Years That Ask and Years That Answer. Stories, Ends, Beginnings, Fire, Moon.

Some of us hover

while we weep for the other

who was dying

since the day they were born

- “Stay” by Lisa Loeb

For ten days, a phrase has followed me around like a hungry kitten, mewing plaintively, quietly roaring, threading itself around my ankles, feinting, shadowing me. It wants to be fed.

Two Saturdays ago Lianne Raymond talked to me about women and community and creativity and art-hunger. She said, something is dying to be born.

Something is dying to be born.

It seems such a female thing to say: the flesh poetry of experience. A secret language traded between intimates of the violence of birth and glory of delivery.  The wrenching of asunder and the joy of embrace. A story beaten in the pulse of mundane responsibility and cosmic love. Goddesses and bitches and sisters and women. We know this story. It is the story of generation.

It is the story of Kali, goddess of destruction, eater of time, protectress and creatrix.

It is the story of Eve. Of Lilith. Of my feminist friend, Ronna Detrick, who walked away from a church and a marriage but knows with her body, her mind and her faith that all of her leavings have led to profound findings.

It is the story of money. Of power. Of God. He who giveth, taketh away.

It is the story of sex and passion and love, all of which can destroy lives and create them. Women throw themselves on the pyre of love and of loss and say burn me up.

It is the story of Bertha, the mad wife in Jane Eyre who burns down Thornfield, and of the haiku necessity of ember, flame, and ash:

barn’s burnt down…now i can see the moon.

It is the story of cold, clear winter moons and of truths washed clean by icy, white light. It is the story of Foucault and forgiveness, of brooms and brushed floors, and revolution.

Revolution: 360 degees: all the way around. Return. Circles. Cycles. Seasons.

It is the story of winter and of spring, too. Of years, because there are years that ask questions and years that answer.

What – or who –  is dying to be born in you?
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About the author

Kelly Diels I'm Kelly Diels. I'm a writer, the founder of Cleavage (The Lines that Shape Us), and I wrote this blog post just for you. You can also find me on Twitter and darlin', please do. xoxo, K

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