The Happy Womb

Thank you to The Happy Womb - www.thehappywomb.com

For posting my poem and images on their blog today:

Wide open – and witnessed

As little girls we are told to keep our legs together. For a woman, “she spreads her legs for anyone” is an insult of the highest order. The power of the wide open vulva is deeply threatening to the very fabric of civilisation.

My four-year-old daughter loves to show us her vulva. Spreading it wide. “Your yoni’s smiling and talking to us!” I say. So proud that she’s proud and comfortable in her body. Her seven-year-old brother says “yueuch, that’s disgusting!”

And that’s pretty much how it continues. We learn to feel shame for this part of ourselves. To shut it away, not show it off. Whereas boys take great pride in pulling their penises out in public and drawing them on schoolbooks and road signs.

Wide open. It is a feeling of vulnerability. And power. Both together. Flashing our genital essence to the world. Look, this is what I am. This is what I can do.

For most women the first time they experience being wide open – and witnessed – is in the process of birth. At this time there is no room for prudity, shame or secrecy. Suddenly this hidden recess, deep, dark and private, stretched wide open to become a portal between two worlds. As a woman’s whole yoni opens so do her eyes, her throat, her heart, her whole soul to allow the birthing process to happen.




Sila na Gig on a church in Kilpeck, Herefordshire, photograph taken by Bríd Wyldearth 2012

The only exception to this taboo, in the whole of Western art, that I know of, is the Síla na Gig, (pronounced Shee-la na gig). Found in the eaves of British and Irish churches, I first learned about them from Ina May Gaskin (check out her interview, here, where she discusses their function and purpose.) There she stands, vulva wide open and proud.

My greatest hope for women is that we be safe enough, feel safe enough, to be wide open and witnessed: lovingly held, tenderly treated, standing in our power and vulnerability.

International Day of Zero Tolerance to Female Genital Mutilation

I first read about Female Genital Mutilation, whilst I was travelling to facilitate a mask making workshop. I did not have time to process my feelings but as I was making my demonstration mask, I could not get the mouth right. Eventually I covered the mouth hole up completely, a very appropriate metaphor for labia infibulation.

I recognised a similar silencing within myself regarding rape and child sexual abuse and I found myself obeying another silencing from a Muslim friend who accused me of judging with western eyes something that I could not possibly understand.

I was blamed for "asking for" or "inviting" rape, and as far as I am aware, a reason given in favour of FGM is to prevent girls and women from inviting sex or rape. Are men really so unable to control themselves that they have to blame women for rape? If I was a man I would be insulted by this attitude.

My first mask, made without consciously planning, shows me as raped child.

I was later drawn on to study Síla na Gigs, goddess figurines found on medieval churches who display their genitalia.

I felt addicted to painting and sculpting them. I did not fully understand why. Women in pottery classes who saw me sculpting their open vulvas would giggle uncontrollably. I felt their discomfort and I allowed myself to be silenced yet again.

As I contemplate and celebrate International Day of Zero Tolerance to Female Genital Mutilation and want to contribute to the debate and the zero tolerance, I notice that displaying an open vulva is the exact opposite to sewing one up. I invoke this ancient goddess to help me in my desire to help end this subjugation of women, within the context of world wide misogyny and rape. After years of copying ancient sculptures, my hands created my own original Síla na Gig.

I have yet to hear of a man blaming a Síla na Gig for making him unable to control himself from raping one or a woman.


SHADOWS OF AN ANCIENT GODDESS

by Bríd Wyldearth 2011

An ancient woman squats
above an old church door.
She holds her vulva open,
impossible to ignore.

Weird witch Síla na Gig,
powerful, daring and rude,
I wish I dared sit on a church wall
wicked and wanton and nude!

Eerie faerie Síla na Gig,
bathing your quim in the sun,
your holy hole outrageously obvious,
your mouth fixed in a mocking grin,

you might as well be shouting
to pilgrims rich and poor:
“I am your mother, your sister, your wife,
your daughter, your lover, your whore."

Orgasmic dancing Síla na Gig,
are you just prehistoric pornography?
Or do you have something to say
to the twenty first century?

"I will not collude in your big cover up.
I will not clothe myself in your shame.
Uncensored and open and honest and proud,
I show the world who I am and why I came."

Why do you sit on a church wall?
Why do you show us your cunt?
Why did the stonemason carve you?
And what exactly is it that you want?

“I was here before the church was
and I’ll be here long after it’s gone.
I honour the place of original magic
the place from which we all come

I open the gate between worlds
the doorway to life and to death
this gesture is just as important
as any gesture to pray or to bless

I am your ancestral goddess.
I am swollen and violated and raped.
This is the result of your violence.
I will not disappear without trace.

When you seek to disempower me,
you invade me against my will
you build churches over my temples and groves
and convince my children that I am evil.

Remember where you originate.
Remember your spiritual roots.
Remember that god is a woman as well.
Remember deep, radical truths.

Womanhood is as sacred
as any church or holy place.
We give birth, we give pleasure and we give love,
we give comfort and healing and peace.”






And, at the risk, of repeating myself by posting the same poem two posts running, I dedicate Dreaming to all the women in the world whose genitals have been raped and mutilated, in prayer for zero tolerance to Female Genital Mutilation.

Dreaming

I dream of all the women in the world

I dream of all the women that I mourn
I dream of all the women that are coldly cut and torn
I dream of all the women that are raped
I dream of all the women that are shaped and stitched for custom’s sake
I dream of all the women that are branded “witches”, “sluts” and “whores”
I dream of all the women that are covered up and enslaved and used in wars
I dream of all of women’s wasted blood and tears and sweat 
I dream of all of women’s sacred places that are desecrate

I dream of ancient women’s stories and I dream of ancient women’s art
I dream of ancient teaching circles to open gentle, healing hearts
I dream of ancient women’s wisdom and I dream of ancient women’s lore
I dream of times when women’s parts were named with reverence and with awe 
I dream of ancient women’s medicine and I dream of ancient women’s blood
shed in life nourishing cycles with childbirth and the moon
I dream of ancient women whispering that we can change and we can turn
I dream of ancient women encouraging us to make choices and to learn

I dream of times when every woman will be free to refuse pain
I dream of times when every woman will be free to use her courage and her rage
I dream of times when every woman will be free to choose to tell her tales
I dream of times when every woman will be free to remove her make up and her veils
I dream of times that may have been, of times that may yet be
I dream of fair ferociousness and of wild and raw beauty 

I dream with all the women in the world


by Bríd Wyldearth 2012