Few I have met, who can stand in the day of pain. A woman is to be pretty and dainty, giggly and girly. She can not have intense emotions, maybe of pleasure we allow, but definitely not of pain. oh know, we will not allow that, because then she becomes ‘unwomanly’ and then we don’t know what to do with her. Or maybe we just walk away because this is a creature we are unfamiliar with. We shall return when we she reverts back to what we know and understand, a pretty dainty being. We forget that she is just a human being, simply a human being of the female gender! At her disposal having all the expression of emotions just like any man, from love to rage. Why must a woman only hang fragilely at one end of the spectrum all her life? Why can’t she just be a fully living being and not a half living one? Why must the door to certain expressions be closed to her when her fulfilment and experience as a human being demands those journeys. Why are we comfortable with half baked, part cooked, under done , half wit when we can have the fully done through and through. What is so scary about this full manifestation to the male psyche? A fully fledge expressive woman is an anomaly. The same reason her body is covered up, we demand her soul must also be covered up, her emotions must be contained, but why? And women live all their lives never fully expressed, we don’t see the full beauty because we can’t stand the pain, like the peacock that never fully fans out her feather, we never experience the extensive pattern of the plumage. We are short changed yet it suits our sensibilities. We sit in the theatre of life and yell out to some of the actors not to give out their best performance, we demand a water down version, a cut down, drowned out display, or we close our eyes and senses through most of the show, other times, we simply walk out. Yet we think we are living when we can be more. We yearn to be, yet we are not allowed to be, or we are walked away from when we dare to be. How do we stop a flower from blossoming? How do we stop a lion from roaring? How do we stop a woman from being? Her maker designed her for a reason the way she is, like a rose flower, we have to take the thorn with the beauty, we must have her with her pain to fully enjoy her beauty. It is naive, immature and unreasonable to have unrealistic expectations of her. Few can handle a real woman and most strong woman have been forced to live unmanifested.
I have to live my pain, to experience my love and radiate it out. I have to be in every ramifications of being. I have to be that Tiger that I am for you to experience and encounter that Dove that you want. I am one and the same, the Tiger and the Dove. This is me through and through. I see your eyes drop as your walk away. I see your countenance change, the confusion before disappointment and then the disapproval. Who will stand with the woman in the day she is triggered? The day she most want to belong, be loved and accepted. Who will stand with her on her ugly days, those days that give birth to the beautiful ones? Who will hold her hands in those days when she goes into labour to give birth, not to a new baby, but to birth herself, yes her beautiful fresh new self! Where is the midwife on those mid night hours of horror when a woman travails to birth herself into her destiny? Where is the delivery doctor? Where, oh where as she groans and wails as the pangs of pain comes in waves. Mop her brow, rub her back, hold her hand but don’t dare tell her to shut up, for in pain and yelling she gives birth to peace and beauty.
Let her be!
Beautiful Ivory 