“It’s about looking inward and blooming outward. It’s about
navigating the world as a woman, balancing strength and softness and connecting
with the divine feminine. It’s an incantation and an offering… what do these
songs stir in you? What do they help you remember? What do they awaken?”
-Chelsea Wolfe, regarding her new album Birth of Violence.
These illuminating words were sent to my email today, along
with further information on Chelsea Wolfe’s new album. I recently listened to
this, along with an album by a group I cannot recall, their cover art like a
sky full of fractals, and the newly released album “Fear Inoculum” by Tool.
This was an intense, ego-shattering event in honor of the September 13th
Full Moon. Going in, I thought I
would be compelled to write; instead, I died. The creative energy did not seek
me out until today.
When I say I died I don’t mean it figuratively. My human
self immediately desired the sweet relief I’ve believed death to be, but my
soul wanted freedom and fought for the human experience to continue. My soul
was in crisis- a void of nothingness. I tuned into the frequency of pain I feel
in my dreams when the shadow man appears, then successfully kills me. A
wrenching pain that I hardly know how to describe. A searing pain that crawls
up my spine and can be felt prominently in my upper back, neck, and heart. I
leaned into that feeling and stayed, not wanting to, but needing to. It fucking
hurt and I thought I might never get out of it. Most of the music is a blur,
lost in the moment, until Chelsea Wolfe’s lyrics filled the air like a huge
sigh of relief.
After the more aggressive, masculine energy served by the
first group (and then cemented by Tool’s percussion), the soft, haunting voice
of Chelsea Wolfe emanating from the speakers took me back into my own body and
brought me to the divine feminine- the place I want to be. Before that, I was
gone, and death was surprisingly real and final. I must have sobbed from fear
and pain for at least an hour, the entire time with my arms holding onto my
fetal positioned body as tight as possible. I dared not let go.
“The lion and the wolf. Gnarling at eternal sleep. Let it
burn. Hear it groan. Restrained desire. Cast it down. I cannot stop. I want to
be all things. I’ve got to let it go. I want to be all things.”
These lyrics chill me to the bone. And in that moment, they
were my refuge. The beginning of the song Be
All Things states, “Walking the old path turned me towards death” That’s
what I faced. I have tried to enter the realm of my shadow several times before,
and in my own way have succeeded, but I was unaware of how deep I could now go.
The man taking me through this experience, a figure of wisdom, safety, and
love, was no longer that for me. This time he was a catalyst of chaos. My eyes
burned looking upon him and I thought even just that action would surely kill
me. I was in his fortress of Hell. He had tricked me and was getting what he’d
wanted all along- to murder me.
“What the fuck, I’m truly dying right now?!” my soul cried
out in anguish. “Please, no! I’m not ready to die. Why? How could you?!”
I was outraged, then sad and silenced. I let the overwhelm
settle within me and suddenly the end came. Never again would I smell the fresh
rain. I wouldn’t see the Full Moon gleaming through the tree branches; the
sacred tree I always notice from outside the window, with its blue painted eye,
always there, and always aware.
My love would forever burn alone.
I experienced four deaths.
First, immense pain in the dark underworld, an alluring cave
of wonder alight with red candles, red velvet, and raging flames. The man was a
spiteful liar, a vengeful leader, a demon or angel, like Lucifer, so radiant in
appearance, but hateful in his presence.
Second, drowning, unlike ever before. There was no calm,
peaceful release. He pushed me into the depths and held me there. I could not
relax. I could not take it. The water stung my throat and chest.
“When anger turns to honey. In moments like this, I can
understand you, for pain is the great connector.” Chelsea’s words ring through
me as I write.
Third, death of feelings and emotions. I was reconstructed
as a robotic figure—a metallic being distinguished by the inability to express
myself. I was still my soul, but trapped, never to be an eccentric artist
again. Surely that would lead to a death of the soul.
Fourth, complete silence. I no longer registered music. I
would forever float in the void, nothing to see or hear, no experiences to be
had. Time and space did not exist. That must have been when Tool nearly
finished playing, after the stimulation of chimes, gongs, and sound bowls.
When I heard the rawness and warmth of Chelsea Wolfe’s
voice, I experienced the joy of simply hearing and feeling again. I wrapped
myself into a cocoon of safety with my own healing energy, ignited by the
goddess, and comforted my fear with compassion and love. Divine feminine energy
drove out some of the darkness, like a blue ribbon tying up loose ends. I was
made whole, body and soul, and submitted to the strums of the guitar as I
settled into my strengthened bones. My delicate skin. My home.
The words “I want to be all things” resonate in such a heart
illuminating way. I can’t be everything. I am a woman and a daughter, but not a
mother. I'm not ashamed, but sometimes society makes me feel as though I should be. I crave deep connection and vulnerability, but hesitate because it’s painful. I want to
live expressively, but oftentimes I find it safer to pour my words into a
secret jar that I keep hidden, even from myself. I hesitantly choose to lean back into the
pain from earlier, once again searing, until an earth-shattering storm erupts.
Thunder and lightning. I observe myself curled up in my own womb, fragile but safe, not yet cracked open. I can be that again. Just because I had to break does not
mean I will stay broken. The divine goddess energy is a reminder that I am still
alive and have more work to do. I’m strong enough for that.
The folk-like sound ends and shifts to a new sound and new
voices; actually, not new, just different, and all too familiar. I hear: “Dark
red. Light years. Brought near. Cold gone. I want to lie in.” Beach House, of
course. This band's music seems to follow me. My body finally feels like my own again and I just lay on the padded
floor, inspired to stay awake and just be. The man hands me a clear crystal to
hold tightly in my right hand. The light from the still flickering candle hits
the opalescent fragment perfectly to form hues of blue and yellow. Lemon glow. “The
color of your mind” sings to me in a trance.
Time passes.
11:11 hits and I am still in a trance, pressed against my
stomach, limbs stretched out. “I just want to take up space”, I think to
myself, perhaps for the first time ever.
“Love is you”, whispers to me.
Eventually the strength to go outside came and I was not
prepared for the emotion that would arise from seeing the Full Moon—a glowing
orb of hope. Officially Friday the 13th, the time of werewolves and
spirits. The moon stared me down, and though I thought I might go blind, I
could not look away. I stood in the middle of the street sobbing, the air
inviting and healing, asking me to present my pain and then let go. A storm of
emotions caught up to me and I became an expression of sorrow, then elation.
No longer undone, I took a deep breath, then released.
