by Laura Paskell-Brown
I have been taught to write from my head, to research and to reference my sources. That training seems not only insufficient but a hindrance at this moment. The Divine Feminine is not something to be found in books. She must be experienced in the flesh. She is the hand that touches me gently, the hug that envelops me, the tears that drop from my eyes and the fierce strength within me. She is the caretaker and the patient, the pound of a hammer and the brush of a feather. She is not afraid of anything and yet infinitely compassionate. I see this in men and women around me daily. I have experienced its presence in men and its lack in women. I have longed for it during a four-hour exam and on a crowded and yet lonely subway, and have been touched to find it in cold and drafty rooms where I thought nothing but fear and contempt were hiding. I have at times embodied it myself. Many times I have not. Today I make it my life mission to become Her, to breathe Her, to spread Her wings and to fly. The divine feminine does not act alone. She comes in collectives. She is connection itself. And so I find that if I am to be Her I must collaborate, connect, bond, empathise, love. I must avoid separation and the things that breed it: judgement, fear, anger, comparison, jealousy and critique. I can be Her but I can also be the fingers that snub out her flame. I can choose. Today I choose Her. I choose life. I choose love. I choose to be part of this beautiful mystery, not an angry presence to diminish it, nor simply an abstract voice to analyse it. I cannot write about divine feminine if I do not plunge into life. She does not require that I articulate Her precisely, that I perfectly define Her, that I categorise Her neatly. She only requires that I seek to embody Her fully. This is my daily challenge and my daily joy.