girl. cat. wolf
i sit here listening to the thunder and knowing that a huge storm is on its way. of course i already knew this by the way i felt last night. the weather girl, she who comes out to play during the storms, alerted me. she is dark and stormy, noisy and tumbling. most people don’t like her but she has her place and definite worth. she is change, she is movement, she rocks your otherwise mundane existence to take a look around you, to take inventory. she makes you hold onto what’s important so it doesn’t get blown away.
she carries some of the same personality traits as Aldonza the whore. Aldonza, is curt, to the point, she knows she’s a whore and doesn’t play games with that knowledge. husband doesn’t like her because he can’t look at anything that dark, she scares him, her truth scares him. he wants to argue with her, tell her she’s really Dulcinea but she doesn’t believe him or have time for that nonsense. she is a whore, men come to her, show her attention, make her the most important thing, woo her for sex. then they discard her, ignore her, hate and despise her when she shows needs or has any characteristics of a person and not an object. husband hates her and discards her not because she’s a whore but because she’s too strong. she had to become strong to survive, it was the only way. either that or die and she refused to die. she is me and i am her. she is so innately resilient that it is impossible for her to die. girl cat wolf–she who howls with nine lives. the one who can’t be killed.
i love her, i find her exciting, passionate, fascinating. she fights for recognition, she keeps the issue alive, so alive that it can’t be ignored, alive until the issue of molestation is acknowledged and ultimately stopped. that is the whole reason for her existence is to stop the cycle of abuse and it did stop with her. her daughter lives a life absent from abuse. not void entirely of rough spots because healing from this is bumpy, very bumpy at times. but no one has touched my daughter as a child without knowing that i would kill them and i mean that figuratively and realistically. i would kill anyone who harmed her like i was harmed.
stormy girl pauses to catch her breath. dogs are uneasy, men look around wondering what she will do and when she will do it. they know she’s out there, her feminine energy waiting, spinning, calculating the right moment to pick up speed again. they have no choice but to plant their objects and feet firmly and wait. stormy girl needs a goddess name. one that tells of her life where she spends part of her year above and part below. she is the underworld and rises in the spring to plant narcissus and please the mother earth Gaia. she is beautiful and adaptable. she can weave in and out of many situations using her keen instincts of intuition and survival. you can’t be rid of her, she will outsmart you because she has the power of the animals on her side. she is smart like a fox, has the stamina of the elk, the insight of the owl, the patience of the ant. like skunk her reputation precedes her and you know you will be sorry if you cross her path. for many years she’s played dead, like possum, only to find the correct time to rise and be heard. as she takes a deep, deep breath and casts her eyes toward father sky, letting out a piercing howl that says i am here, i am going nowhere, i belong here, this is my air, my land, my world and my spirit belongs here. i am taking back my place, making it mine by taking my rightful place as she wolf, leader, gentle teacher, activist, informer, i am home and my spirit is happy.