Leave Him: From Resistance to Release in Five Critical Acts

Leave Him:
From Resistance to Release

An Incantation and An Exhortation in Five Critical Acts

When I dare to use my strength in the service of my vision—then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.
— Audre Lorde

Click the player to hear me read aloud.

Full Text Below:

Act One, Scene One: Lock Her Up!

Pause for a moment and breathe into the deep malaise.

Touch the hopelessness that has stalked you from the shadows since the very first time you realized that girls can’t…shouldn't...aren't allowed to...

Look at how your hands are filled to the brim with rich, nourishing, thick, creamy milk.

Soul renderings every drop!

And yet nothing overflows.

This river has no place to go.

Milk from the hands of a lady? No thank you!

What sweet nothings drip from your pussy though.

Spread your legs for me darling.

Until. You. Are. Too Old. Too Fat. Too Uppity. Too Controversial.

And even the lady folks turn away.

Especially the ladies.  

Feel how you yearn to connect with this world, to feed it, nourish it.

Go on, give it a try.

Step just one tiny inch outside the cage of expectations.

Now hear the chants:

Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!

Back to the tower with you Rapunzel!

Until. You. Learn.

Your place is in the home. 

Until. You. Are. Too Old. Too Fat. Too Uppity. Too Controversial.

Shush!

Act I, Scene Two: Not Before Kings

Heed the call of silence coming from beyond.

Fall quiet. 

Now perk up those ears.

Hear the faint cry in the distance.

Attune to it.

She always speaks softly so only those who are interested can hear.

Listen as Her call grows from a barely audible whisper

To a thundering boom

In the space made by your attentiveness.

“Pour your milk out for me darling! Fill my treasure bowl.”

Make your offerings not before kings, not before queens, but to the Goddess, free, unfettered, as She was, as She is, without the colonies of men.

Take up Her mantle and sing. 

Sing with Her the songs of love. Pour out the milk, let it cascade across Her glorious body.

Feel how the soft, wet, silken trails slither down your back.

One.

Feel the Wheel turn.

It is done.

Act II, Scene One: Spit

Feel the leather ropes lashed against your wrists.

Taste the sour bauble strapped in your mouth, a bitter wall set to stand in the way of your words.

Feel the fragility of your fruitless resistance.

Hear the jeers of the crowd.

Not what you wanted dear?

Be still.

Me thinks the lady really doth protest too much.

That’s right.

Let your tears flow.

Let your sadness go.  

Feel that ball,

Now soft between your teeth.

Bite it with vigor and vim.

Chew it up.

Spit.

What a silly scene. 

Let your laughter glow.

Watch!

In the face of your merriment, all those bindings

S.N.A.P.

Snap!

Act II, Scene Two: Not One

Iron fist stands erect.

Listen to the bellows of illegitimate authority.

Feel how they thunder in your belly.

Notice how you tremble inside.

Squat!

Press it out, press it through.

Not you.

Not one!

Feel the Wheel turn.

It is done.

Act III, Scene One: Walk Out

Feel the power of attraction; the undeniable, unwavering intensity that traps your sight.

Eyes riveted, attention captured, it all feels so real, so alive.

Until you try to penetrate, to participate.

You scream.

How can I make you see?

Me?

And your heart sinks.

Glance down for a moment;

Now side to side. 

Take off those flimsy, standard issue, plastic 3-D glasses.

Stand up.

Toss them in the bin.

Walk out.

Act III, Scene Two: Clear & Bright

Glowing embers burn.

Stoke the fire.

Let passion ignite.

Fix your eyes.

Dedicate your sight.

Clear and bright, brilliant light!

Feel the Wheel turn.

This one too is done.

Act IV, Scene One: Multiplicity of Dreams

Ravenous, ancient fire, burning up time…

Watch the flickering light consume every sacred minute.

Feel it suck the warm marrow from your shivering bones.  

It’s name?

Confusion.

It’s fuel?

Division.

Feel your rage.

Tap into your frustration.

Command your feet to walk.

Feel yourself wither anyway.

Hear that viscous voice pounding out its directive like truth:

Choose.

And yet you cannot.

You are caught in the multiplicity of dreams,

Too many possibilities, or so it seems.

Act IV, Scene Two: Knitting

Feelings appear like strands.

Silver needles overtake your hands.

Knit!

Strand by silken strand.

Not many dreams,

But one commands.

Time is in your hands.

Your dream is to be born.

Feel the Wheel turn.

Let the time-gobbling fire burn.

Out!

It is done.

You and your dream are

One.

Act V, Scene One: The Tin Cry

You lay prone,

Mimicking a corpse.

The coyotes are circling.

Licking their chops.

You are dinner my pretty one.

You are here to feed the scavengers.

THEY have taken everything else.

Left you for dead.

Refused to hear your cries.

All that is left of your once round, robust, silhouette

Is this flesh clinging desperately to brittle bones. 

Gone is the tin cry of the saxophones.

Dead is the dancer,

It’s channel,

Bearer of sound in the night.

There is no more moonlight.

Act V, Scene Two: Her Mark

She is calling you again.

“Stand up!

Plant your feet.

Take command.

Open!

Let this thing happen.”

Unexpectedly, She quotes Euripides:

“The bold are helpless without cleverness.”

The coyotes bay in unison.

One by one they scratch your chest.

You bleed.

Blood droplets hit the land.

“Coyote woman, you have a new brand.”

Her mark appears on your hand.

Wise One.

Kick the aluminum can.  

Feel the Wheel turn.

You have won.

Time is  undone.

Act V, Scene Three: The Tin Man

Your head hangs low.

Your tears burst out of your chest like a storm.

Your heart is broken.

It feels beyond mending.  

You expected a champion.

You expected a defense of everything you hold,

Especially your pussy, my dear.  

Instead, a blustering prig in a blue suit, red tie

Walked in with His damn fancy, shiny black shoes,

Showed up to rub your nasty face in it

ALL OVER AGAIN.

NO!

Up from your belly it grows.

The sound of your fury.

The chorus of your love,

Only the Tin Man knows.

Act V, Scene Four: Your Grace

Tock, Tick

Tock, Tick

Tock, Tick

Tock, Tick

Tock, Tick.

The hands of time flip back.

Your door opens.

Naked and in the fold,

You must be bold.

Leave Him.

Let Him feel the cold.

Look your fear of freedom in the face.

Marry it up to your grace.

You are gold.

Wise One.

Turn the Wheel.

Let it be done. 

Tick, Tock

Tick, Tock

Tick, Tock.

Start up the clock.

This is your time.

Let it be sublime.

Count to five,

Now Come Alive!

About The Author

Rebecka Eggers, Dream Midwife & Meditation Improv Artist, is the author of Coming Alive!: Spirituality, Activism, & Living Passionately in the Age of Global Domination. She lives in the mountainous highlands of Mexico, where she uses the tools of modern communication to make all kinds of trouble for every last stagnant, soul killing enemy of your potential. Rebecka helps you bring your dreams to life. She is trained as a Metaphysical Minister, a Co-Active Life Coach, a Reiki Master, and a tax lawyer (probably weren't expecting that last part, eh?).