On Feminist Realism (part one)

Windy winter leaves that look like summer butterflies.

Had I known pregnancy and childbirth then,
 I may have chosen the petit brunet over the large blond. 

 

I wake up with a sense of depression this holiday season. For personal reasons. Also, planetary reasons. Climate change concerns. Afflictions of a meteoro-, astro-, and sociological nature. Christmas music evokes mini-cheer and boredom. Social connections distract from despair. To look within is to realize that growth tastes like acid. Muscle mass fatigue.

Feeling biologically low often begs the question, am I approaching the bleeding phase of the feminine cycle? Thankfully, I’ve learnt to deal with it better over time. After 30 years of bleeding. I still don’t look forward to it, especially if I’m in the mood for things other than bleeding my days away.

Sociological: political (communal habitat), economic (nature nurture)

Astrological: individual perception embedded within a cyclical universe

Meteorological: all things physical and planetary, like the weather (wind (movement), water (unity), fire (temperature), earth (physical gravity)), et cetera…

As muscle fatigue and growth pain pulses through my body, I wonder how did our human ancestor bodies deal with this transmutational phenomenon (biology)? Muscle soreness. “Muskelkater”, as it is called in German. A “muscle hang-over”. Done too much moving, too much physical partying – and parting from previous patterns for the development of “new” ones.

Did time used to be slow? Everyone is always learning something. The question is, what?

When I had my first real lover, I was nineteen, I loved to lose myself between his legs and gaze at his ball sack. With subtle movements, his testicles, like two peculiar planets, danced gently before my eyes. Hypnotizing me with their mystery. Could men be gods after all? Gods who carry planets with millions of inhabitants. No wonder patriarchy got out of hand with its masculine conceit. What incredible power men do have! However, men’s procreative prowess is laced in vulnerability. Not unlike women, men also require gentle nurture, protection and care.

* * * * *

Been having a hard time putting philosophy on paper, or on the screen. Writing requires concentration. Sometimes, philosophy itself becomes a distraction. Important conversations arise with the lad about research projects. Like discussing why Karl Marx is Hegelian. I have the philosophy club to thank for that question. The lad is working on a presentation about the Communist Manifesto.

Not a Marxist. Autumn 2023

Inspired by my yoga journey, I wrote a manifesto of my own a couple of years ago. Before I became proletarian when I joined the paid work force. My bougie wife life, characterized in part by regular free philosophizing, came to a halt. I had mastered the art of crafting time to think amidst the busyness of my unpaid labor as a homemaking mother. Things changed. Now I’m prole. Bougie turned prole. Marx would be proud.

Suddenly, I feel compelled to go back to a God-experience I had months ago. That blog post I left unfinished and unpublished. I never continued reading Nietzsche, naturally, as I was distracted by other matters.

Like teaming up with the long-limbed lassie in martial arts class to work on a Wing Chun / Jeet Kune Do boxing combo. She obliterated me with her laughter. Making fun … quite frankly, humiliating me, her mother - with love. How could I possibly feel hurt or offended by this holy honest child of mine? Whom I love more than words could ever say! I felt pain but also jolly detachment. Have I never laughed at someone? Have I never misunderstood someone’s struggle to move? Or understood it all too well?

On the way home, she realized that my arms maybe appeared smaller (particularly awkward doing hooks) because of my large breasts? Of course! I told her that the tits are not only in the way of the arms but also affect the twist to load the punch. The additional tit-weight adds force. Breast force. Sometimes, I perceive my tits as a fucking handicap. On a good day, I try to get creative and curious about their potential in moving and training. That day though, I’d just gotten my period. Which makes me antisocial. I need peace and space because I can get easily overstimulated and even overwhelmed. Plus, the breasts are swollen and hurt sporadically. My whole body feels puffy, bloated, heavy, clumsy and soft. Overcome by biolethargy. And the bloody abdominal, lumbar, uterine, vaginal and vulva cramps suck.

Thanks to weekly physical practice with yogic consciousness, my body has evolved since that training incident two and a half months ago. My breasts hang differently now. The shoulder-hip-back-front complex appears to be more integrated at large, the muscles more developed. I found myself ignoring the tits a-jiggling during the most recent sparring session in martial arts class. Of course, the evolution didn’t happen in the last couple of months but in the last several years. To put it in Hegelian terms:

Breast Force -
on the nexus of flesh and gravity

Thesis: Tits pull the torso down.
Antithesis: Muscle strength will fight gravity.
Synthesis: *to be explored* (yoga, ballet, wing chun?) 

I feel compelled to go back to the God-moment that passed. And then turned into another. Now, here we are. So, before we continue with Feminist Realism scientific musings (based in facts, experience), a quick dive into the recent past…

*To be continued*