Hiding in the Women's Room

I had to hide in the women’s room. It had been years since I had taken LSD and here I was at a Grateful Dead Concert, 1986, with my midwifery partner & lesbian lover, Willy. I was tripping wildly and wanting to escape the crowd. But we drove all the way to California for this classic experience! My psyche wasn’t cooperating with the plan. I hid in the bathroom.

It was all very vague, in the French sense of the word. “Vague” means “waves.” Waves of mixed emotions crashed against my rib cage & belly—anger, fear, rage, & terror. The smell of men disgusted me, which isn’t usually the case, since I’m bisexual.

“This is too much for me Willy- I need to get out of here. I’m sorry.”

We swam upstream through the ocean of tie-dyed Dead Heads, out of the auditorium, and into the cool evening air. Being in the open helped. Here the smell of pot was more of a wistful whiff than a smothering blanket. We wended our way through the stands selling Dead gear—pipes, macrame’, tie dyes--to Willie’s van. My feet walking on the gravel parking lot gave me a sense of connection to the Earth.

As we settled in the van I began to remember/dream, being in a state somewhere between fantasy and the flesh of my brain.

I saw my alcoholic Uncle Manley. I was furious at him, yet totally cold. He was tied to a stake and I had a bow in my hands and a quiver full of arrows slung over my shoulder. I reached back and pulled an arrow out. I deliberately drew back the arrow on the bow and aimed and shot him with it. I continued shooting him, over and over again, even after he had slumped within the grip of the ropes holding him to the stake. When I was done, he was covered with arrows, like a porcupine covered with its quills.

This strange vision was the beginning of the painful remembering and healing of my body and soul from the childhood sexual abuse visited on me by Uncle Manley. My memories had been buried for over 25 years. It explained a lot about my sexual behavior and my deep feelings of shame and unworthiness.
--Terra Rafael

Poem

my life shrank in winter dryness-
shriveled apple abandoned even by squirrels-
once fragrant rose stiffened by death & drying-
crisp grasses whispering “sshh” in arid winds-
I need some spring to seep into my soul-
to soften seeds left from other seasons
back to bloom.
--by Terra Rafael

Happy First Day of Spring

seems like lately I gotta case of the spring time-
I dance to the birds singin, to
the slow-motion-sounds of the buds
bursting into green spring flags
& I too flap in the fresh new winds,
the sun shinings oozing into my skin
smiling.
can’t concentrate on nothing but feel feeling good,
lately the only think I’m good for is make makin’ love & po-e-try.

--by Terra Rafael

My Full Moon Bath

In my bath, I look down at my legs, tanned in the midwinter Cozumel-vacation sun. The tan reminds me of the sun, which reminds me of the current full moon, descending. It’s only 5:30 a.m., the neighbors' lights aren’t on, so I open the shade over the window next to the bathtub, allowing me to gaze upon Her while I soak. This devotional meditation soothes my mind as much as the warm saltwater bath relaxes my muscles.

Filled now with Sun & Moon, body & soul, the local owls sing time back into my consciousness. There are the other times with other Moon baths – a midnight yoni moon bath on a dock of the ocean and other uncounted nights, sitting in the white glow until I too glowed.

Yes I love the Sun, I love the Moon.

by Terra Rafael

poem

Thank you for bearing w/me
Carrying w/me
Giving birth w/me.
Thank you for baring w/me
Being open w/me
Being vulnerable w/me
Being naked w/me.

--by Terra Rafael

The Story Begins

As precisely as a haiku, she poured the tea into each delicate cup. She set down the teapot, decorated with a dragon motif. She passed a cup to each of the six other women sitting in the circle of her living room and lifted her own cup in a gesture of toasting her friends. And then she spoke.

“Please enjoy. This tea was first prepared for her Majesty, Empress Virginia on the occasion of the birth of the heir to her throne. It was blended to rejuvenate her, so that she could be even stronger after producing her daughter. This allowed for many more years of her reign and ample time to teach the crown princess how to rule with power and compassion.

But that isn’t the topic for our salon today. We are to take up the matter of equal rights for men. While they have been gradually progressing in their social abilities, and we certainly love our sons and consorts, their generally aggressive nature and inability to use words to express their feelings has been considered justification to limit their rights to own property, make contracts and vote in our assemblies.

Their aggressive tendencies have been curbed through special education which doesn’t over-stimulate their brains. Competitive sports are taboo and every boy is thoroughly trained in the fine arts. The smoking of marijuana and a vegetarian diet, both instituted at puberty rites, have also played an important role in the pacification of male aggression.”
. . . to be continued
-by Terra Rafael

The Midwife's Mirror

It’s a hand mirror—clear plastic encircling the double-sided reflecting glass and then joining into a simple handle. The plastic is chipped in a couple of places and scratched on the surface. The mirror itself has aged as well. It is almost 30 years old.

The mirror has shown women their first surprising glimpse of their cervix—so like the head of a penis-- rounded, pinkish and soft with a small hole in the middle. It’s so empowering to actually see the opening lips of the mysterious womb, which plays such a large role in every woman’s life—source of her cycles and her cramps, her fertility and childbearing capacity, sounding board of her orgasms. Women can watch their cervix throughout their cycles see how it rises and falls, opens and closes, has fluids from clear to white to clear to red.

Hundreds of times women have peered down into this mirror to see their baby’s wrinkled, birthing head. First it’s just a bulge in the lips of the vulva. Then the lips open up, closing again between labor contractions, until the crucial distance has been traversed and the crown of the baby’s head begins to show.

Later this mirror has let them survey the aftermath of that birthing, to see how their once virgin vagina is now womanly with birthing blood and small wounds of childbirth. It’s so different from an episiotomy, where the doctor decides ahead of time where the scar will be. Most women stretch and, with controlled birthing of the head, can have only surface cuts that can heal without stitches.

I pick up the mirror now and look at my face. Like the mirror, it has aged these 30 years and witnessed so many women transform in their relationship with their own bodies, growing in understanding and wisdom regarding how to respect their woman ways.

--by Terra Rafael