Fire. I have always been fascinated by it. A constant fascination, fear, outrage. Fire. Sun & rising. Wild & beautiful.
Ashes. Forests. Woods. This is what comes. I am not sure what will last? Burned at the stake. Burned to the core. Burned to the ground. Which ground? Witch ground? On what ground? On witch ground? Witch hunts. Witch wounds. Imprinted. Engrained. Lived and relived and relived again. Currently living. Will it ever stop? Does it ever last?
Ancestors. They’re coming for you. They’re coming for us. What’s your message? Tell them. Go ahead, tell them. My voice is yours to speak. My voice is yours to use. Misuse. Stop. Don’t speak. Don’t tell them. You can’t. But tell them what? I am curious. I am interested. I wanna know. Please tell me. Please tell them.
It’s a story as old as the universe itself. Power. Magic. Mystery. It starts with you. It starts with all of us. Sisters and brothers. Men, women, and all that there is. They are us. We are still them somehow. They live through us. Their wounds, their fire. Their rage and their screams. They are waiting to be awakened again. Through me, through you, through all that there is. Silence. Do not speak. I forbid you to. You are saying too much. You will scare them away. They don’t need to know.
They do. Everyone does. 9 million were killed. 9. coincidence? I don’t think so. It had to be 9. Numbers speak louder than words. Now it’s my turn to. And here I give it to you. It’s time to release. It’s time to forgive. Ourselves. Each other. Divine Feminine. Divine Masculine. Divine. We’re all affected by it. The women were burned and the men watched us powerless. Sisters, mothers and daughters. Unable to save us. Wounded masculine. Unable to save themselves. Wounded feminine. Unable to save ourselves. Unwilling. Unable. What’s the difference?
Fire. I often dream of fire. Dreams. Visions. Reality. Isn’t it all the same? Fire. I often feel it burning in my throat. The need to scream. The need to speak. The need to do something about it. What can I do? Nothing. It’s all in the past. It’s all in another reality. Another dimension. Another life. Forget it. Move on. Do something with your life here. There do not exist anymore.
But. It does. It lives in my mind, in my soul, in my DNA. Something I could never understand. Some things I could never understand. Trauma.
But it’s not even mine. It’s theirs.
You are them and they are you. What’s theirs is yours to carry until it stops affecting you.
How does it stop?
Divine feminine. Dark feminine. Witch wounds. Mother wound. Sister wound. The shame I have been carrying around. The guilt I have been carrying around. Patriarchy. I don’t know where to place myself. How do I find myself? Where do I carry myself? How should I act? What should I say? What should I do? Repressed. Resentment. Jealousy. Anger. Rage. Feminine rage. Medusa. Abuse. Emotional. Physical. Disrespect. Weaponising sexuality. Weaponising us against each other.
Divine feminine. Dark feminine. Shadows. Recurrent theme. In and out. Fully welcomed in. I screamed so much. Kundalini awakening. All the rage that went out that day. I didn’t even know I was holding in. Grandma. Her suffering. I could feel her suffering and the suffering of all the women in my lineage. Ancestors. Fire. I could feel the suffering of all the witches I have incarnated in my parallel lives. All the women I have incarnated in my parallel lives. Dove. Fire. Burning. Where is this coming from? Why am I so angry? Mother wound. Weak women. Or so I thought. Oppressed. Repressed. Suppressed. Add -essed at the end and you got your team. But, this is not a team I wanna play in. It breaks my heart hearing their stories. It breaks my heart seeing them suffer. It breaks my heart hearing my stories. It breaks my heart seeing me suffer. And so, for a long time, I rejected it. I rejected it all. I don’t want to be a woman. I don’t want to be weak. I will just toughen up. I will lean into my masculine. Be strong. Be independent. Be a man. Literally. That’s the advice they would give you. That’s the advice I would give myself. “Be a man”. W T F. I mean, read that again. “Be a man” to a woman. Really?!
I grew up in Morocco. Felt like this needed to come into the mix. A country where until very recently a raped woman was forced by law to marry her abuser. Yup. You’ve read it right. Needless to say that if a woman gets raped, it’s all her fault too. That’s the kind of mentality anchored in the motherland’s roots. Shame. Guilt. Argue against it all you want, but when a country’s law is as expressively for women’s oppression, it’s in its people’s DNA. Clear gender roles are pre-determined and expected to be respected. Women are either considered to be a snack, an object or a slave. Men are the superior gender. They have all the rights. Even the one to rape you and then marry you. How fucked up is that.
Modern family. French school. Golden youth. Highly educated people. Upper social class. You’d think modern education & money would raise conscious men. Think again. Who’s your daddy? What does he do? What’s your family name? Modern education and money mixed up with a complex of superiority and illusions of power. Fire recipe. Recipe to disaster. Entitlement. Privilege. Delusions of grandeur. Alcohol. Drugs and no tomorrows. Zero consequences whatsoever. What a life.
Over inflated sense of self. I can do whatever I want to whomever I want. Especially women. Did you say no? I didn’t hear you. I did. I don’t care. Let me try again. Just in case. Systematic culture of male dominance and female submission. Over-inflated sense of self. Glitzy facade. Toxic mentality. Boyish mischief. Fucked up behaviours. Lifetime traumas.
Who’s fault is it? Never his. Always yours. Suppressed. Repressed. And all the -essed. No in betweens. Many fucked up in betweens. She’s too pretty. She’s too ugly. She’s too angry. She’s too absent. She’s too bossy. She’s too timid. She’s too sexy. She’s too prude. She’s too fat. She’s too thin. She’s too loud. She’s too silent. She’s too intelligent. She’s too stupid. She’s too masculine. She’s too weak. You shouldn’t act like this. You shouldn’t say this. A proper lady would never. Don’t dress like this or that. Don’t do you unless it’s like what we tell you. Let me show you how you do you. Toughen up. Be soft. Don’t cry. Show your emotions more. Don’t talk. Engage more. Say something. Be careful of your language. And I could go on forever. No voice to speak. No voice to scream. Keep it all within and keep going. Feelings off. Mask on. Be fun. be shallow. Pretend. Do whatever they want you to do. Who are you anyway?
I dare you to speak. Say something. Go off script. Common. Go off. Watch your life crumble before your eyes. You’d think. Watch them try. Treason. Dishonesty. Bullying. Socially marginalised. She’s weird. She’s a witch. Don’t go near her. She doesn’t act like we want her to. Turns out she has a voice of her own. How dare she not wanna be like us? How dare she stand up for herself? We are God! Everyone wants to be us. How ungrateful of her. Burn her at the stake!
Go ahead and try. Go ahead and burn me. Imma do one better. Imma burn myself. Give me the matches. Let me lit my own fire. Watch it turn into the scariest volcano. La nina del volcan. Fire doesn’t scare me anymore. Burnt more times than I can even count. I love fire. I am fire. Watch me burn. Watch me rise. Watch me shine. Embers. Ashes. Wild fires. She lives through it over and over again. Born anew. The more she burns. The more she grows. The more she ascends. And now she is back. Dark feminine. Divinity. She’s haunting you. Her light is unbearable. Truth revealing. Illusion breaking. She’s too dark. She shines too brightly. Careful. She might just blind you. Oh, the darkness scares you? Turns out your God wasn’t divine after all. Was he? Where’s your voice now? Still talking. Keep talking. Empty talks. Who does she think she is? She is darkness. She is light. She is divine.