first time, the twentieth time you may not recognize her. Or pretend not to hear. As she fills your body with ripples of terror and delight. But when she calls you will know you’ve been called. Then it is up to you to decide if you will answer.

For some she came in a dream. For others in words as clear as a bell: it is time, I am here. She may come in a whisper so loud she can deafen you or a shout so quiet you strain to hear. She may appear in the waves or the face of the moon, in a red goddess or a crow.

At her first bleeding a woman meets her power. During her bleeding years she practices it. At menopause she becomes it. Traditional Native American saying

Pain is a portal to transformation, It does not knock politely.

We hardly dare trust that this is a process of transformation – that out of the ashes will rise the phoenix of humanity.

Together we are learning to move from raw emotion and frozen muscles into a flow which emerges deep from within. We are learning to dance our prayers, bleed our words onto the page, laugh our images onto canvas, build our dreams in the world – to transmute and transmit the energy of the Feminine through our bodies and out into the world.

We dare not talk of the darkness for fear it will infect us. We dare not talk of the fire, for fear it will destroy us. And so we live in the half-light, Like our mothers before us. Come to the fire, Feel it warm your skin. Come to the fire, Feel it burn in your belly, Shine out through your eyes. Come dance in the fire, Let it fuel your prayers.

Burning Woman is a powerful image. A role model. A metaphor. A warning. A source of power. She is Feminine power incarnate.

Standing in the ring of fire, the eye of the storm, the vortex of pain and pressure is simultaneously the most vulnerable and most powerful place to be. Here we embody paradox. We stand our ground and surrender completely. Here we know the full power of the Feminine.

The Dalai Lama says that the world will be saved by Western women. Not any women, perhaps not all women, but Burning Women. Women who have stepped out of silence and into the fullness of their power. Angry women who love the world and her creatures too much to let it be destroyed so thoughtlessly for a moment longer. Burning Woman is the heart and soul of revolution – inner and outer. She burns for change, she dances in the fire of the old, all the while visioning and weaving the new.

Miracles start to happen when you put as much energy into your dreams as you do into your fears. Richard Wilkins

We are the granddaughters of the witches they were never able to burn. If history teaches us that a ‘witch’ is nothing more than a woman who doesn’t know her place, then damn straight, I consider myself a witch. Ruby Hamad When

We are weaving her-story into reality. Unweaving the limiting his-stories. Creating our-story. Reaching beyond religion and patriarchy and capitalism and so-called democracy. Into new ways of being and seeing. We are the bridge between worlds We are the ones we have been waiting for.

I want to put the ever-rushing world on pause Slow it down, so that I can breathe. These bones are aching to tell me something But I cannot hear them.

May yours be the sparkle of light on the ocean, The whisper of foam on the sea, The warm sand guiding your feet safely home, A pebble in your pocket from me. Some sea glass, a starfish, some driftwood, a whelk, Treasures washed up on the shore. A flower, a feather, an urchin, a pearl, Keep your eyes open for more. May you know yourself held in the palm of Her hand, Blessed by the waves wild and free, Blown by the wind, anointed with salt, Beloved of She of the Sea.

These are burning times. And they call for Burning Women. Women embodied in their passion. Woman feeling in their bodies. Creative women. Courageous women. Women who have learned to run on a different power source to the world which is falling into flames around her. She has already disentangled herself from the wreckage of the patriarchal culture, so she will not be dazed, confused and disorientated by the systemic changes happening around her. Centred within herself, receptive to the Earth beyond her, she knows how to cultivate from the ashes, she knows how to find the embers to fuel the new fire. Burning Women arise. Our time is now. Our time has come.

If we are to be women in power, then it must be power on very different terms. we have to find a new source of energy. New structures of power. Ones that don’t deplete us or our environment. We need to run our lives on sustainable energy.

Once we start to work with Feminine power we begin to see that it is not our minds that are in control of this power – it ebbs and flows with the movements of the planets, the procession of the seasons, the moons and tides, our own internal cycles of menstruality, anniversaries, the events around us. All these and more impact our experience and expressions of power. We learn to become aware of these various patterns and their impact on us and work more consciously with rather than against or in spite of them. We learn that they are all part of the same process. We open towards the energy, rather than shut down to it. We learn to trust the flow.

We often fear that the Revolution needed is too big for what we can give. Too much change is required inside, outside. And we are too small. But all that is required is that you step into the truth of your life. And speak it, write it, paint it, dance it. That you shine your light on your truth, for the world to see. And as hundreds, then thousands, then millions do this – each sparking the courage of yet more – Suddenly we have a world alight with truth.

Through knowledge we gain power over our lives. With options we have possibility. With acceptance we find a new freedom.

In order to reclaim our full selves, to integrate each of these aspects through which we pass over the course of our lives, we must first learn to embrace them though our cycles.

If magic was a colour, That colour would be sparkling blue

It is each woman’s responsibility to take the time when she is in her time of the moon to purify. It is the responsibility of the men to give the women the opportunity to do so. Nicholas Noble Wolf,

Somewhere I lost myself. I lost the beat of my heart as my own drum. I have a sense that it was the same time I lost Medicine Woman. One day my soul slipped out of my body. Or maybe it was pulled too hard. Or shocked away. I don’t know. But I know that I lost Her. And have been sick ever since. An orphaned child In a world that does not feel like home.

Creativity takes courage. Not just once, but consistently. Without courage we cannot be creative. Without feeling fear at some point we will not reach our creative potential. From first putting paint on paper through to selling our work on a worldwide stage there is plenty to be scared of. But this is where creativity lives – on the edge of our comfort zones.

This is the crux of being a Creative Mother. It is more than how many jumpers you have knitted, or having an exhibition in a fancy gallery, or a bookshelf of your own books. It is about the act of living authentically whilst honoring your mother self and creative self. About saying yes to life, every part of your life, and finding how to weave them all together.

The deep Feminine, the mystery of consciousness, She who is life, is longing for our transformation as much as we are. She holds back, allowing us free reign to choose, nudging us occasionally with synchronicities, illness, births and deaths… But when we make space for Her, she rushes into all the gaps, engulfing us with her desire for life and expression. This is what She longs for, this is what we are for: experiencing the Feminine through ourselves. We simply need to slow down, and find where to put our conscious attention. And it is this, this willingness to look again, this willingness to put consciousness onto our places of unconscious, to express what we have always avoided, which starts the process of unblocking, so that She may flow through.

Where do you go when your body is broken? Who can you call on when your mind is shattered into a thousand pieces, your skin is on fire and your soul lies crumpled on the floor?

We are bodies of water…birthed from bodies of water…drawn to bodies of water.

Catching creativity is like catching butterflies – fast-flying, bright-colored sparks darting here and there, it requires quick wits, good eyes and desire to net them. And once you have them, you need to act fast. An idea, like a butterfly doesn’t last long: it is ephemeral. It is here, and now it is gone – so quick, grab your laptop, your pen and paper, your Dictaphone, your sketch pad, whatever your mode of expression or recording, swoop and catch.

Like falling in love or giving birth, the experience of creative inspiration has been described by thousands of voices over the years. But it doesn’t make it any easier to explain!

Those in the System, would like us to share their belief that all the changes [we are witnessing] are not connected: they are simply anomalies, isolated symptoms to be treated or preferably ignored, before the all-powerful Western capitalist patriarchal model goes on to ever greater heights and grander ejaculations. Most are numb to it, caught in fear, denial or resistance. But we, Burning Woman, know this process intimately. Amongst Burning Women and Men, there is a fierce, quiet knowing that these are both the death pangs of the old, and the birthing pangs of the new.

Breaking our silence is powerful. Whether it comes as a whisper or a squeak at first, allow that sense of spaciousness, of opening, allow yourself to trust the bottomlessness, and lean into the dark roar which will light up every cell. Though it may start softly, we build in confidence and skills, we realise we do not need to wait for permission before we open our mouths. We do not need to wait for others to make space for us, we can take it. We do not need to read from others’ scripts or style ourselves in weak comparison. We do not need to look to another’s authority because we have our own. Down in our cores. We have waited so long for permission to know that it was our time, our turn on stage. That time is now. Our voices are being heard into being. They are needed.

Every aspect of the sea holds profound metaphorical power. The outer seascape provides so many corollaries for human psychology in general, and women’s psychology in particular. This is the reason it has haunted the myths and legends – the psychology before psychology – of so many cultures. And it is why water is present in most spiritual rituals. The sea speaks to the soul. Our ancestors knew that beneath the depths lay much wisdom. They knew that the way to our own depths was through the depths of the ocean.

It may be the first day of your life, the prime of youth or several decades in, when Medicine Woman calls you. Your name on her list. Her new initiate. She crept in whilst you were sleeping, when you over-exerted, when you kissed him, or ate that, or lived there or pushed too hard just one time too many. She crept in and curled up in your cells, your heart, waiting to meet you. Longing to know you. Longing for you to know her, at last. And what feels like the end is in fact a beginning, of a new road, an unknown path of pain and healing. She will show you how to slow down, she will run her fingers roughly through your life and help you sort the busyness from what matters, she will show you how to find support… and who you really are, beyond your roles and expectations… and even more beyond the System the world has forced you into. She transports you into the timelessness of big pains and tiny joys. Initiates you into your strength. Into your love. Into your courage. Into a world beyond your control. She has sent me an invitation. I see yours too, tucked in your bag, amongst all the receipts and bills, the pens and detritus of life. Take it out. It is time.

Some of us fall through the unseen cracks in the world of health on a bright summer’s day through a run-in with machine or microbe, like Alice down the rabbit hole. Some of us were born this way. And some find out that our genes have hidden within them a ticking time bomb. Waiting. Silently. However we got here, we are now inhabitants of the state of sickness. Our papers for the world of health have been rescinded without notice. Our body-world has been colonised by patriarchs, and we, the natives, should know our place: small folded patient, compliant, silent, not defiant. They seem to believe that our bodies are just an errant version of theirs. That our souls are not woman-shaped on the inside. That it’s not our place to take our space and insist on our inner difference. Their gospel is scribbled down on prescription pads in spider scrawl. They are not to be questioned, especially not with our own heresy.

Women are the primary resource of the planet. They give birth, we come from them. They are mothers, they are visionaries, they are the future. If we can figure out how to make women feel safe and honor women, it would be parallel or equal to honoring life itself. Eve Ensler

In my work with hundreds of women over the past few years a theme has emerged: women’s desperate, unquenchable desire to step into their power, countered by the fear of what will happen if they do. The longing to express the riches inside them, wrestling with the deep terror of being burned by the judgement, hatred or rejection of strangers or loved ones if they do. This fear of being burned is an oddly female one. It is a fear which keeps us small and scared… but seemingly safe. From the outside this can seem like an overreaction. Both the need, and the fear. But women, it seems, have an innate knowing of what it means to burn… and be burned. They know the dangers in their bones. And it makes them wary.

When we have the courage to claim space for ourselves. When we risk creativity. When we relish our sensuality. When we honor our lives and their experiences as valuable. When we create from a female body, expressing ourselves in a woman’s voice, using a woman’s language. We begin to bloom.

I am, you are, a cell in a bigger living organism. We have been taught to forget this. But our bodies are remembering. We are not the only ones who are suffering. We are not the only ones who are sick. But we are the ones with the power to make a change. The time has come to take back our power to heal from this sickness. This is the time to heal. It is time to purge the toxic masculine from our bodies and beings. And to choose life.

Our cycles ensure that we do not live static lives. Instead they demand that we live dynamically, constantly exploring the different gifts of feminine power that each portion of our cycle holds. Part of learning the art of being a woman is learning to honour each element of our cycles and ourselves.

The first book I wrote changed my life. I have since learned that books have a tendency to do that. You start writing them because you think you know enough about the subject, and quickly and yourself undergoing a drastic education in every aspect of yourself and the topic in order to bring forth the book.

You, dear sister, may be the last bastion of sanity in a culture gone mad. In a world so toxic it cannot function, so numb it cannot even cry out for help, so disconnected it cannot heal. Except through the cells of our bodies. Our sisters are dying right now to tell you, Enough suffering, it is time to heal.

In everything you eat—honour yourself. In every rest you take—honour yourself. In how you spend your time—honour yourself. In the people you spend your time with—honour yourself. In nourishing your body and soul with love and mindful awareness, you learn to truly honour everyone and everything that your life touches.

Free-thinking, powerful, passionate women are dangerous to a conservative male-dominated culture. They tend to do what they want and believe is right...not what you tell them. And so patriarchal cultures have a deep-seated fear of women in their power, their ability to give life...and take life, their uncontrollable emotions, their intuition, their constant changing. Rather than seek partnership with this power, the patriarchal system has chosen to dominate and subdue the women who show signs of it through shaming, branding, naming, ostracising, traumatising, raping, medicating...and burning. In patriarchy powerful women are a threat. Their

At her first bleeding a woman meets her power. During her bleeding years she practices it. At menopause she becomes it. Traditional Native American saying

The menstrual cycle is, in the words of Alexandra Pope, ‘our inner guidance system, initiating us into and anointing us with ever deepening revelation and wisdom.

We are learning that before the body can become a temple, it first must become our home.

The creative journey is not a trek through the wilderness, but actually a clearly defined path, which though not visible to our outside eyes, can be felt with our inner senses.

Creativity is a form of magic, one that happens unseen in the dark, in the space between the known and the unknowable

Safe art may soothe us, but it will never transform us.

When we embody the energy of the Creatrix, we stand in the fullness of our birthright, as two-way channels of the full creative power of the Universe.

We do not need to sacrifice ourselves on the altar of our creativity – it can be a transformative mode of healing, rather than a drawn-out self-destruction.

There is something almost religious about the call of the sea, the connection we feel that transcends the mundanity of daily existence. It simultaneously reminds us of our smallness and our interconnected- ness. It awakens within us the eye of the artist, the voice of the poet, the soul of the mystic. It reignites an awareness that beyond this lies something vaster. The water, pulled by the moon, ever-moving but ever-remaining, seems to speak to something elemental within us in ways we can barely find expression for, yet find ourselves driven to try, nonetheless. It has inspired storytellers, artists and musicians of many cultures and genders throughout history. The sea sings through us…if we let her…as we in turn channel ourselves through her.

The Sick Woman begins to see that life is wilder, more chaotic, harsher and more loving, paradoxical, and downright strange than she was ever taught. She discovers for herself the power of moon and the tides, the shifting of the stars and the seasons, the haze of pollen and shift in air pressure and how they impact her dreams, her moods, her body processes. She learns that she is not an independent automaton but a wild being woven of life and death, a chaos of magic, not a machine of logic. She learns that the outer impacts the inner in myriad ways. And vice versa. She learns that she is simultaneously weaker and yet more powerful than she ever knew. She is dangerous with this knowledge which does not appear in the medical books and bibles except as anomalies. She’s singing from the wrong hymn sheet and messing up the patina of perfection that the patriarchy is aiming for. In a display of a million marching soldiers with polished boots, gleaming medals and straight legs, there is the sick woman, bare breasted, hair loose, scars showing, shameless, dancing to her own tune.

Often we can get caught in our own struggles, our own small stories, that we forget our place in the larger story arc – the way that our actions, our choices, our achievements can and will blaze trails for that who come after us, so that they do not have to spend their time and energy re-fighting the same battles. For sure we walk a spiral path, but for generations of women the spirals were so tightly packed that it seemed they were going round in circles – let us blaze trails so that the path we walk takes in wider and wider sweeps of human experience. Trail blazing is what we do when we find ourselves in the wilderness, with no path to guide us but our own intuitive understanding of nature and our destination. At times we must walk through the night, guided only by the stars. We know when to sit and rest, to shelter from storms, when to gather water, and what on the trail will sustain us and what will do us harm. We are courageous and cautious in equal measure, but we are driven forward, not only by our own desire to reach our destination, but also by the desire to leave a viable way for others who follow. Trail blazing is an art-form. It is how we find paths through what before was wilderness. We push aside braches, or cut them back, we tramp down nettles and long grasses, ford rivers and streams, through the inner and outer landscapes.

Never in my thirty-five years had I slept alone on the grass under the stars. I had been too busy, too scared, too worried about cold or discomfort. But in writing this book I realised I needed to readjust my relationship with the dark.

One of the lies of patriarchy is that the sickness is our fault as individuals. That sickness is shameful and should be suffered in silence, so as not to bring others down. When in truth sickness is all around us all the time. It runs down family lines, it runs through communities, it runs along rivers, it is carried in the air, by touch. Illness, mental or physical, is very, very rarely an individual thing. The shame and fear we carry in silence is a burden to our healing.

Our bodies speak, if you would only listen. They speak another language: the mother tongue. It’s half the puzzle, the missing pieces you have been searching for, the how and why behind the symptoms you fixate on, the whole behind the healing, which cannot be found at the bottom of a bottle of pills. But you do not speak our language. My sick sisterhood, whose bodies have been felled by mysterious illnesses, bearing the arcane names of men long dead, to signify their suffering with no cure, no hope. The mothers who long for answers to the questions that their bodies are living, for soul-utions to the protest against this cold, hard world. Into their dry hungry mouths are dropped pills not answers. Prescriptions and descriptions of symptoms – not cures or laws to halt the toxic corporate world that is allowed to carry on felling us like trees in the Amazon… Each woman is an Amazon. But she does not know it. Instead she is treated. Separately. Her pile of notes, her bills, growing higher. Each one believes the sickness is hers alone. Each is sent home, ignored, tolerated. Alone. In the darkness. Until one day Medicine Woman arises within her. And there in the centre of her pain she finds her outrage, her strength, her persistence as she searches for answers. She finds the will to die to this world and the right to live a different life where she is honoured for the value of her soul, not the sweat of her brow. She begins to understand the messages her body is sending… Things are not right. In here… out there. She begins to remember there is magic in her: the power to heal, the power to transform. Medicine Woman rises.

Everything that flows moves in rhythm with the moon. She rules the water element on Earth. She pulls the ocean’s tides, the weather, female reproductive cycles and the life fluids of plants, animals and people. She influences the mood swings of mind, body, behavior and emotion. WeMoon Diary

Declutter your house, your mind, your diary. Declutter your obligations. Anything that is not rooted in authenticity. Anything which takes you away from your centre. Anything that demands you be other than who you are must go. Until you find yourself surrounded by space. And still there is more to shed.

Our early experiences of the dark can deeply influence our sense of safety, or lack of safety, throughout our adult lives. In the dark our senses are wide open, we are more vulnerable, hyper-aroused, and so whatever happens to us there will stay with us. Initiations in the dark are initiations of the soul.

Labelling a woman as a hypochondriac is the modern day way of labelling a woman hysterical – the insinuation is that it is all in her mind, she is unstable (mentally and perhaps physically) her opinion and feelings are not to be trusted. Her pain and her concerns are not real. But what if the hypochondriac, the highly sensitive woman, is picking up perfectly on the signs that something is wrong, she is registering the imbalance, that something is wrong, but she mistakes the issue as being in her own body, rather than the body of the world beyond her. She is told to quiet down, that nothing is wrong. But there is, she knows there is. This is why the constant reassurance does little to help her. She is feeling, deep in her bones, in her nerves, in her pulse that something is seriously wrong. Because it is. Her biological system may or may not have gotten sick from it yet, but the signs of a sick world are quickening within her.

I see a creatrix as someone who uses his or her creativity to take the feminine wound and transform it. To take us from pain to power. To release the shame that keeps so many of us trapped and fearful. To give voice to authentic feminine experience – every bit as bold and loud and vibrant as it wants or needs to be.

Day surfing is the act of filling a day with no money, and no plans, seeing where you wash up: head into town, start at the library, then onto the pet shop, watch the road construction team working, a run in the park, listen to a busker. Day surfing is a much larger challenge at home, where it can often be white knuckle survival.

Passionate, free-thinking women have never been appreciated by the religions of the world. Because passionate free-thinking women raise passionate, free-thinking children who grow up to be passionate, free-thinking adults, who are very difficult to manipulate, and almost impossible to control. Marianne Williamson, address to the 2015 World Parliament of Religions

I believe that a creatrix is more than just a fancy name for a female artist. She is artist plus…artist plus priestess, artist plus healer, artist plus activist: her work has both sacred and worldly dimensions. She is an energy worker first and foremost, weaving energy into form, colour, words, sound, making meaning from symbols in order to transform herself and those her creations touch.

We are the Cassandras of our world, gifted with highly sensitive bodies that are feeling what the System would have us ignore. We have been taught to distrust our own body systems, to distrust our inner knowing, to silence ourselves, to hand over their care and definition to the experts. We have grown up seeing the women around us consistently disempowered, sick in body, or soul, heart or mind. Having their suffering dismissed, in big ways and small. Having their physical and emotional needs unrecognised and unmet for generations. We have grown up feeling alienated in our bodies, embarrassed or ashamed of them: not at home in our physical selves. We have internalised the message that there’s something wrong with us, rather than there is something wrong. And so we have silenced ourselves, blamed ourselves, punished ourselves.

In many traditions a key part of a woman’s initiation is to be left alone in nature, often immersed in total darkness — whether sleeping out by herself under the stars, finding her way through a wood or descending into the depths of a cave. This gives her a lived experience of confronting of her learned and instinctive fears, teaching her how to dig deep into her own resources and discover both her vulnerability and deep strength.

The new gurus have taught us to embrace our light bodies, shunning the darkness, and focusing purely on love and light, constant happiness and extreme optimism. But, as Karin L. Burke astutely points out: “In our efforts to feel better, many of us start shutting it off, in favor of pop psychology or easy spirituality. It’s called spiritual bypass. It’s an attempt to avoid painful feelings, unresolved issues, or developmental needs.

A cycle is the basic unit of life: birth, growth, transformation, decline and death, followed once again by birth. It is a circular, repeating journey. A process of expansion and contraction, which is echoed in the pulsations of the womb, the beating of our hearts, the in and out of our breath. Cycles can be observed in every life form on the planet, in the seasons and the phases of the moon. Our menstrual cycles connect our female bodies directly to nature.

To focus on healing in our culture is an act of powerful, political rebellion. It is an act of spiritual revolution. To heal is to be a conscientious objector to the culture of war we inhabit as normality. To heal is to bring more life force to our planet. To deepen your understanding of our connection to the earth and other people. To inhabit your body more fully. To look life and death squarely in the eye. To get out of the denial and silence and shame and invisibility that you have been taught makes you good. To embody the feminine more fully and reject the right of toxic masculinity to dominate. To question absolutist patriarchal norms. To speak for healing, for soul, for all peoples in this time is scary. But it is needed. It is anything but selfish. To heal is to offer a profound act of service – one which will ripple up and down your family lineage, out into your community and the world beyond you. It is time to heal.

Our bodies are in constant, rhythmic change, but because so much of this is happening beneath our waking consciousness, we can feel out of control, or ‘all at sea’. When we begin to notice the pattern of these cycles, their repetitive nature, their connection to nature beyond us, we can begin to feel not like victims unprepared for the weather, but like adventurers of days gone by, who navigate by nature—the pull of the tides, the placing of the stars and the gathering storm clouds.

I have spent my life clinging to my own shores for safety. Flying like a bird above the storm waters of my own body, too scared to land. I guess that is why the sea floods in to visit me. I have been too frightened to venture out into her depths alone. The central core of me is dark and churning, I can only sense it vaguely. It scares me with its power. As a late-diagnosed autistic woman, I realise that this experience is partly neurological…my sensory abilities are all hyper-aroused on the surface, and my nervous system melts down when it becomes overwhelmed in everyday places. But my ability to know what is going on within is flawed. Instead of an accurate information readout, there is a big, dark, unknowable mass within. I am sailing blind without map or lighthouse within my own skin. It feels a very scary place to have a life sentence. This is why I write: to attempt to find words for what this big scariness is, to try and find images to give form and name to the wild churning expanse.

Each breaking open, each initiation into the underworld through grief, illness, depression, anxiety or loss — is a potential initiation, a portal of possibility where we get the chance to see and feel the very root of our own fire in the deepest dark. In this place we get to see our inner spark more clearly, as we are detached from our daily busyness and sense of belonging. We get to move further inwards, to let go of the shells of ourselves, and break open our self-concept to include our fuller selves.

I have spent my life clinging to my own shores for safety. Flying like a bird above the storm waters of my own body, too scared to land. I guess that is why the sea floods in to visit me. I have been too frightened to venture out into her depths alone. The central core of me is dark and churning, I can only sense it vaguely. It scares me with its power. As a late-diagnosed autistic woman, I realise that this experience is partly neurological…my sensory abilities are all hyper-aroused on the surface, and my nervous system melts down when it becomes overwhelmed in everyday places. But my ability to know what is going on within is flawed. Instead of an accurate information readout, there is a big, dark, unknowable mass within. I am sailing blind without map or lighthouse within my own skin. It feels a very scary place to have a life sentence. This is why I write: to attempt to find words for what this big scariness is, to try and find images to give form and name to the wild churning expanse. Pearce, Lucy H.. She of the Sea

A creatrix is not simply a performer or entertainer – though these are elements of what she does – she is a dedicated shaper of consciousness and energy, a culture weaver, a dreamer and midwife of new worlds. She is an asker of uncomfortable questions and a liver of taboos in a world that expects conformity. She is answerable to her own intuition and sense of authenticity, and The Work itself. She follows the call of her soul above the demands of the world. She knows herself more deeply and sees herself more clearly through The Work.

Each month our bodies go through a series of changes, many of which we may be unconscious of. These include: shifts in levels of hormones, vitamins and minerals, vaginal temperature and secretions, the structure of the womb lining and cervix, body weight, water retention, heart rate, breast size and texture, attention span, pain threshold... The changes are biological. Measurable. They are most definitely not ‘all in your head’ as many would have us believe. This is why it is so crucial to honour these changes by adapting our lives to them as much as possible.

To be a creatrix is to dedicate oneself to the cycle of creativity – to embodying soul, through impregnation, gestation, birth, nurturing and death in a way that is not really understood in our culture. It is to consciously engage directly with the forces of the Universe on a daily basis. The creatrix gestates her own content and births it out: her art is an expression of her inner world and a reflection of what she has sensed in the outer world. Through this sacred birthing she is transformed, as are those who witness the process or its products. In this sense the act of creative expression is a sacred act of communion for the community.

Medicine Woman is the soul of healing. The deep feminine that will heal you. And will in turn heal the world. She connects us to the wisdom of nature, the wisdom that has been tapped and held by indigenous cultures and the healers who came before. She who has walked this path for a hundred thousand years, before the gleam of steel and the coming of machines and oil. She is the feminine principle in healing that has been lost in our technocratic war on disease. Medicine Woman is our native, our inner ability to heal. She brings with her visions of healing of community – circles of support, healing through arts, connected communities, health giving foods.

We are taught to believe that we do, or rather we should, come from one place. We are raised to be proud of the land we call home, to be happy to spill our blood – or the blood of our children – to protect it. But what about those of us that don’t come from just one place, just one land? Who find our souls stretched and bisected by bodies of water? Those of us whose identities are more fluid than small tick-boxes on forms allow for. This is the reality of so many of us, whose nationalities, genders or neurology are neither one thing or another, but inherently fluid, both/and. How do we honour this fluidity? We, I think, are perhaps more likely to honour the sea in ourselves, in our identities. We are we of the sea.

Humans get hungry for blue, it seems: to hold the sea in their hands, to wear the sky in their hair, to drape themselves in the hazy blue of distant mountains. Blue is more than a colour: it is a feeling. We don’t say that we feel orange or purple, but we say we feel blue when our souls are sad and heavy. We play or sing or listen to the blues to express this sensation. Like any colour, it cannot be adequately described with words, only experienced, known through the eyes and the soul. Making blue has always been magic: the domain of alchemists since the beginning of human history. To find red only required blood or berries or the smearing of red clay. To make brown was as simple as reaching down to the earth beneath one’s feet. White chalk is plentiful in many places, or can be replaced by fire ash. But blue appears rarely in forms from which paints or dyes can be made…blue requires earthly magic.

I think the desire to create will last all my life – I realize that the time for me to be that person has not been available, or should I say right – I have become aware that the young stage of my children’s life is passing and there will be more time for me later – it’s too easy to be a “want it now” person. But I am so glad that I will have more time very soon. Without doubt though, as luck would have it, the very best thing I have ever made is my children. I feel my spirit rise as I listen to Elizabeth’s words, and so I reach over and take the bowl… Before I had children I had a dream. A dream of the sort of mama I wanted to be. One who always had a homemade cake in a pretty tin and a jar of homemade cookies, a stylish handmade home with French-print curtains, a carefully tended cottage garden, lots of time to play together outside and making all our own Christmas presents. Happy children, happy stay-at-home mama and a beautiful life.

We have been in survival mode, just focusing on staying alive, for most of human history. But, as Maslow pointed out, once we have met these needs, our energy can rise to creativity and self-actualisation: we can move beyond surviving into thriving and conscious co-creation. This is where large tracts of the Western population are poised now. We have the possibility, the potential and the obligation to reconfigure how we work, energetically...and then we are empowered to rewire and refuel our culture from the inside out. When we do this, we have the power of nature, the secret of the universe, on our side.

If all the women of the world recorded their dreams for a single week and laid them all end to end, we would recover the last million years of women’s hymns and chants and dances, all of women’s art and stories, and medicines, all of women’s lost histories.

A number of Burning Women I know choose to ‘go dark’ regularly. Stepping away from technology and distractions, they immerse themselves in nature and their own creative impulses undistracted. Be it by living off-grid for a day each week, or even months or years. By returning to writing by hand, and living by firelight and candlelight for the winter season or just winter solstice. By retreating every time their menstrual blood emerges, or on their personal Sabbath, or simply when they choose to create.

At her first bleeding a woman meets her power. During her bleeding years she practices it. At menopause she becomes it. Traditional Native American saying

Fire and the Feminine What does the Feminine mean to you? What does it look like? Who or what represents it for you? How is your definition similar or different to mine? What have I said that has changed — or clarified — your own understanding?

Firestarter Create an image of the archetype of Burning Woman. What does she look like? What symbols represent her? Paint her, draw her, collage or art journal her. Sculpt her from clay or papier maché, needle-felt or knit her...what colour and form suits her best? Where might you keep her so her presence is visible to you as you read?

Firestarter Write out a list of rules that you currently follow — consciously or unconsciously. Consider as you write them out: who set these rules and when? What are the penalties for breaking them...according to whom? Have you ever experienced punishment for breaking them? What did this teach you? Create a burning ceremony. Burn this rulebook. Now, write your own...based on your values.

We have been raised to follow the rules, to stay in well-lit areas, for fear of what may befall us in the dark. Stay in the light, we are warned, stay safe, stay home. In the masculine dark, men are heroes...and women are prey.

The En-light-enment era (1620–1780) was a key development in Western civilisation as we know it today — a flowering of (white, masculine, Christian, Euro-centric) rationalist science, philosophy and politics.

Fear is the death force in energy form.

In the psychic realm, the dark man represents our subconscious fears of masculine power that we have yet to make our peace with. Our dreams are often the first place we can practice witnessing and confronting our subconscious fears and transforming the power dynamic we have with the masculine.

It feels natural for us, as humans born from wombs, to search for a home or understanding that is based on feeling and connection rather than sight.

However, in Western medicine this uniquely female organ has traditionally been perceived as capricious and far more trouble than it’s worth. The cause of “women’s problems”, Western science and medicine have never really felt at ease with the womb throughout their history, and their focus has only been on its reproductive functions. Or rather dysfunctions.

In the US today the two most common surgeries are both female only, and on the womb: C-sections and hysterectomies. xxxiii

We have been led to expect that spiritual experiences are when we are touched by the light and transformed. When actually far more spiritual experience takes place in the dark. A cursory flick through the stories of spiritual transformation in any of the major sacred texts will quickly show you that the road to spiritual power is littered with trials, exile, infertility, loss, disability, wrestling angels and wandering in the desert.

Bright light activates the neo-cortex (the newest part of the brain, responsible for complex thought, the home of logos), it also stimulates adrenalin production.

As creatives our job is to uncover what lies in the shadows, and give it new identity, new life. As healers our job is to identify what lurks in the shadows and heal or integrate it.