Holding on to Hurt and Joy Circling into Each Other.
There’s beauty in the mix of sadness and joy, resistance and surrender — dissolving one into the other.
A yin-yang symbol where sadness has a drop of joy and joy contains a dot of pain. They marinate together. Yet, with time one can discern the nuance and still behold the beauty of the whole.
There is magnificence in this collective womanhood. It’s a delicate balance of elegance and unspoken risks. There is constant navigation without a specific compass. On my way to a café, I followed the sway of her orange dress. I was mesmerized by the calm walking pace. It reminded me of the spirals on a journal page, magic trying to make headway.
Here it was before me, the enchanting dizzying effect of glorious colors moving purposefully along. She was the color of cinnamon. In this sun, I imagined I was the color of a rosḗ wine. Together, I pictured us a cascading sunrise, coming down the hillside. She strolling her way, me going mine.
I wondered about her day. Did she rise at 5 a.m., gaining a bit of rest? Did her head ache from the weight of carrying water? How is this task typically assigned to women and girls? There are no brief answers to complex questions. So many of these are regularly asked of women: Why do you have no kids? Why do you have all these kids? Why do you work so much? Why do you not work? Why do you…?
There is the learned smile, the look away, act as if that is such an interesting query, never before mentioned. Only the god beyond god, the larger one that exceeds our mind’s capacity has the rationale for the shape of our lives.
The awe and hazard of being a woman is known, yet rarely articulated. How does one live with the boldness of opinions and curves? Curves can be dangerous. Owning opinions is another risk. A don’t mess with me look must be cloaked in a silky way, anything less is entering the danger zone. There is the delicate march within this tribe of belonging.
Every life is ultimately a daring act of rebellion, through daily persistence. We are constantly called upon to grow our container of understanding, to hold on to the beauty, hurt and joy circling into each other, as if there is no other way.
There is a revolution, to co-create a new paradigm, a new sunrise and a more spectacular sunset, knowing the options are typically relegated to the monochrome: hated or adored, loved or feared, vilified and sexualized, desired and abused, used or comforted. That morning provided a celebratory crossing, shared admiration and smiles into the whole.
She was sashaying and sauntering as only a woman can do — she going her way, me going mine.
***
Jolie Marie Carey is an East Coast native who has spent much of her life traveling, living and working outside of the U.S. Her favorite travel stories include hiking in Nepal, hiding from the law in Timbuktu, Mali, and living in a tent in South Sudan. She derives inspiration from magic in the everyday, words, conversations with random people and close friends. She believes laughter is the key to transcending all differences. She has been fortunate to teach Yoga in Haiti. As a Gemini, she is pulled between living simply, dancing under the stars, and trying to impact the world through bureaucratic means where she benefits from high-end parties.
***
{Join us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram & Pinterest}
Comments
Latest posts by Rebelle Society (see all)
- Cemetery of Tears. - December 22, 2024
- My Identity Journey: What’s in a Name? - December 22, 2024
- Cyprus: A Magic Place That Feels Like Home. - December 22, 2024