At the foot of the forest, with your back to the town, you contemplate the decision you will make. Will you set foot into the [[thicket of trees]], where unknown peril or unknown wonder lie beyond? Or will you retreat back into the safety of [[society]].Your feet begin to walk forward. The trees begin to close in. Their leaves block the light of the cloudy sky from reaching your icy skin. You maneuver carefully around fallen branches and weeds. Twigs snap beneath your shoes, their rubber soles bending over stones and roots. You pull your coat tightly around your torso and bury your hands in your pockets. You will the wool into [[armor.|coat]]Returning to your community is the safe choice. Here, you know what you are expected to do. You make a necessary contribution to your family. You have your property, your house, your animals, your crops. This place, this country, is the project of your development. You construct it and [[it constructs you]].Does the darkness beneath this canopy worry you? Or do you want to marvel at the beauty of this landscape? If it were not beautiful would you be disappointed?
Beauty is what you value in nature. But you fear the powers of plants and fungi. These things have uses beyond being stared at or painted from afar. And since you always insist on feminizing nature, our great mother, then tell me what you [[see]].Yes, you are happy. But your roots won’t grow into this soil. There are roots down there blocking them. Those roots reach deep into the earth, the result of centuries of life. But at the surface they are cut, scabbing over now. Pull them out. Try to rid the ground of their memory, but they leave holes in the dirt. And into these holes you slip. And because you may slip, you are afraid to walk outside. So you build the floor over fields and mountains, swinging the hammer with [[relief]].The world you build is under your control. In full visibility. Illuminated by indoor lights. These lights you can shine on any corners where mischief might take place.
These are the corners where I make my home. Where no one can interrupt my projects. My attempts toward health and happiness. And when you light up my corner, I must flee to the next one. Thus, I engage in my fun with one eye vigilantly checking over my shoulder. And you conquer the corners of the country with one hand trembling towards the weapon at your waist. And neither of us can attain total [[peace]].“If they can’t have property, they can have happiness.” And if you can’t have happiness, you can have property. You may drown me in the currents of your life. You may not see me behind your drywalls. But I will make my way to you. I don’t have to lift a finger, but you will find me in your consciousness. You will not admit that I am here in your physical world. But I can still sing [[my song]] from the other side of your ear.
This virginal land was just as tempting to you, just as treacherous for you. She seduced you with her curvy hills and lush flora. The land is so beautiful, but it is out of control. The beauty is bait. It is a sin to indulge in your sense of attraction. So beware of virginal beauty. It will possess you if you do not possess it. Is it still [[beauty]] that you really want?Or is it ugliness? Is it wrinkles and fat? Skin that splits from itself. The ground in drought. Revealing the sagging that results from years of holding up for you. Fleshy stalactites of gravity’s unrelenting pull. Darkness like the stain of your crimes. This repulses you. This is undesirable to you. This is beyond your control. This does not desire to be [[desired]] by you.Something so young and alluring could indicate a trap. A danger to come. But too old and grotesque repulses you. Horrifies you. What you want, is a mother. A breast tied to the mouth of a babe. A wife. A caretaker and a servant. She will provide [[obedience and nurture.]]To be valued and feared. Combine one part value and two parts fear and a concoction of a certain precarious power emerges. A power over those who revere their healing work and look to them for knowledge. A power over those who suspect that they withhold malevolent intentions. Over those who are quick to betray when the power stops serving them. But [[power, nonetheless.]]But power cannot be seen in the hands of enslaved women. In the hands of indigenous women. In the dark hands of a non-believer. So these hands close up tightly and seal the power from the light of prying eyes. Eyes with violence behind their power. Eyes with hegemony shooting out of their gaze. Eyes that see nothing but their own ideology, which fears any proof of [[its own inversion.]]When I materialize in your imagination, the projection of your guilt, I shall demonstrate my [[disembodied power.]]So will you face the thing that you dread? Or will you continue to dilute responsibility in the water of the group. To try to shut out the past which holds you on its leash, while you feign free range.
This is the mind you try to push down, below your dominant one. But there are two in there, inside you. Just like my own double consciousness, you are haunted by a past that looks all too [[familiar]] in the present.So you did not have to go into that forest in order to see me. But I will make myself visible to you. For you may think to objectify me with your gaze, but I would like to harness your [[witness|me.]] for a moment.On this land and throughout the Americas, European settlers took enslaved African women as their wives while they colonized. They valued the healing capabilities of these women. But because of these capabilities, the women were susceptible to being blamed for the death of their husbands. They could be called poisoners. Witches. In holy matrimony, these women had to care for their husbands while resenting them. They had to ensure their husbands' good health, keeping alive the men who were the future potential cause of their own [[punishment.]]The daily proof of her subjugation is in her suffering. Her pain reinforces the dominance of those who inflict it. When they control her emotions, they feel their anxieties ease as they do when they tame the land. She exists in a structure that profits from this suffering. This patriarchy, this white supremacy, this Puritan community, this enslaving nation benefits from her pain. To be happy is to resist this system of exploiting suffering. To laugh, to indulge one’s senses, is to react oppositely to this society’s expectation of her.
Her happiness [[is deeply feared.]]Displays of pleasure must manifest in private. The knowledge of clairevoyant and healing women as well as their true stories have been obscured and kept secret for the sake of protecting these women. But now I am entrusting you with my own honesty. For you have sacrificed your consciousness to follow mine into this forest. And for listening to my side, I will allow you to see me. But only to teach you about how you look at people like [[me.]]What do you feel when you look at me? What do you want to feel when you look at a woman’s physique? Does the difference elicit repulsion, disgust, or even fear? But I only cater to a reaction in order to manipulate you if it serves my own ends.
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I was conceived by asexual reproduction.
If you light me up, stripping me of darkness’ protection, I will lose my form. But I will not disappear.
Or do you need this sense of haunting? Does it distinguish you from the comfortable cowards who stayed behind on the other side of the Atlantic? Do you feel connected to the other brave souls that made this pilgrimage in your fear? Is this the basis of your [[creolized identity?]]You feel courageous, conqueror of wild lands. You see Nature splaying herself out in front of you, poised for your investigation. But how much do you want to investigate a body that you find unattractive? And how has [[this body]] kept you at bay with thick trees, sharp bushes, and venomous species?