Marianne Willamson..on the Subject of a Woman’s Worth-Part II
Womanhood is a mass pain of unspoken depth; and when we try to speak it, we’re liable to be told, “There you go–complaining again!”
As long as this is true, not half but all of humanity is obstructed in its journey to our cosmic destination. This destination is far, far away, a place so deep inside us that we have barely glimpsed its outer walls.
This is a book about a woman’s inner life. Here, we are our real selves, while in the outer world we are impostors. We’re not sure why we’re posing except we have no clue how not to. We have forgotten the part we came here to play. We have lost the key to our own house. We’re hanging out outside the door. The stress of being away so long from home is hurting us, even killing us. We must not stay away; we must find the key. For until we do, we will continue to shrivel–our faces, our breasts, our ovaries, our stories. We are drooping down and falling apart. If we knew how to moan, they would hear us on the moon.
But the dirt around us is moving, making room for tiny sprouts. Like every woman, I know what I know. Something is starting to happen. New things lie in store for the earth, and one of them is us. Womanhood is being recast, and we’re pregnant, en masse, giving birth to our own redemption.
Watch. Wait Time will unfold and fulfill its purpose. While we wait, we must not go unconscious. We must think and grow. Rejoice and dream, but kneel and pray. There is holiness in the air today; we are giving birth to goddesses. They are who we are, for they are us: friends, therapists, artists, businesswomen, teachers, healers, mothers. Start laughing, girls. We have a new calling.
You can tell who we are: We use whatever our business is as a front for talking about things that really matter. We’re only stuck in this work, you see, because our real work was taken away from us several thousand years ago. We looked on the map, but our town was gone. We looked through the catalog but couldn’t find the course we wanted. It’s as if someone removed our chair but couldn’t take away our longing to sit.
