Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Dream of the Divine Feminine

I had an interesting dream last night.  I had been captured by some men (I'm not sure why they had taken me), and they pulled me into this huge building, almost like a palace.  I was wearing a kurti and long, loose pants, and of course I had my headscarf covering my hair.  They were taking me to their leader.  They pushed me into a room and followed me in, and he was waiting there,  a man in brown.  He looked not much older than me. And he ripped off my headscarf and laughed.

In a rage, I lunged at him, punching and slapping with reckless abandon and tackling him to the ground like a seasoned wrestler, pulling his arms behind his back with one hand and beating the crap out of him with the other.  One of the men tried to help me; I recall him being an ally to me.  The rest of the men simply watched.  I didn't want to kill the man, I just wanted my headscarf back.  How dare he take my headscarf, who did he think he was?  And more than that, I had been captured and the act of taking my headscarf felt like he was trying to shame me and humiliate me.  I would have no part in that, he would pay.

Somehow he broke free of me-- someone must have pulled me away, or maybe he said uncle and I was satisfied-- and he just smiled.  He said to leave me there, and that he would be back.  He had high hopes for me.  I couldn't look at him and I just sat there where they had left me, head low in anger and a little fear. Once they left, I scrambled for my headscarf to put it back on and re-tie it.  And then I realized there were other women there in the room with me; they were in a corner of the room, surrounded on three sides by bookshelves filled with books.  I crawled over to them, not trusting my legs.  They welcomed me into their circle, and they understood my anger and fear.  They all covered their hair in one way or another-- some women wore niqab, some with simple mantilla veils, others with hijab or even burqa, and still others with tichels.  There were a few that I did not recognize, like one with a wrap like a hijab, but with a black lace veil attached at the front to cover the face. So many women, practicing head covering for a variety of reasons, captured just like me.  Two guards, lazing around at the door, looked at us in wonderment and a little bit of suspicion.  One inquired to the other, "Why do they insist on covering themselves?"

The other responded, "In reverence of god."  He said it incredulously, as if it were folly to be in reverence of anything.

 One of the older woman spoke to me in a language I didn't understand, but her tone and expression were enough-- she was telling me I was going to be okay and not to fear.  Everything was going to be alright.

I heard women on the other side of a bookshelf calling me (how they knew me, I don't know).  They had found a screen imbedded in the shelf, and they were watching these women at some important conference being honored for something (perhaps the nobel peace prize? I will never know).  Seeing them gave us strength and hope.  And when I returned to the other side of the bookshelf, the covered women were gone, and in their place were dozens of statues of the Divine Feminine. Mother Mary, Isis, Gaia, Brigid, Kali, and so many more.

And then I woke up.

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