Let us discuss for a moment The One Who Knows Herself vs the Wounded Princess.
A woman who fears her shadow can never integrate into unity, to practice proper alchemy, or to know the rites of the dark mother: complete rebirth and destruction of everything that binds you.
The Princess contorts around, suffocating herself, desperately trying to be nice, to be sweet, to make sure everyone likes her.
She does not have access to her true Self, and walks around emptily hoping someone will see her smile and tell her she is good and pretty, so she can breathe again.
She spends most of her life gasping for air. Hoping she’ll be good enough for an uninitiated man to like her. To get approval from her community. To get kudos for always shining.
She does not know herself, and so, like a chameleon, she changes to suit her environment. Pious, cute, uncomplicated. When confronted with the energy of The Woman Who Knows Herself, she recoils, disgusted. She meets the Hag and the Crone and gasps in horror - how can they live within such a young, beautiful seeming woman?
Doesn’t she know she’ll die alone if someone sees that?! How can she let people see that. She is absolutely repelled, but truthfully, she’s intrigued.
She is hungry, after all, ...starving.
She sees the dark and light integrated. She sees her writhing on the floor, not apologizing for her hair, taking up space, and speaking her mind.
Her body and voice move like a serpent commands them. And she sure does hate snakes. Fears them actually. Wishes to call her father to remove them. She observes her magnetism and calls her a Whore.
She does not know her Power. She fears what would happen if she came undone.
What would be left, if she gave up her performances? If anyone ever saw her teeth, her truth, her sexuality, or her refusal? Would she have to love the dark corners too?
To let them breathe?!? But not possibly. Boys don’t like the powerful ones, she thinks.
Which is correct: but Kings do.
They crave them. Crawl on their hands and knees, thirsting from crossing the desert of their own ego-self-eradication, just to meet in such a Union. They prayed for such a meeting all of their lives, under the moon.
They willingly died to God, for they knew she did the same.
A Princess cannot call forth a King, or even herself. She is still waiting for other people to show her who she is, rather than look in the mirror and bask.
She’s afraid of what she’d find under the bed. Or in it - if she truly met herself.
The Princess says "she dances like that, because she’s a Witch"
The Witch-Queen says; "I dance like this, because I’m alive"
The Princess watches as she waits for no one. She does not gather crumbs silently, hoping they mean love. She creates, and writhes, and drips, and howls - and simultaneously, she is crowned.
Because the Goddess has many faces. And if a woman refuses to wear them all, the ones that go missing start to eat her.
Slowly, from the inside.
She will cry and scream and long for herself. She might try to drown herself in ice cream or pastel colors, because those would be socially-acceptable.
She will hate the ones who cannot be tamed, be false-sweet, or bat their eyes for the sake of a glance.
"How dare they be so full?"
What she doesn’t know, is that they’ll never starve.
They’re too busy feasting.
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