What a relief... to be a woman.
-Reyna Biddy, To Whomever This Spreads and Makes Love To..
I've heard you've been kicked out of the garden, and I'm just trying to reclaim my own right about now. Trying to find soil that is worth planting in and sow seeds that will actually bloom. Trying to bear the right fruits from this heart and this soul and this womb, yet these limbs are limp and these bones have run dry quite too often. These flowers are wilting, and I find myself by the riverside thirsting for more, but I don't want to be tempted to indulge in the wrong things with the belief that they'll serve me any good. How does one bloom in a garden that they have been exiled from?
You were woman before a woman knew what a woman would even be; easily fooled by serpents that promised something they never truly could provide. Bearer of the deepest emotional pains yet still willing to sacrifice and... you sound way too familiar to me. I find myself trying to learn from your mistakes more often these days, a task that I should have been more consistent with.
Should we blame you for us being here? Sensitive, and carriers of emotional burdens? Submerged in the idea that our bodies and our looks are the things that define our beauty when we are blooming gardens and emerging galaxies deep within?
Or should we praise you for us being here? Nurturers by nature, strong enough to bear the weight of a thousand moons and a million suns and eternities. Fruitful enough to bed seeds that bloom generation after generation?
I've had trouble grasping what it means to be woman, to have my strengths categorized as weaknesses, and to be gullible enough to follow suit with that ideology. I've had trouble accepting my tendency to feel deeply, wondering if maybe I ever analyze life a little too much.
I've played the game of blame for way too long. I'd rather thank you for your mistakes and thank God for the opportunity to learn from them and for painting me woman. I'm awakening to the beauty in that.
I am wanting to reclaim my voice now, wanting to gather my pieces and learn how to love myself whole. I ponder over your story often and wonder how your sins trickled down into my veins, and the others. The other women, like me, searching for the deeper meaning in being who we are.
I am finding that there is nothing subtle about being a woman. It's magic and my God, he's the one who molded our very existence.
Sometimes I don't fully understand what it means to be a woman, but I think the woman deep inside of me understands it more than I ever may.
The Garden of Eve, I'd say, is the fellowship of women, learning how to tend to our gardens without being deceived and without deceiving. Learning how to reclaim our voices and our pieces and learn from our mistakes as we grow.
And must I say, what a relief... to be a woman.