Cyclic Awareness
Why do we ‘hold on for dear life’ when nature is showing us that changefulness is the language of naturality?
If the only constant is change, what are we holding onto so tightly? If the truth of existence is impermanence, why do we build our cities to ‘stand the test of time’? Everyday we are immersed in natural cycles: the movement of the sun, the phases of the moon, the cycles of the seasons. So why then do we ‘hold on for dear life’ when nature is showing us that changefulness is the language of naturality?
Modernity features the worship of youthfulness, sexual desirability in women, lustfulness for the virgin, veneration of the prepubescent white girl's body, and the like. High school age is the peak of one’s life and women are put on this earth to serve men and procreate the tribe. Queer, femme author Sonya Renee Taylor calls it the ‘Body Terrorism Complex’ that combines these patriarchal narratives, with a hierarchy of worthiness of bodies in the capitalist economy and the incessant media message of who is beautiful and who is not.
A couple years ago there was a little push to include more (sexy) crones in the pages of fashion. While it was a celebrated step it was not vertical in its progression, just simple lateral movement slightly away from the center space. The person we don’t see, who has been pushed to the edge of the village lest she be viewed, is the dry, wrinkled, crone. Or perhaps did she voluntarily move to the edge of the village, so she won’t be bothered with the overworking, self-importance giving younger generations of today?
Dhumavati, a wildly misunderstood Goddess amongst the Dasha Mahavidyas (Ten Wisdom Mothers) is presented in this fashion. WIthout adornments, wrinkled skin, fangs, dry hair, and sagging breasts. She is wrapped in a simple white cloth, riding in a chariot made of bones pulled by two crows. She is carrying a winnowing basket to sift grain. They caw and cackle together, heralding the inevitable.
DHUMAVATI
She rides the chariot of dead bones and sinews,
Pulled by ravens, the wheels of life,
The ancient widow awaiting End
Spreading the seeds of death
From her seed-tray of inevitability,
She holds in both her hands;
Calls for destruction to all identities.
The mother of the wiccans
Adorned in nothingness,
Hungry of death she eats up Shiva B
The Lady of smoky mysticism,
Dhumavati the illusionist!
—Kulavadhuta Saturpanada
While you may shine through the youthfulness of today, it is through the passage of time that you will (if you are lucky to live a long life) dry and wither. Your back will bend and your voice will crack. Your bones will protrude and the vitality of your youthfulness will wane. You WILL approach your end of life where you will spend your days winnowing your life’s experiences. Making sense of the relationships, the wins and losses, the successes and failures.
For the narrative of sexy youthfulness, this is the realm of wildest fears. If you, like most, drank the kool aid that your whole purpose for being is tied up in your juvenile vitality, then you are certainly putting your hard earned money towards supplements, procedures and other offerings of the multi-trillion dollar global wellness industry towards your immortality. Ma is here to remind you, there is no escaping the inevitable. If you are living, death will come for you one day. Are you prepared?
Are you processing and reconciling along the way? Are you making time to sit in space? Are you traversing the vastness of the liminal so your human form has an opportunity to heal? Or are you subscribed to ignorance? Refusing to pause and cultivate the view of insight into the truth of existence in order to liberate yourself from its bonds.
Under the patriarchy, Ma Dhumavati was made a grandmother witch, a sorcerer, a conjurer of curses and representative of bad omens. I have found her to be one of the most loving mothers there is. She is not everybody’s cup of tea, but none of the fierce archetypes of the Dasha Mahavidya are. They are real and raw. They represent the literal blood, sweat and tears that flow in every stage of being in this human life.
East Asian systems name seven cyclic stages one passes through in the lifetime and South Asian systems name ten so we can estimate that we pass through seven to ten completely different stages of embodiment during one’s lifetime. Like a snake shedding its skin or the unfathomable alchemical process of the larva in its chrysalis becoming molecular goo before transforming into the celebrated butterfly (what?!?!?), we too radically transform throughout the lifeline.
By losing touch with this shapeshifting alchemical undertaking, we further allow ourselves to be exploited by the ‘Beauty Terrorism Complex’ to be fodder for someone’s lusty agenda. We disassociate from our inborn power (shakti) and sink deeper into the folds of ignorance. Rematriation - returning this body to the land from which it is from ,is a strong start to pulling the veil off our eyes and seeing ourselves as the multi-dimensional changeful beings that we are.
In the meantime, honor your elders! Build your ancestral altars! Rest your body! Hang out the liminal! Let these truths come to you through your own experiences. Lift the veils!
Jai Ma!
Resources:
A little talk on the iconography and yantra of Ma Dhumavati:
Join me in 2025 in Morocco for Sacred Feminine: Rematriation retreat. I’m here now, holding space for this possibility and the vibes are beautiful and potent, restful and nourishing. LINK to the deets
Upcoming Sex, Death and Alchemy Course is centered in the teaching of Ma Bhairavi and Ma Chinnamasta. The fires of transformation await! Begins May 5th, online & recorded + community space. ALL ARE WELCOME
A movement practice to settle your humors towards restfulness:
A Yoga Nidra practice to support your exploration of the liminal:
Thankyou so much for sharing all these insights recently. Very timely and deeply helpful. Jai Ma!
Ma Dhumavati really speaks to me. I am definitely feeling these changes and leaning in to a new phase. This whole series has been so helpful and informative, and this rang deep bells. Thank you! x