Whores

I had a thought today. I started the blog under a pen name so it would be anonymous, protect my privacy - mostly from my ex-husband - and his and his father's anonymity. But since my ex is reading the blog, and it no longer seems to be anonymous by any means, I am thinking that I should just use my real name.

I have nothing to be ashamed of. Why not?

I received another 100 text messages from my ex-husband today. Most of them consisting of calling me a "tramp" and a "whore", or something along those lines.

I decided to look back at one of my favorite, empowering books: Cunt.

I spent most of my life living as a "good girl." I did all the things I was supposed to do. This did not protect me from being called a cunt, bitch, whore, tramp or whatever else when I was not doing whatever a certain man in my life thought I should be doing.

I am really intrigued by the idea of language and how we use our words to control people. This book was one of the more enlightening books I have ever read.

Cunt: a declaration of independence by Inga muscio


"Whoredom is a massive part of our history and power as women. When fully instructed in the art of sacred sexual power, Whores are the people who can teach us all the stuff we grow up not learning about sexuality, our bodies and our innate sexual power. Our cultural ignorance and intolerance of Whores keeps Whores from realizing the full potential of Whoredom. It likewise robs women and men of Teachers who can help us understand women's sexual power." (78)

"Whores were a central part of religion, spirituality and everyday life in times when the Goddess- a truly sexual being- was overtly worshiped. It took a lot of work, study, devotion and commitment to become one of the Goddess's sexual priestesses. People were free to visit the temple of Whores, and did so to learn, to love, to open up physically, to heal." (78)

"Mary Magdalene was a Whore and Jesus dug her because she taught him the most sacred thing a man can ever hope to learn in his lifetime: how to fuck. Stud that he was, Jesus knew how to humble himself to this woman. In Jesus' time, Whores were still prophets of sexual power. They taught people how the physical body is a conduit of energy. If Jesus was able to manifest the love in his heart in all the physical actions the bible alleges, Mary Magdalene was certainly one of the people in his life responsible for helping him figure out how to do it." (81-82)

"The measure of respect Whores receive is in direct proportion to the measure of respect all women receive. Until there is an established, respected place for Whores in this society, no woman will have an established, respected foundation of power.

Until there is a shift in consciousness about the potential of Whores, we will continue to live in a society which offers no formally acknowledge Teachers to awaken us to our power as sexual beings." (92)

Again,

"The measure of respect Whores receive is in direct proportion to the measure of respect all women receive. Until there is an established, respected place for Whores in this society, no woman will have an established, respected foundation of power.

Name Change

I have decided to change the name of my blog. I am nearing the finalization of my divorce and have felt for some time that the blog name did not reflect where I was going with my life. I want to focus more on my own recovery and keeping my kids well.

Call Me by My True Names

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.


-Thich Nhat Hanh