The seed versus the flower.
I am compelled by the resilience of a seed.
Throw them anywhere that approximates good conditions and you can have yourself an oak tree growing in a sidewalk crack.
On the other hand, some seeds can be stored for years and years—if the conditions are right.
For example, did you know that in 2008, scientists in were able to grow a date palm from a 2,000-year-old seed in the Judean desert?
Another team of scientists, last February, grew a wildflower from a 30,000-year-old seed.
I have always been a researcher of conditions that cause a woman to grow. To encourage her to burst into bloom, wildly, madly, extravagantly.
When I look around the world, I see a culture of women who have been encouraged and educated in maintaining the practice of being a seed, not a flower.
I see a culture that is even less hospitable to the growing conditions called woman, than it is to a sidewalk crack.
It is almost as if the world is skewed to keep a woman small, compacted, and separated from her power.
Seeds do not make a fuss.
They sit quietly in cold storage, waiting for someone to plant them.
Filled with life, filled with potential.
With nowhere to sink their roots and burst into bloom.
Sometimes they can sit for so long, they rot instead of bloom.
The depth, the breadth, the color of their bloom, the inspiration they generate, will never be known or experienced.
This pisses me off and terrifies me all at the same time.
This is why I created The School of Womanly Arts. I wanted women to have a fertile soil where they could sink their roots and grow wild. To actually learn and experience how big and gorgeous and lush they could get.
Growing conditions here at the SWA have been wonderful.
And everything I have learned about what a woman requires to hit her maximum potential has been carefully and painstakingly collected and placed inside the most extraordinary growing conditions for Woman that have ever existed: The Creation Course.
And the piece that we have recently put in place, and shared on the blog these past few weeks, has been our trip Paris.
Because the ingredient of Paris, as the final finishing touch in the education of a woman, is a trace element, an ingredient, that does not occur anywhere else in the world. Paris is like placing a single rose in a Baccarat vase, a jewel on a black velvet cushion. It brings a part of the feminine alive, it awakens her to her senses, it fuels her imagination, and invites her to enjoy the gift that she is, just by being a woman.
Paris is ten curtain calls. It is a closet full of gorgeous dresses. It is time to enjoy. It is a place where beauty, in every form, is celebrated.
In this fertile soil of Paris, we tore into our own magnificence with abandon.
We were not just sightseeing.
No how no way.
We were putting ourselves through a series of deliberate practices that were designed to recalibrate, restructure and redefine ourselves as women.
We did not just visit the Musee D’Orsay; we inhabited the light, the art, the architecture.
We did not just cross the footbridge to the Tuileries; we stated our desires on the bridge of locks.
You would not find us wandering idly in the Jardin des Tuileries; we walked feeling the curve of our hips, the grace of our steps, enjoying the privilege of being women, walking the butterscotch stones of the garden, as extraordinary Courtesans have done for hundreds and hundreds of years.
We windowshopped for extravagances, allowing ourselves to be guided by the pleasure of what caught our eye.
We took in the Opera Garnier as if we were a Parisian Courtesan from the Court of the King.
The very last day of our trip, one of my Creationistas was in tears.
What had gone wrong, I asked?
Nothing, she replied, eyes shining.
It is just that, here, in Paris, I am appreciated.
I am seen.
The men notice me.
The children flirt with me.
I love being alive to my feminine in this way.
I reminded her that once awakened, beauty never need go back to sleep again.
And now, instead of requiring awakening, she will be able to come home and awaken others.
Thank you to every woman who joined me in Paris—the women of Creation, the international Sister Goddesses who met us, to the Parisian women who embraced us, and to those of you who joined us virtually and bore witness to our journey. No more sleeping beauties. Not in this fairy tale.
So, tell me, where have you been not wanting to make a fuss? What part of you is longing, aching and yearning to grow, blossom and unfurl? Come talk to me in the comments below.
And if you know a woman who is looking for lush fertile soil to bloom in, please share this post with her today.
With so much love and pleasure,
P.S. If you are a Mastery Grad desiring Creation Course, click here to get all the juicy details when we unveil them soon.
P.P.S. If you missed our Paris photo album last week, we’ve just added even more pictures…