Cunt-Magic

I finished one of the books I received as a Yule gift: American Gods. It's a fascinating read, and I highly recommend it. One of many powerful paragraphs that caught my eye is this:

"She has power, true, but it's hunger-magic, cunt-magic. It has kept her alive in this land for so long, but for everything else she uses her sharp eyes and her mind, her height and her presence."

So much is said and unsaid in this paragraph that it makes me shudder every time I re-read it.

Back in my college days, as we wended our way through post-modern feminism and feminist philosophy, I was often lambasted for my fundamental denial of the feminist position as valid. The only thing that feminism has served to do, I argued, is seperate women from their inherent power base. Feminism - early, modern, or post-modern - has taken everything away from us and given us nothing in return. We have willingly - excitedly, even! - given up our power as a Mystery and chosen to become grounded and mundane. I could go on and on about what we, as a gender, have sacrificed and how those sacrifices have poisoned our culture, but it is something earthier that compels me here.

Cunt-magic. How long has it been since I practiced it? I can't say for certain, but I know that it's been so long that I can't remember the last time. Seems that I, too, have forgotten my power, have denied my Divinity. Apparently, I, too, have relied on my mind and presence to dictate my actions and to control my little eco-sphere. I, too, have squelched the power of my hunger so often and so thoroughly that I am surprised when it emerges and have to take a few moments to recognize it for what it is. I've been brainwashed - again! - without even realizing it!

The good news is that I'm pretty sure it's not too late. I still remember when just the thought of sharing my gifts was a source of joy; I still remember when sex was a ritual of amazement and hunger, when I fed my soul as eagerly as I fed another's. Sitting here typing, I'm fairly certain that I remember how to work that magic; I'm sure that the Mystery is even now awakening and clawing its way out of the shallow grave of subversion in which it was subconsciously interred.

Hunger-magic. Cunt-magic. Stand aside and kiss my ass, Dr. Laura. I'm bringing out the big guns.