BLOG 82—(present reflections tied to December 2000 journal entries about my healing and novel writing journey)—What are the chances of opening to a page in my journal of 18 years ago, and coming across a passa
ge about Trump?
Well, it seems the chances are good.
In December of 2000, I had copied the following information from a book about Mary Magdalene and the Sacred Feminine: “The Tarot card Trump No. 15 is usually called the Devil, but the obscure picture on this card is obviously a rendering of the male power principle unrestrained, gone berserk, enslaving the human community.”
What a statement to read several decades after the fact and find it so true of our times and our current president! As students, once quiet, speak out against violence—against this patriarchal system that relies on unrestrained greed to grow like a cancer that will kill us all—and many more step up in the name of our sacred waters, earth, and rights, old systems fight to survive and hold on. President Trump, as the Tarot Card No. 15 reveals, is showing us the ugly and dangerous face of the male power principle unrestrained, and now it is up to us to stand for a new dawn.
Years ago, I wrote this in my journal as I healed from pain that was not only in my hip, but in my soul, longing to shed thousands of years of disconnect with the earth and the feminine. I grew up learning to beat up that which was soft, tender, dark, receiving, surrendering…that which was feminine. And I came to see that the pain in my body was the ache caused from all the pushing and dishonoring of life and of this feminine part of myself.
My journey into the feminine at this time, 18 years ago, began with a dream in which Hitler’s people were trying to find me, and I remained hiding under a bed. Hitler represented that masculine principle unrestrained, and in my dream he mirrored my upbringing in a German household, of clear belief systems dominated by right and wrong, weak and strong, black and white. I woke up aware that I was stuck inside this duality that was blind to the possibility of surrender being strength, and toughness and tightness, weakness.
“Truth cannot be split into two’s, into sides, if you are coming from your heart,” I wrote back then. “We don’t need to hold onto our words, our patterns, our reasoning to be where we are each moment. There is only one heart that belongs to us all. Each moment is its own if from the heart.”
As I began to let go of the 
masculine energies of my upbringing that no longer served me (or at least not on their own), I began to embrace the feminine, to accept myself in my own power and beauty.
I wrote: “We have focused so much on eliminating the shadow and moving into the light—on fixing our shadows to become so-called enlightened. But there is no fixing. The feminine is the shadow, the darkness. It is the dark place that is needed for the seeds to grow, for the areas of our lives that are polluted, to be digested and transformed into rich soil. The dark is willing to feel, to receive everything, because it knows how to shape shift the elements into seeds of love, which, in union with the masculine, the sun energy, can grow new life. Without the darkness, though, there is no feminine, or the feminine energy becomes polluted because it is not allowed to clean itself. It becomes weak, sick, and dying.”
I realized, as I wrote and grew into myself, that so much of my life had been dominated by white, masculine patriarchal energies out of balance with the feminine. I carried this within me as an inner battle of pain. “If we are always trying to fly, to move forward at all costs, then the feminine does not have the chance to renew itself, to create new seasons for us to walk in,” I wrote. “We are losing the seasons of ourselves. We are burning up by the sun. We keep wanting to fix, enlighten, rather than have a relationship and be in partnership.”
Not only had I and so many of us dishonored the more subtle feminine energies from which all life is created, our culture, for far too long, has looked down upon all that is not “white,” all that is dark, including different races and the
earth herself. “For centuries we have been describing evil as dark and white belonging to angels. All that is above is good, is safe, and all that is below is to be feared, including the earth,” I wrote.
Back in the winter of 2000, as I began to change my perspective about the feminine and myself, a new kind of happiness entered my life. I wrote, “When I went for a walk in the woods, I felt this happiness, this relief and joy because I no longer had to fear the darkness—the place of dreams, of the unknown, of that unmanifest; where experiences happen, and we sense, receive, love, and hold; where we transform into magic; where life is made; where we create; where the earth’s energies live and grow new life.”
Today, as our tireless patriarchal system holds on with full might to what it’s got, I invite you to welcome the dark, feminine energies that can transform this old into new. I invite all of us to stop pushing, stop reaching toward the stars—even if for just a moment—and go inside, into the invisible world of feminine magic to discover that which sits in the shadows aching to emerge.
My Novel, Child of Duende: A Journey of the Spirit, is about returning to this renewing feminine energy and our mother, the earth. It’s available on Amazon at Amazon Page or at www.michelleadam.net. It can be ordered at a local bookstore as well. Also, watch a brief video on “duende,” “the spirit of the earth”: YouTube Video
er returning from his country. “Yesterday,” I said, half in jest.
“I feel last night was the beginning of surrendering to a feminine energy within me that had no fear,” I wrote in my journal in July of 2000. “I began letting the universe take it from here.”
zing. I was in love with the water as I swam freely, floating and watching the big sky. The people on the beach were also so magical, especially the older couples watching the children from their chairs. Everything connected me to a feeling of love, of light, of fullness and fluidity with life.”
e house were open fields, high wheat grasses on one end, and a large lawn and soon-to-be-tilled garden on the other.
The weeks to follow were the beginning of magic, though, of discovering what’s possible when we show up with clear prayer and intention, and leave the rest up to God. Jean, who died several years later, would become one of numerous angels offering me retreat from the chains of pain I had carried for far too long.
About a month ago from today, after arriving back to New Mexico from Buenos Aires and our family’s honoring of my recently-deceased father’s life, I met another angel of sorts in man’s clothing. I met an Argentinean man who appeared to me without cigarette in hand :), but with an embracing heart, passion, and laughter. Together we exchanged mystical love poems; shared—with my father’s spirit, it seemed—Argentinean songs he and I both loved; held communion on a moon-filled mesa that whispered of the infinite until early morning; and danced and laughed inside the light-filled rhythm of our newly-discovered bubble.
poor health, I battled this reality of receiving divine grace within the limitations of this earth journey. And while I tried to contemplate, analyze, feel, reflect, and be with the tension that built knots inside my heart and that of this relationship (quite a different energy from the heart-opening magic of weeks prior), it seemed to only create more tension, more struggle.
rents’ home in New Jersey, recuperating from fierce, chronic hip pain. I had just finished writing a dialogue with my body, in which my body told me it was time to feel and express love, and to let go of my need to control everything. “You need to start moving your energy out,” I wrote.
and doubts; from no longer expecting an external, invisible God to save me; from no longer hiding this love and light inside, and letting it out, and embracing the God-given gift that I am.
own so much and not having the strength or capacity to bike or walk. But I resisted doing what he assumed any 30-year-old should be able to do because too often, if I biked or walked more than a few blocks, my muscles would go into spasm, my right hip and groin would inflame, and I’d have sleepless nights with an overactive nervous system.
he coolness of your touch, balancing the heat that leaves my body by the seconds. Let me feel your cool heart balancing this fast moving, fast loving belly of mine.”
Michelle Adam 