I walked, a 5’10 strong, long legged, walking-booted woman, alone on a Californian coast path, 4 miles from a road, no phone. At one step, I heard a loud, horrifying rattle, and saw about a meter in front of me a large rattle snake coiled on the path, its head raised a couple of feet hissing a fierce, terrified rattle. I shrieked! Screamed! Already on a strong forward momentum, I ran semi-circle past the snake and onwards, heart racing, away.
“You were both in mortal danger at that point," said Nunutsi Tenipe, a part Native-American, part Scottish guide.
“Four miles from a road with no phone, a rattle-snake bite would have killed you. Your footfall would have killed the snake. The snake’s rattle saved you both.”
* * *
When I fall in love, and begin to partner, I notice a Little Wife archetype rising up like a ghost ship, like the Mary Rose from the deep, and starting to gain access to my thoughts, feelings and actions.
* * *
I pay attention to my first thoughts of the day. They are usually clear distillations of the night’s processing and dreams.
I wake one morning in my lover’s arms. My first thought: “I am pair bonding with this man. It would break my heart now for this to end.”
I go pee and come back to bed. He wakes and starts dreaming into life with me. The previous day, I had expressed to him that one of my consistent longings if to have more time to practice the piano. This morning, he starts asking me what I earn, what I charge. We talk a while. Then, he offers me $500 a week if I cancel half of my students and devote time to practicing music alone and with him.
I say, what about power. I would have to please you; I would be at risk of poverty if I raise conflict; disagree with you.
He pulls out his phone; checks with me for consent, opens up PayPal, and deposits $14,000 into my Paypal account.
Nothing like this has ever happened to me.
In the next two days, I become small, scared and sad. Giving my heart voice, it says, “joy is gone. Life is gone. I am grey, I am dry, I am empty, I am dying now.”
After two days, I crack, and cry.
* * *
I am eating a snack with an older Scottish woman. She once received financial assistance, she said, from an organisation originally called The Distressed Gentlewoman's Aid Association; now called Turn 2 Us. It was initially established in the 1800s to help middle class women whose husbands took a mistress into the home; if the wife complained, she was expelled from the home, instantly destitute. For women in that position, their main option was usually prostitution. In order to prevent this, the fund provided financial assistance to these women as they handled their transition.
She tells me this and a kind of trauma, a pain, a rush of energy pulses through my body; I weep a little into my snack.
It’s like, the minute the man has economic power in the relationship, and the woman becomes economically dependent upon him, instantly it is like she cannot disagree, cannot displease, must follow the man. She becomes, it feels/seems, voiceless.
Her truth; her path; her gifts; her flourishing; is quietened. She achieves a fulfilled life by assisting, following, and supporting him.
It gets a bit more horrific, I notice one night as we’re going to bed. She must always cook his food, must provide sex on demand - does she have access to “no”? Can she say what she likes? Can she co-lead their erotic life? Can she co-lead any aspect of their life? She must tidy up after him; mend his shirts, sew his buttons. She is in a kind of bondage, I realise. A kind of slavery.
Fuck!! I exhale hard lying down in bed, taking on the full oppression of the almost entirety of many, many women’s lives, in history. And… Some presently? I’m sorry if my question mark is ignorant. I honestly do not know.
* * *
The 100% message that school and family surrounded me with as a young English girl in the 1980s and 1990s was, ‘girls are as good as boys. You are equal. You can do anything you want with your life. You will and must have a career. He will and must share the cooking, cleaning and childcare.”
Meanwhile I saw my father gain the upper hand in any decisions that involved money, because ultimately it was his, he earned it. I saw my mother, with no pension of her own, rail in powerless frustration at her economic dependence. Young, I watched it, and took note.
Always have your own income. Always have your own pension. Always have your own economic power.
* * *
I like my lover’s kitchen. It’s really really nice. It’s open, and pretty, and spacious, with lots of clear surfaces and useful stuff. There are big windows that look out over lovely hills; birds fly in the wide open sky. We are up a hill, with a bird's view. The open floor room opens out to a grand piano, and space, calm, and more views. It’s a really lovely kitchen.
I tell him this one day. He says, “well hey, you know, if this works out between us, well, if you wanted, you could make this your kitchen. I kind of…. feel lonely in this kitchen, I feel dysfunctional here. If you wanted, you could really make it yours, and I would provide whatever equipment, keep it stocked with the finest local organic delicious food, and you could do your thing.”
A British person might expect me to slap him.
But, it went to a deep place within me. I slowly put my arms around him, sighed, and talked quietly into his ear in Clingon. It’s my nonsense language I learned from my 1 year old niece; with which I can express things from deep in my heart, a place the English language doesn’t seem to go to in me. He’s learnt to get to used to this :)
Then i translate it into English.
“Your words touch a place deep in my feminine soul. I love food. I love to cook. I love to share food. I love to nourish people. I hate giving rides, I love giving food. I naturally track a cupboard’s stock, notice what is vibrant in the market, imagine and create with flavour and nourishment. It’s one of the ways I love to care and nurture. I never think about money. I always think about food.
“If feels amazing to be offered support, provision. I start to feel the capacity for a deep collaboration with you. It’s like, my gifts and my dreams need your resources. And, your resources need my dreams.”
* * *
My friend R has fallen in love with J. Both meditators, they both notice some of their more subtle thoughts. She thinks, “I am the wee wife now, and I must help this amazing man bring his amazing work into the world.” He thinks, “our love is a poker game and we must bring everything to the table. She has to bring her business to the table. I have to own her business, otherwise I won’t be able to control her. She has to bring her home; I have to own her home, otherwise I won’t be able to own her. I have to own her, otherwise I will be threatened.”
Threatened with what? Abandonment; humiliation, infidelity... power sharing?
* * *
Can men and women, in love, underneath it all, quietly be a rattle snake and a walker, both screaming in mortal danger? How do we cultivate the genuine, mutual sense of safety necessary for power sharing, trust and non oppression? Also known, I imagine, as love!?!?
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