I’ll probably get drummed out of the women’s movement for this article, but here it is anyway. The magical, co-creatrix powers of the woman are at their greatest when she’s in the home. There, I said it.
Actually, the truth is, I never was in the women’s movement. I just hovered around the edges of it for a bit, during my days on the Sunday Express when I was writing features for the women’s pages. I only hung in there long enough to realise that the women’s movement had been created by the very patriarchy that they claimed to despise. Over time, I realised that it had been put together with the sole aim of weakening the male, starting with giving to women the roles in the workplace that men had traditionally fulfilled. I eventually saw that it was a weapon of the political elites, in that it was making society much more compliant and pliable to the ideas of the merchants of chaos – those who wanted to cull humanity so that there were far fewer of us on the planet.
I’m not interested here in getting into the rights and wrongs of that agenda. Who knows? Maybe they’re correct that most of humanity are useless eaters, and that in order to strengthen the human race, there needs to be some kind of threshing to sort the wheat from the chaff. I have no idea whether that’s a good idea or not. I’m only interested, so long as I’m here and managing to avoid their combine harvester, in recovering my birthright as a woman, so that I can have the full experience of the spirit taking the journey of the human being on Earth.
I want to know exactly what sort of rocket ship I’ve been given.
And so by the turn of the millennium, I’d sent my pin-striped, shoulder-padded trouser suit off to the Oxfam shop, and begun a decades-long, deep dive into what it is to be human being, and by extension, what it is to be a woman. The journey has taken me through all the ancient myths, the rudiments of alchemy and astrology of the Mystery teachings, and also the all-important love magic that I describe in my book The Sacred Sex Rites of Ishtar. And so here is the result.
It’s now clear to me that the greatest power of the woman lies in the home; that we didn’t need Women’s Liberation to give us equality with men. We already had that parity; it was just in a different domain.
But the culture wars have so muddied the waters about gender that they have turned the whole issue into a stinking bog. There is no longer any clarity, and so the younger generations are less able to discover the different joys, powers, strengths and weaknesses of what it is to be male or female. It has produced self-entitled babies, who want to be whatever they want to be, despite the rules of Nature dictated by their biology, and some even insist on the right to change their mind daily as to their gender. It’s a nightmare…and it’s producing the sort of dystopian society that’s a perfect seedbed for chaos.
So we need to go back to the basics.
Let’ s go first to the Yin-Yang symbol, which describes the characteristics of the duality of the genders perfectly. In the Chinese system, Yin is female, dark, passive, in there and receptive and reflective, like the Moon, while Yang represents male, bright, active and out there like the Sun.
If we follow the alchemical wisdom of the Yin Yang symbol, then it instantly becomes clear why women don’t thrive out there in the bright world of commerce and politics. Female leaders of industries and governments often prove, by and large, to be weak and make bad, and often silly, decisions. In contrast, the woman’s greatest power comes from attending to the needs of the male in the dark. That’s why they say “behind every great man, there’s a woman.” ‘Behind him’ being the operative words – in the dark of the shadow cast by his sunlight.
But it is not a weak role. It requires enormous strength and wisdom to perform well. Sometimes, she is her man’s supporter; at other times, she is the initiator of his challenge. If she has been taught properly, she can help him to grow into greater wisdom by initiating him into love magic.
She has many roles, and her tongue is a two-edged sword. She can use her tongue to lick and soothe his wounds or when necessary, she can use it to slice into ribbons the phantasies and delusions that are blinding and binding him.
She is the intuitive mind in the cave, the birther in the dark. All seeds germinate in her darkness – and only she knows when they are far enough developed to be planted out in the sun.
She is the triple-faced goddess of the phases of the Moon. She is the maiden in the bedroom, the mother at the hearth and the crone teaching the traditional wisdom stories to the young in the nursery.
The mother in the home has far more power than any king on any throne. She can grow and cook nutritious food fit for heroes and heroines; she can teach her children, through play, how to wisely conduct themselves when they leave the nest for the wider world; and she can tell them bedtime stories to give them dreams that inspire them to greatness. Above all, she can be a walking and living example to her daughters of what it is to be a woman, so that they can carry on her legacy.
None of this is possible for the poor woman being run ragged in trying to hold down a high-flying career and a well-run home at the same time – and especially, as is increasingly the case, when her husband is out of the work and moping around at home, his resentment brewing to boiling point by the day. Just as females don’t thrive in the bright world, the male wilts in the dark.
And so it makes sense to me that if you want to destroy a whole civilisation, it’s simple. Just reverse the tried and tested protocols and taboos that have, for millennia, successfully governed the differing roles of the genders, which have helped civilisations to thrive, and then just sit back and wait.
However, I am quite optimistic for our future. If chaos is coming, then the darkness of chaos is a state in which women can better thrive than men. They will be able to use their intuition to lead those in their care wisely and judiciously, through the tunnels. So I foresee a time when the Divine Feminine, of which those in the women’s movement so often decry the loss, will be recovered when she resumes her place at the hearth of the home again.
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CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE 
Of late, I got a surprisingly lucrative gig cleaning the aftermath of a deceased border. A woman. I always put my eyes to the bookshelf, which in her case was every single wall.
I’m 33, presently. Unless my math is wrong – been a week. So I cannot claim to have seen anything other than the aftermath. But often in dealing with hoarders I have a mirror into the recent past. Most I think would look at her collection as a schizophrenic stag heap, but when you reckon that there’s an archaeology there you can march backwards in the pile. It honestly shocked me to read some of the material of the (I think) 2nd Wave Feminists, how vulgar, cynical and egotistical the texts were. Weaponised flattery and slavish deceit. I would have expected it to follow Alinsky’s Rules, which at least has the credit of being as sly as a desert cat.
I suppose I’ve always had a sense that everything was topsy-turvy. In college things were interesting, I’d always been honest with my intentions for marriage and future. Every single woman I talked to, until my wife, said the same thing; “I wish I could have that.” Or something like it. So it seems to me there’s a huge (potential) backlash against the propaganda. I think a lot of women in my age group are waiting for the permission slip to change their definition of “doing the right thing.” What I can say, is following the broadly manufactured Kung-Flu Marathon that will never end until we end it, a lot of women I’ve done work for were driven back into the home. Some married, some not. To a T every single one seemed happier, brighter and less a walking abyss that sucks optimism out of anyone in their wake. The women, admittedly very few because money, that quit their jobs outright after having their chains jerked about remote work, were happiest of all.
What a shock.
Maybe it’s because I’m an outlier, enjoy virtually nothing about propaganda planet, and would rather be in a hypogeum somewhere in the shadow of Baubo, but this one touches an old nerve.
Well that’s enough huff from me. I’m glad there are women dealing with this in increased numbers, and in their own ways. I know from considerable experience that listening to men is not overwhelmingly not popular, which puts us in tainted little echo chambers when not careful. By design, I’m sure.
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Well I don’t know about all men, but I’m always interested to hear your point of view, which never feels like ”mansplaining” to me anyway! I used to have an archaeology forum called Ishtar’s Gate, which was a place for archaeologists who had found evidence that our ancestors were shamanic in their thinking and in their actions. They couldn’t get those papers through the usual peer review gatekeepers because their findings did not fit the ‘new-think’ of what was to turn out to be the Age of Decadence and Destruction we’re now in. So I’m not surprised to hear about the thinness of the archaeology content of this woman’s bookcase. History does not support the current thinking … and will no doubt, soon, prove to be its downfall. In fact, when I look at how thin its historical foundations are, I often wonder whether if its authors had no intention of it lasting longer than the few years it would take them to get to chaos?
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Mansplain. That’s good. That’s awesome that you ran that. I’m not highly educated, in that I have only my books and an Internet connection and so have to filter everything I take in. But I do think it’s plain to see that there’s a (crooked) line of succession. Umbilical cord, perhaps, which ties us to the Age of the Venuses (which I don’t think is an unfair name, despite modern crank) before what we think is the ‘Dawn of Time/Civilisation.’ But I’m also biased because that is where I place emergent spirituality in my inner timeline and feel the Lady of Malta or the Venus of Lausell would make a much healthier and far less poisonous Goddess archetype than whatever it is they’re pushing out to youths of both sexes.
As to intent… Why not, I guess? Designed Obsolescence is a key facet of the uncredited Element “Chinesium” that fuels the “Western” economy. We import goods and avoid production. So we import thought and generate little, which has been a pattern I think since before “Christ.” I’d blame Alexander, but that might not be fair either.
You used the word thinness a couple times. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Adam Parfrey. Bit of a rabblerouser, wildcard, but interesting aggregator of information. He wrote about the differences between, I think, additive and subtractive fetishes. I think for a very long time women have been subject to a programmatic thinning out, define that as you will it probably still floats. Given that metaphorically and/or actually women seem to be built for waxing, not waning. But I think now we’ve progressed to where all that is being set aside for something even worse. Thinness can be thickened, but now everybody is being hollowed out with a bloody melon scoop. I can’t think of any other reason than desperate emptiness promised salvation by a new righteousness, why people could fall for poisonous trends which are so obviously retarded. Clinically and comically so.
Whstever. It’s good you’re not bothered by wall of text. I have tried to learn the “economy of speech” that marks the Danish language, but there hasn’t been a man capable of brevity in my family since the one they cut short for witchcraft generations ago.
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I think I’m not ‘bothered by a wall of text” when it’s interesting, as your walls always are! Unfortunately, that cannot be said about all walls of text, Danish or not.
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Ah, than I try not to take it as a challenge to make the wall 10 feet higher.
Because Mexico will never pay for it.
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