The Female Principle

“So this is my Credo.  I am an atheist, if by God one means a transcendent Person who acts wilfully within the creation.  I am an agnostic in that I believe our knowledge of “what is” is partial and tentative – a tiny flickering flame in the overwhelming shadows of our ignorance.  I am a pantheist in that I believe empirical knowledge of the sensate world is the surest revelation of whatever is worth being called divine.”

–  Chet Raymo: When God is Gone, Everything is Holy

All right.  This is how it works.  The Universe, or perhaps we should say the Cosmos, is female, and entire unto herself.

In our little corner, we hurtle around our sun, surrounded by the breathtaking spinning galaxies, floating in the luminous dark of Her womb, caught up in the web of Life She weaves, oblivious to all this and obsessed with our patriarchal notions of Light and Spirit, of conquering technology and the ultimate abstraction of nuclear war.  And yet even we still know this in some forgotten corner of our bones.  When last did you hear somebody talk about Father Nature, or Father Earth?

Gaia, we call her, or Mother Earth, and then we proceed to rape her and trample her, because destroying the Mother is what we foolish humans do.

Nature is female.  This is no feminist delusion, although I am certainly a feminist, and a very radical one.  It is science.  Reproduction is a female capability, and in many species, from the humble amoeba to varieties of whiptail lizards in Mexico, males are not necessary for reproduction, and all members of the species are female.

Spinning off males as a helper, a creature who could cart some genetic material around and return it to the Mother when required, so that the resulting offspring had a mixture of Mother and male, was useful to prevent germs from recognising and adapting to the genetic structure of the parthenogenetically born female.  Diversity improved the organism’s chances for survival.  You could think of males as the Cosmos’ first anti-bacterial spray; a bit of housework.

Mammals are female; males are modified females.  All foetuses start out as female after conception; all foetuses will develop into female adults if no adrogenisation occurs, regardless of genes.  At about six weeks, if the foetus has XY (male) chromosomes, it starts producing androgens which cause the development of male genitalia from the same biological stubs as the female.  The penis is just an overdeveloped clitoris; the scrotum has a seam because it is just a fused pair of labia.  We’re female; we make do with the material available to us, and come up with a new recipe if we have to.

But this is not a permanent solution in any species.  The Y chromosome is smaller and less genetically rich than the X chromosome, and it cannot recombine during reproduction, because males have only one copy of it, but is reproduced unchanged.  It can’t evolve (and how many of us see male behaviour as unevolved?)  Mutations cannot be repaired, and eventually, if humans last that long, the male will go extinct and we will revert to parthenogenesis, or spin off a different form of ‘opposite’ sex.  But the female will abide.

And the whole history of patriarchal culture, of invented gods and spiritual entities and nature-destroying technologies, the violence, the anguish, the oppression of women and nature, the maligning of the only true creative power in this incredible Cosmos, to the point where we have almost destroyed our planet, our only home, is the pathological male reaction to that immutable truth.

So, men, here is the truth: you were and are mortal, every one of you, and every one of you was born from a woman’s womb and forced out between her legs, including your precious Adam, your prize piece of patriarchal reversal.  We are your mothers, not your ribs, you impudent apes.

And each of you will live and then die, and how painfully you live and die will be measured by how far you have separated yourselves from the Great Mother who is your only hope and your only home.  Because your sky gods, your Fathers in Heaven, your Cosmic Christs, your Allahs, your Shivas, your New Age Light Spirits, do not exist except in your malevolent unconscious minds, products of your hatred of women and your deranged desire to destroy the Matrix from which you came and by which you are still sustained.

If there is any divinity, any soul, it is intrinsic to this magical, beautiful, female Cosmos, spun into the galaxies, woven in the veins of the leaves, glimpsed momentarily in the flash of a hummingbird’s wing, wise beyond your comprehension, because you have no connection to life except through the female principle, and you have trampled on that.

If the human body can be said to have a spiritual organ, it is the womb, not the brain, the void from which everything comes, and to which everything will return, the source of creation itself.  And you don’t have one.

The best you can do instead is your phallic nuclear weapons, your bombs, your computers, your rape of reproductive “technology”, and you rattle your stupid sticks at each other and threaten war to end all wars, thinking that you are “world leaders”.  No –  you’re just alpha chimps, chest-thumping and chucking faeces at each other.  There’s nothing intelligent here, no matter how big or how high-tech the stick.

Your choice is simple; you can start worshipping Life insted of Death, start cleaning up the mess you have made, or you can continue on the way to dusty death, and take as much life as you can with you rather than relinquish an iota of control, like the enraged and infantile necrophiliacs you are.  Nature will win in the end; if you push her any further, she will fry you off this planet like popping fleas on a hot-plate, and what price your “made in the image of god” then?  You can learn to respect her, or you can die.  Just don’t expect women to clean the mess up for you; increasingly, we are done with you, with your violence and destructiveness, your jealousy, your pettiness, your in and out groups and your silly strutting uniforms.

The Hag is coming for you.  Get ready to meet your maker, and your destroyer.

 

 

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