LEARNT TO UNLEARN
We learnt to crawl, when we wanted so much to move but our Bodies knew not how to artfully fall, walk. Like animals, we moved on our fours…
…or bums… but we got around because we wanted to.
Thus, I learnt like the woman my mother was and the woman her mother was and the woman her sister was and the women her daughters were …crawling we learnt and perfected.
On our knees, we knew scraps and hurts. On our hands, we learnt bruises and wounds. On our bums, we realized wounds and deep hurts. We grew on these our fours.
Core wounds inflicted, on the very limbs we needed to move. Core scars reflected, the journeys we had taken. Core traumas implied, on the paths yet to walk.
On our fours, we learnt to crawl and perfected it.
“Now, listen dear, of how men are gotten by crawling on fours and on bums. Crawling on the scrapes and hurts, bruises and wounds, traumas and deep hurts.”
“And when you dear, have perfected crawling with core wounds, scars and traumas, when that man has been attracted by your crawl, then shall you walk!”
So, I perfected the crawl, even as other women learnt to walk on their feet and were crashed! Many saw and tried, tried the artful falling. Some failed, more perfected. Some were crashed, more kept trying…
“Just perfect the crawl and wait for the man, then shall you walk. Woman! “On repeat it played: by my mother and her mother and her sister and her daughters …on repeat.
‘Why must I crawl still? Do we not learn to crawl that we move as we desired? When we have learnt to crawl, do we then not artfully fall and call it walking? ‘
When I asked, the repeat song sang louder as the crowds of crawling women grew and crawled some more, perfecting the animal move on fours …hoping for the man.
‘How do I artfully fall with the man, when I never try?’
“Just perfect the crawl child …” Echoes that haunted sleep and chased doves, echoes that would not stop neither die …
” Just crawl child …”
‘If we perfect the crawl that a man picks us, if we artfully fall when the man picks us, then why do you Mother, crawl still? And your mother, Mother, why does she crawl still? And your sister, Mother, why does she crawl still? And who will teach your sister’s Daughters to artfully fall?’
And there was silence, the unasked question had finally been asked, as time stood still for just this moment that the heavens open to answer.
As in one accord, the crawling women rose. In a mastered accord, the crawling women howled at the women now risen. A new day had been born; an old night had to die.
