“Our Cyclical Nature”

Around the time I began journaling, I also began reading Dr. Christiane Northrupt’s Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom which encouraged me to begin confronting the underlying reasons for my irregular periods, cramps and mood swings aka PMS. I am so grateful to my Aunt L for passing this book to me, I highly recommend it to all women ages 9 and up.

On page 85 she writes about...

“Our Cyclical Nature”

“The menstrual cycle is the most basic, earthy cycle we have.”
Diana’s Bow and Arrow a poem from my Red Rose collection

“Our blood is the connection to the archetypal Feminine.”

“The macro-cosmic changes in nature, such as the ebb and flow of the tides and the changes of the seasons, are reflected on a smaller scale in the menstrual cycle of the individual female body”.
Swells A Micro Poem

“The monthly ripening of an egg and subsequent pregnancy or release of menstrual blood mirrors the process of creation as it occurs not only in nature unconsciously, but in human endeavor. In many cultures, the menstrual cycle has been viewed as sacred.”

As I let her wisdom seep into my bones slowly, I began to observe my own cycles. As I watched my flow and the moon, my cycle began to regulate. As they did, my creativity blossomed and my PMS lifted. A Coincidence?

I had made a change in myself, by being mindful of my own cycles, and of those around me I changed how I respond to and in the world, and I began to heal my legacy of “female trouble,” at the same time. Without drugs, or further surgeries.

“Phew!”

I withdrew, quite a bit. I also began to express myself.

What poured out of me at first, was terrifying, scary even gruesome. Definitely dark side of the moon stuff!

There were paintings I had to cover in gesso and begin fresh with for not being able to stand the imagery. Where images had been a safe escape from words so many years ago, the cycle had turned and once again I dove into the written word and journaling for release.

Eventually I began my hand at poetry, as pages and pages of introspective, memory ridden, dream analyzing, journaling had reached its fill, without ridding me of my compulsion to write.

My first attempts at poetry were staccato like; Rat a tat-tat, like artillery my words spit themselves across my computer screen, or sprawled themselves from my pen. Short rapid fire pieces. Some dark, some twisted some blinding jewels of loveliness.

At first there was so much muck and heart ache, and anger lots and lots of anger. This came up and out first. Then came the sorrow. From this, I developed a collection called Excavation- Blood Guts and Tears .

Slowly, eventually hopeful poems began emerging now a collection called Venus Rising- Poetry of Hope, Beauty and the triumph of Love.