Women are like trees. As they grow in years they also grow in their power to provide shelter and to live in full bloom.
Some people don’t like trees. Trees strike them as messy — they sway and grow chaotically against the perpendicular lines of houses and fences.
Some people want to cut down trees, make them quiet, and make sure they no longer dance.
A woman’s essence is not tame, it is wild; it rattles, flames, jumps and limps forward to feel light, rain, and nourishment.
Some cut down that which blossoms and flowers. They cut down women who seem too much and too spirited, or too quiet and still. They block the sunlight so the psyche cannot grow and sever the tree from the ground so it cannot thrive.
But we can dig up the stump of the tree and transplant her. We can give her new ground, sunlight and water. Although she may look dry and deformed, underground where we can’t see, her hidden reservoir is secretly filling up. The central trunk begins to grow tendrils. She may not be as thick and vast as she was but she has come alive.
No matter what people do to us there is inside us a force that will never die. The force becomes more and more incessant and insistent the older we get. We are not inadequate, but enormous and capable of making a mark on the world.
Dangerous, wild woman can never die even if they are shorn of their limbs, their leaves and their flowers. There is a golden fuse at the centre that will always stay alive.
Inspired by Dangerous Old Women by Dr Clarissa Pinkola Estés