own pussyBy now, it should be clear: all around the world, the first thought that comes to most people’s mind when thinking about president Trump is ‘He grabs women by the pussy’.

Isn’t that amazing? A locker room talk from more than two decades ago became the most prominent collective thought-form about this man. No matter with whom I talked since the election, this was the major topic that came up first, for all of them.

How is it possible that this one sentence ‘grab her by the pussy’ has so deeply anchored in the collective psyche, as a symbol for everything people despise in what they see in Trump as a mirror?

Clear Text

If you happen to be sensitive for clear text – openly naming things as they are, or as I perceive them – and have your (morality) buttons easily pushed, then please stop reading right here. You might not like what’s about to come.

I’m European; we talk straight forward about sex, so this article is not for the prude. The word ‘pussy’ for female genitals has become socially acceptable during these past few weeks, thus the use of a male slang equivalent seems only fair here.

I might scratch on the identification with feminism, or any other label people glue on their foreheads and sing as their gospel. From my point of view, it’s time we pull all labels off.

As a precursor: I’m not a feminist. I’m an empowered divine human in a female body, raised by a sexually liberated mother. At age 14, I wrote a letter to the editor of Playboy magazine – which got printed, with name and age, to my surprise and that of my father^^ – where I explained the dynamics of feminist extremism, trying to soothe the outrage about the pendulum’s swing from one polarity to the other. So, you get where I’m coming from…

Some Questions

The first question coming up in me when this locker room talk ran through all media and created big outrage was:

Males, guys, honestly, who of you doesn’t like to grab a woman by her pussy?
And, vice versa: Women, who of you doesn’t enjoy grabbing a man by his dick?
(Mutual consent assumed in all cases.)

Those whose initial truthful reaction to this question is, ‘No, I don’t’, might not have discovered the joy and relaxation of liberated sexuality as yet; or, an opposing conditioning doesn’t allow you to see and own the truth that you, too, like most people, enjoy touching the genitals of your love partner, and love yours to be touched.

Ok, the grabbing part can’t be the real trigger of the outrage. What else is there?

And More Questions

Why do people bother about what was said more than twenty years ago?

I’m not the same I was back then, why should this man be?  We all evolve; while it’s sensible to take the past into account, it’s much more important to look at the present. Look at people’s actions, and how they walk their talk.

Why do people think that what men chat among their gender peers is how they actually behave with woman and in the world?

I can only report hearsay, as I haven’t yet had the chance to watch and listen to men in a purely male group. What I hear from friends is that the guys don’t talk about feelings, but about achievements: the fastest car, biggest company, most beautiful woman, most successful businesses, hottest woman chase. It’s more a comparing of dicks, in order to determine who’s the greatest; it has nothing to do with real life, it’s not a reflection of their real behavior with women.

So, why would anybody take any of this seriously?

Old Patriarch Mind-Set

Finding out that, already during the ’80s when business management was still firmly in male hands, Trump hired women into hotel management and paid them equally to men, I was reminded of my father of similar age.

While my Dad admired intelligence and education in women, and also brought them into management positions, starting in the ’60s, he never withheld his sexual attraction and often made sexy jokes and salacious comments to them. Even when they rejected his sexual overtures, he never stopped trying; in a charming way though, not aggressive enough for them to run, but bothersome enough to feel like a fair game.

He grew up in a time when a woman saying ‘yes’ was considered a whore, so most woman didn’t easily agree to a man’s sexual approach; if she said ‘maybe’, it was considered a ‘yes’; if she said ‘no’, it was taken as a ‘maybe’.

Meaning, a woman’s pussy never belonged to herself. She had no right to say and mean ‘no’ when the guy desired for her.  She wasn’t taken serious; as long as she stayed around, the man understood ‘maybe’ and kept moving on her ‘like a bitch’.

Although my father’s mind-set shifted according to social changes, this deeply embedded program didn’t shift.

In my perception, it still hasn’t shifted in the collective. Too many women serve their man’s needs without their own needs being taken care of.

While we’ve so much progressed, in society and in consciousness, women still need to claim their right to own their pussy; to self-responsibly choose what they welcome in and receive, and what they’re willing to give, to bring out of her (think childbirth and abortion).

pussyhat

Credit: Shannon Stapleton/Reuters

Pussyhat March

This showed a few days ago when women all over the US and the world protested with pink pussies on their heads.

It looked as if, and many media reported that way, these hats pointed to pussy cats with their two ears; though the messages I read during the preparing weeks clearly said that the hat should resemble a vagina with labia.

My first reaction when I heard that was, ‘Heh? Wear the pussy on your head so he can more easily grab you right there?’, followed by, ‘Ehem? Only white women have pink pussies. Who’s actually organizing this? This seems to be for white women only, who can identify with pink pussy, and have the time and money to knit a hat, take a day off, and travel to the protest’.

Wearing a pussy hat would feel to me as if I were inviting everybody to identify me as a pussy. Label me a pussy. Which I am not.

If it were really serving woman’s liberation, I might wear a vagina on my head. But a sweet little pussy cat hat as a protest against Trump? Sorry, not my world; I don’t have a sweet little pussy cat, she’s a fricking adult, fierce and powerful and full of joy. And she doesn’t invite a pat on her head.

I imagined the old boys stand up there on a balcony, look down at the protesting masses and laughing, ‘Nobody’s ever assembled such a crowd of pussies, see, they’ve all come because of you, har har.’

A Deep Wound in the Collective

You might have intuited it already, I’m saddened and angered.

Don’t get me wrong, please – I deeply respect women standing up for their right to own their bodies and sex. As a teenager in Germany, during the end ’70s, I marched for a woman’s right to choose whether or not we want to birth a child. Our slogan was ‘My belly belongs to Me’.  And we made it; over here, we have the right to legally end a pregnancy within the first three months.

Nevertheless, also I carry the deep conditioning that if a man wants me, I have no right to decline. I did though, very often in my life, but it always made me feel guilty.

Let’s get things straight here a bit. For most girls, their pussy never really belongs to them. First the mother owns it, she washes and diapers her. When the girl touches herself, she’s often told that she’s not allowed to. When she grows up and has a man, the man owns her pussy. Consequently, the man is also responsible for the woman’s pleasure, isn’t he? Without him, she can’t have sexual fulfillment. Ouch.

Question: How many of the marching women masturbated during the past month?  Given pleasure to themselves?

I guess, it’s not more than 25%. So, who are the owners of their pussies? Their men? Or the males who sign laws and executive orders that structure what women are allowed to do with their bodies and what not?

This is the deep wound in the collective, and it’s been stirred up by the media hype so the chaos crew can hijack the energy for their agenda.

That’s why I’m saddened and angered.

Healing the Wound

From my point of view, this locker room talk hit the collective wound like a spear. The so-called liberal left via the mainstream media vigorously inserted the spear and kept rattling on it, over months.

The people, most of you and me, didn’t use the rising pain to search for its root and bring healing and liberation, to ourselves and the collective. We allowed our focus to be manipulated against Trump instead, into blaming him as if he was responsible for the wound.

Trump is not the cause of this wound, he only pointed to it. It has been embedded in the female body and the collective psyche for thousands of years. Thanks to the guy two decades ago and the media today that it’s coming up now. It comes up for healing, and it’s high time we stop looking at him and look inside instead.

We could have moved so much if these marches hadn’t been organized by the ones who harvested the energies for protecting the oligarch system. So much, if we had focused the energies FOR liberation and equity, and not wasted them AGAINST the one triggering them. So much, if we’d utilized our outrage for empowering women to own their pussies, instead of blaming males who only repeat the over-powering approach they learned from their forefathers.

My Personal March

I mentioned that I carried guilt about sexually rejecting a man, and it feels beneficial now to tell you about an incident I experienced back in November. I wanted to talk about it much earlier, but it didn’t flow into the keyboard, which is always a sign that the energies are not ripe yet. Now they are.

Three days after the election, I had a date with my lover. Although he’s a sensitive man and gorgeous lover who very well knows how I (and most women) tick, he has that same ‘disease’ most men have: because he likes his dick instantly being grabbed when he feels aroused, also he, at times, instantly goes for the pussy, without kissing, breast touching, slowly bringing my energy down into my sex.

In those days, I was very much vibrating with the collective. At least fifty people had told me ‘Oh my god, a pussy grabber becomes president!’.

This spear had also rattled in my own wound; as liberated as I am, I still wasn’t completely owning my body, and consequently seemed to owe it to my man; that’s where my guilt feelings were rooted.

That day, when my lover grabbed my pussy while I was not yet ready to welcome him there, the issue became very clear to me; I was able to feel and consciously observe what was going on.

Grab the Pussy

At first I allowed him, in a way of ‘Ok, I’m not there yet but will be soon’. This is my usual pattern. But because I was sensitized, my resistance strongly showed; I became aware of how much this was really not ok for me, and that I was no longer willing to permit a rape, not even the gentlest persuasive one.

Although I clearly felt a ‘No, not yet!’ rising up in me, I was unable to express it. Something in me was frozen and I couldn’t act; I watched helplessness vibrate in me, allowed the ‘No’ to become stronger by the second, until it turned into anger which eventually unfroze me while I exploded.

I fiercely pushed my lover away with this strong ‘No!’. It shocked him so much that he took three steps back, immediately put on his bathrobe and, with ostentation, closed it with the belt. That’s his pattern – he instantly withdraws into ‘I’m not ok, I’m unloved, thus I’m outta here’ and turns mental whenever his pointing penis isn’t welcome.

And I felt guilty. OMG! My neck was tensed up, hurting like mad, and I was enraged that he played this passive-aggressive number on me, which always makes me feel like a villain.

I usually don’t get violent, but now I grabbed him by the collar of his bathrobe, with both hands, and shook him a few times, shouting ‘Stop that shit! Don’t make me feel guilty for rejecting your grab on my pussy right now!’.

During the entire process, it felt as if everything I experienced, thought, said, and did, was channeled and acted out on behalf of the collective, and he was the representative of the over-powering patriarch. When I shook him, it felt as if billions of women were shaking billions of men.

My lover and I talked it over that night and we ended on a lovely sensual note. Later, when I lay alone in meditation, the guilt implant was drawn from my neck, after I had breathed into and focused on that area for some time.

Thank you, life, lover, Mr. Trump, media, collective; you made it possible for me to get rid of my last bits of guilt. Guilt is only a limitation that stops me from taking responsibility for my thoughts, feelings, words, and actions. It’s of no use anymore; self-responsibility is online now.

The Collective has been Shaken Up

I tell you my march story because it now gets mirrored to me by the collective. I kind of experienced within a few minutes what, energetically translated, took months for the masses to unfold.

When the locker room talk started running through the media, I felt the people being shock-frozen, and even more so when the dirty talker got elected president.

Over months, the outrage built up, and clever organizers funneled it towards the inauguration time when the energies could be directed against the new president.

To me, the marches feel like my pushing away, grabbing the man’s collar, and shaking him.

Ok, we’re shaken now. The male collective is shaken.  My inner man is also shaken. The lionesses roared ‘No’ and I enjoy the roar. Hot anger helped us to get out of the freeze. May this heat be blessed, rage can be a wonderful thing when utilized creatively.

And What Now?

Does it heal my wound when I keep directing my energy towards the one triggering the pain?

Does it empower me when I allow those who want to prevent change to harvest my energy for their cause?

Does it liberate me as a woman when I hate men and choose one specific male as a projection screen for my hatred?

Anger, rage, heat, were required to unfreeze us and move out of apathy and guilt.

Now it’s time to move this energy to the inside. Get to the root of the wound.  In our daily lives, in our inner work.

Who Owns My Pussy?

In reality, nobody, no man, no doctor, no law, no nothing, owns my pussy and body except for my Self.

I am responsible for her, nobody else.

If I allow her to be abused, I need to forgive myself, unfreeze, take ownership, and forgive the guy who made me feel like a victim. Remember? He’s not the cause of the issue, only the trigger of an ages old program.

I didn’t yet really talk about why I actually felt guilty for rejecting my lovers touch. The energy behind it seems to be an Abrahamic archetype of the woman being guilty of sin, just because she wears a female body that’s a seduction for the male’s senses.

Think Lilith, banned to the underworld; think Eve in garden Eden; think Islam, cloaking its women to prevent the males from being seduced to get onto them; you get the drift.

Patriarchy made Mother-Father-God a male. The Abrahamic hierarchy goes: Father God, for some, Jesus or Mohamed as agents, priest, man in the house, male sons, females.

In this system, the simple fact that a woman is a woman means that she serves the man and his needs.

While we, as representatives of the Divine Feminine, have all the right to shake up the patriarchs – and ourselves – from the ages old slumber of female use and abuse, it’s not them who can give us the freedom and right to own our bodies.

We need to take it.

From within.

Now.

Written for GaiaScenicsView

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