The Sexual Revolution . . .
With all that is coming out and many falling from grace, I want to add some thought to what is happening. After a lifetime of building a philosophy because I felt bereft from birth without one, I have studied on a daily basis and have come to some conclusions. They may not sit at all with some, but I want to add some things to consider.
Out of experience with memory has come the fact that we are more than who we represent. I think, as my poetry says, that bleed through is memory. This bleed through of people that I write about are portions of who I am, in different areas as real as I am, or not. Perhaps as I have written, they are more real, and I, the illusion, in this particular reality we say is stable.
If all time is simultaneous, as quantum theory suggests, and I know is, since I have walked with a foot in another world all my life, then we contribute in ways unimaginable to the continuity of cultures that we cannot altogether understand. My ability to use power tools when I was into woodworking, my ability to work physically hard at work that threw an able bodied man into bed, my ability to understand the so called legacies of males, like construction, have given many pause and questioned my female sexuality. Not the least is my feminine desire for male appreciation. But I do not discount my very real description as being harvest for the flies in the sun beaten sand as I walk the camel.
I see myself incarnating both as female and male in lifetimes either simultaneous or linear. Have I been as open and transparent as I have been in this lifetime as a female when I paraded my sexuality as a male? Did I overstep and take advantage of those when I held the power of their intent in my hands? I wonder how much I contributed as a male in society and maybe much but denigrated to a nothing by the sorrow and hurt I caused in order to build a self esteem that was wobbly.
Only if you have wondered the source of your being and place in life can you see how vulnerable mankind is when wearing the costume of choice in a life of perhaps not choice but chance. Has the problem been all male? I know the diminishment of being a female. I am 86 years old so I am not new to the gender. I recognize the soft self esteem of many males throughout my life and coming from a lifetime of 12 males, 2 fathers, 6 brothers, a husband and 3 sons, I think I know them quite well. It took only me to know my gender. In fact the psychiatrists agreed many times that I did more analyzing than patients on the couch.
So in fairness, because until the veil is ripped away and I know myself truly as who I am, I have to acknowledge that through Earth’s life, and the beginning of time, I walked and talked and set to dreaming, and took advantage trying to assuage the tearing away from my Source. And I am sorry, but if mushrooms and daffodils both get many chances to perfect life’s dream, I don’t think one lifetime does it for any man or woman. We come back time and again trying to get it right. We make our mistakes and unless the boot is lifted from the neck of evolution, do we get to move forward.
History has shown how man has gone off to hunt, to war, to spar with the forces of nature since time immemorial. He has kissed his wife goodbye and patted his children on the head to be good and gone off happily too many times for adventures to escape the boring drama of domesticity. Women have known this from the beginning of time and they assessed the work left to them as they were left to parent the sons as well as the daughters. The shot of adrenalin to the male bodies as they drove swords into one another since their beginning was the aphrodisiac to their lives. As civilized men they abhor these seizures and that is what they are. And vow to do better and raise sons of civility. But violence and wars are still on too many agendas.
We are in the midst of cultural change. It is time and women’s lamentations have risen cosmically high enough to warrant action. It has taken a long time since Betty Friedan shouted No, never again!
But hurt and sorrow should take us all to the classroom again. To the classroom to heal ourselves, both men and women and to learn how to raise sons and daughters with self respect intact. We need to find out who first told us we were no good. And why we believed it. The boot has been lifted from the neck of evolution. We hope to see progress again.