When I get stuck in a rut so deep that I can’t see out, sometimes I remember to listen to the wild women’s voices that got me through my first journey of winter. The journey that proves unequivocally whether you will live or die during the first winter of your heart. Whether you will have any say in how you will live the rest of your days and whether you can make it through to “Stand in your own danger”, as Clarissa Pinkola Estes says.
To stand in your own danger means you have become dangerous to rigid ideas and societal programming and anything that would cage the magnificent honesty of your soul and its creative power. You radiate power and danger to all around you in your potential to upset apple carts and yell the truth by just standing still. To reach this strength you must, in your very first winter, learn to do what a new sapling does in order to survive a real winter. You must harden the outer layer of your heart a bit to protect it from the cold that would kill it to its very center so that in spring the living tissues can once again grow strong and tall. You must harden off the outer cells of your heart wood to survive your winter. And protect that which is nearest and dearest to your soul.
Then and only then can you stand in your own danger, aware of what is true and what is not, who is good and who is not and avoid the ruts ahead of you in your journey. If you are like me, sometimes you walk straight into that rut, but by now can mostly navigate your self out. Old, wise women know this and old wild women do too. They are two halves of the same ripe fruit.
When you stand in your own danger, you willingly do what you feel called to, what is right and you are honest with a purpose. You can see what the young ones cannot and you tell them, “Listen to me now, believe me later” to hopefully hit that one ear that hears and learns.
We have all been saying it, warning about it – this coming chaos, this explosion of consequences we all face. But if we all die tomorrow from nuclear spike protein poisoning, then all those words and warnings fall on dead bones, sandblasted clean, glowing in the dark of the newly created desert. Then we will all have to become our wild selves, no metaphor implied. Once again we will have failed miserably like we did the last 5 times.
If we can just make it through this, clean up our mess, there is still hope for a future that does NOT include 24/7 censorship and mental monitoring along with the death of our souls, or living on a chip somewhere… that is not life. That is not a real and juicy, messy and creative, gloriously wrong and gloriously right, beautiful, soul enwrapped life, it is an empty clanging metal box, not human.
I quit yelling about covid, when I saw the right people step up and the groups form and the information go out to more and more people – the right people for the job, the doctors who stood in their danger and made life uncomfortable for those asleep and those purposefully in the wrong, with the power of who they were behind the truths they were telling. That is not for me.
The same has occurred in the world with the UFOs to the point that one day that term will be an anachronism – they will be identified. There are the legal warriors, the ones developing science with their intuition, and the ones who have created their own disclosure by telling their stories of contact. This has now moved beyond going back, toothpaste metaphor and all. That is not for me.
Now the wild old crone that howls at the moon needs a new project. Its best left to young hearts and minds how the world goes anyway, and the wild deep forest calls out to me on the silvery light of the moon.
Thank you Clarissa, for the reminder.