She is a Storm
Even amidst our awakened states and fluidity in the becoming of our highest, we bellow. We wail and rage. We weep in fragility. We bark at injustice. We say what we want to say and hold no emotion prisoner for convention, for the nicety of our femininity.
An awakened woman is in alignment with her wild. She keeps it alive as the very expression of her stories she's buried. It's the voice for the voiceless and the moan of the drowning. She doesn't hold back and will crack the skull of anything that is less than noble on her path.
Less than anything will not survive her succulent rage.
Less than anything will burn at her stake.
It is in these moments where emotion meets truth. Can it be handled. Can it be heard. Can it be held. Her voice barks the words to test the other. Will they stand or crumble as dust. A child to run, run, run from the wild woman. The mad one. Filled with voice.
It is in these moments we assess who is present and filled in body, mind and soul.
It is in these moments when we know our fullness is honored and free to be.
It is in these moments we know we are right on path.
Our storms are just part of the awakening...