Boudicca Rising

Though most of my friends will not agree with the sharing of this image and most will not Like the post, I still feel called to share it for it speaks a powerful truth that most of us want to ignore and pretend is not happening.  For days I’ve been sick – literally – from the collective energy surrounding the current attack on women.  Sure, I could call it Supreme Court confirmation hearings, but in truth it is the ultimate assault on women and women’s rights.  We. Do. Not. Matter.  Not just in the grand scheme of this hearing, but – to these men – we do not matter at all.  We are merely an impediment meant to be stomped on, an irritant to shackle and control, if not completely eradicate.

AND…

Women ARE Rising.  I know this.  I see this.  Sadly, though, as long as these privileged white men have the power they have and the monetary support that holds them in place, our battle is far from over.  In fact, it has actually just become HUGE.  As women we HAVE come a long way in changing things, but if we think our fight is over or less, then we are not paying attention.  It’s about to get a whole lot worse.

AND…

As I’ve read in many places from other writers, Patriarchy has just awakened the Sleeping Dragon… Kali… Lilith… the Morrigan… Sekhmet… the Amazon.  By their callous disregard of women and women’s lives and safety, they have called forth Boudicca, the Iceni Queen who raged against the Romans who killed her husband and raped her daughters.  Just. Because. They. Could.  Sound familiar?

AND…

Now, each of us is reaching our tipping point.

For me, it was a few days ago and, as often happens with a tipping point, it began with an irritating, but insignificant (in the grand scheme of things), event.  My FB account was hacked so I needed to change my password.  I hate having to change my password because it can never be like any other and so there are millions of words and combinations floating around out there that I’m supposed to remember.  FTS!  I was irritated that some sleaze bag had hacked accounts and now I was inconvenienced by such an irritant.  What or, rather who, kept coming to mind was Boudicca.  I kept thinking what she’d do.  Not just about this stupid FB password stuff, but about all the insidiousness happening to women at the moment.  The only words that made any sense in my cluttered mind – the only ones clear – were Boudicca Rises.  So I thought about making that my password, but then words began to come and I knew that phrase was bigger than a mere password (though it did open something for me).

Like a raith raised from a haunted rest, Boudicca would not go away… her sword cutting through all the thoughts, all the feelings, all the bullshit until she had my attention, my tears, my rage, my full bodied attention.  Every hair on my arms, my hair… raised like antennas sensing, feeling.  Words pulsing through my brain like an emotional hurricane until I knew what was coming.  Knew what was birthing.  She.  SHE.  Boudicca.  The raging Queen of the Iceni was rising through me and she would have her say… have her wrath expressed… on the page… on the canvas.

But first the tears had to flow and words had to flow outward into the void…

I write with a broken heart, though I do not know why.  I have good things in my life, good people.  Some of both really good.  Then why do I feel this rage building and my heart cracking wide open?  Why do I feel lower than the lowest worm?  Why do I not matter?  Why am I scorned and spit at and revolting to so many?

 It is because I, a woman, exist.  Not that I exist here or there, but that I simply exist. 

Why did I choose to come to this time, this fucking time, as a woman.  Have I not been ridiculed enough in previous life times?  Have I not been murdered and tortured, burned and buried alive before?  Why risk that again? 

 There is a primal scream in me this time.  A primal rising that says NO MORE! 

 All I hear in my soul is BOUDICCA RISES

And so SHE comes.  Sword in hand with a death scream that rents the very fabric of the cosmos.  Patriarchy came for my daughters once… had its way with them and then tossed them aside… killed my beloved and took my crown.  Well, not this time.  Not as long as my hands hold a sword and my voice speaks.  Not as long as women continue to wake up – really pay attention – and use their voices.

Make no mistake, we are at war – not just for the soul of women, but for the soul of Lady Liberty and America and, in many ways, for every woman on this planet including Mother Earth herself.  We are at war and it is going to take commitment from every woman, every girl, every man who stands with us.

Each individual who will commit to the idea of NOT ON MY WATCH…

Each woman who will stand and shout…

I AM WOMAN.

I WILL BE SEEN.

I WILL BE HEARD.

I have had my tipping point.

Where… what… is your’s Sister?

 

 

Boudicca Rises by Arlene Bailey, © 2018

Art by Bruce MacKinnon, Editorial Cartoonist

Author: The Sacred Wild

Artist, Writer

2 thoughts on “Boudicca Rising”

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