I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the color pink.
With all things feminine.
But recently I’ve surrendered.
My first affair was 1984. London. A semester abroad. Long weekends on the continent.
I picked up a journal in Paris, near the Seine–the cover and each of the pages–Ashes of Roses. I bought a scarf of the same color.
And then a cardigan.
Pink disappeared when I returned to the States, but thirty-years later She’s resurrected.
Another scarf. Another cardigan. A set of bath towels in Rocking Rose.
A piqued interest in Rosé instead of Chardonnay.
And it’s not just me. Friends are appearing in pink too.
In sweaters and scarves and nail polish, and with their own bottles of rosé.
Pink is even on its way to the White House.
“But not without blood,” some say.
Perhaps that’s what pink is.
Blood on the Virgin.
Love her or hate her, a grandmother has arrived and is actually positioned to lead this nation, writes Natavi Orion, an artist and Bernie activist.
We have been hating her.
How too have I hated myself?
For being woman?
She didn’t show up with an angelic grace
she didn’t show up carrying a lamb
she didn’t show up pure as snow…
On Labor Day, a neighbor arrived on my doorstep–sobbing, grief stricken, angry–with what appeared to be a lamb in her arms. They were covered in blood.
My husband jumped in the car and drove her and her small dog home. He returned bloody too.
“Shouldn’t I change first?” he asked, about checking in on our other neighbor (the one with the bigger dog.)
“She’ll be bloody too,” I said.
“But I don’t want to go out into the world like this.”
“I understand,” I said. “Women go out into the world with blood on them every day.”
We have been praying for this moment, writes Natavi Orion, for the return of Woman to her rightful place in the leadership council of our people.
We all carry a deep, underlying rage for the patriarchy, this imperialist, capitalist, misogynist, racist captivity we have been inflicting upon ourselves for 1000s of years. We all carry a disdain for those in the public sphere that appear to embody or represent it. Many of us have come to expect and even accept seeing this in men… but when a woman, a daughter of the same patriarchy of which we have all been born… stands and reflects these energies, we hate her even more deeply than we do the men we’ve come to expect it from.
How long before we see the full spectrum of the color pink?
Are we here? asks Orion.
Are we present for the path from past to future? Are we NOW? For it is from this very place that we are able to be the most potent agents of change.
What is coming to pass on this planet beneath the surface is the tipping of the scales and the rebalancing of the masculine and feminine energies which have been severely out of balance for millennia
A woman is going to step into the apex of power of this civilization.
In the symbolic, archetypal dimension, this step is an unbelievably transformative, powerful, and revolutionary moment… a medicinal moment for humanity.
May it be so.
Cause if you’re bleeding so am I.
And if I cut you, if I bruise you,
then the scars are always mine…