Somewhere along the line, we females gave up our natural, wild instinct to explore and hunt; to lead and learn; to laughing out loud and to prowling in moonlight.
We were calmed and combed and cobbled into obedient and predictable house pets; living each moment in the service of our masters and their children. Like all charades and circus acts, there comes a time when the lioness turns and she is no longer willing to perform, no matter the cost to herself. One day she remembers that she has teeth and claws and can move like lightening in the dark to free herself.
Mostly though, we women have forgotten who we really are. Like housecats, we have grown soft and fat from the lack of exercising our powerfully creative muscles. Mostly now, we purr and rub against a leg in return for food and shelter. Mostly now, we sit on window sills, watching the world outside; wild and exciting. Flesh and blood automatons, good and docile pets, we mostly, now, surrender weary hearts and fall into mental slumber as we perform expected rituals of obedience. Mostly now, we sleep in chairs and dream of rolling in tall grass and heeding the inner call to search out our own wild meal.
Women are not, by nature, domesticated creatures. Our wild nature must be systematically removed from us somewhere around the age of ten. Hovering on that precipice between the fierce androgyny of the tomboy and the blossomed, bosomed bleeder just months ahead, we lose our powerful, natural selves as we begin to listen when told to act like ladies.
The need to please replaces the need to ride as fast as we can down a steep hill to win the race. The need to see our clear skinned pleasant face reflected in a mirror wins the day over muddy war paint and hula skirts fashioned from late summer weeping willow fronds. Swaying to absent music with a head filled with images of that boy erases the screaming joy of climbing to the highest branch and holding fast while the wind bends us over the two story drop to the ground.
We have become domesticated like cats with collars and full bowls. We purr and primp and let you pet us. Sometimes, when we have had quite enough of rough hands and hard words, we let you know with our teeth, that we are not, by nature, domesticated animals. Given the choice, we would be exploring and hunting, leading and learning, laughing out loud and prowling under the full moon.
And maybe, if you are deserving, we will come back and let you be with our wild wonder for a while.
Some choose the garden path and willingly wear leashes; taking only chaperoned Saturday night walks, never to know the feel of their powerful muscles in a flat out run. Because we are not, by nature, domesticated creatures, some women keep their wild a vital part of who they are. They grow into fierce and loving beings; claws and roar intact. All are drawn to them, but move with respect, knowing that it is the choice of the lioness where you fit in her pride.
And if you are deserving, you can say you run with wild creatures who let you keep your wild as well.