On City Life: Arkhídamostheneia Jones-Wagner
There’s an energy to Her Womb, which is why that’s where I gotta be. Outside of the confines or convention, deepening a different kind of binding, an internal and interpersonal one, with those who share a mind when together and separate, those differences enriching the whole and opening up new possibilities and excitements. And even though nothing lasts forever and folks are bound to move on, there is beauty and grace in those eternal moments and strings of moments where together we make music, make art, make love, make literature, and dwell in shared spirit energy.
We all come from a tradition, and patterns are great. They make for cute homes and for a basis for experimentation, but ultimately they are about fear: fear of the unknown, of what’s different or not felt, or is felt but feels foreign or alien. And you gotta shed that and get with the bare naked new of fresh skin, of letting your scales be bright and beautiful and bold, even when gentle and soft and tame.
Society discards some of Us but She does not. So it’s here in Her Womb that we come together, literally and figuratively, those of us from births of privilege and advantage with those not so, or were so who have since been cast out of the Azzine garden, branded as unworthy or discontent. Those are our people. We are them, and they are Us.
We take the City as we find and know Her. That means the good comes with bad, but the bad comes with the good, too. We make the best of existing in the present, living moment, here each day in The Living City. We live, laugh, and love life even when She appears unkind. And we know She loves us, albeit in Her Way, which is mysterious and strange and beautiful. When we have money, we spend it; when we are broke, we don’t, and this leads us into deeper being and away from those who weigh to subjugate Her Grand Splendor, build a wall around Her, and charge admission. Fuck that. We ride the energy of Her Waves; we surf that shit, and we enjoy wiping out as much as going in the tube.
Time doesn’t mean much here. It doesn’t anywhere, but here in Her Womb we know that, we honor it, and that’s how we live. We’re careless about it, not meaning reckless, but meaning carefree. We dig it and we do what we dig when the mood strikes. We make love frequently and often with whoever is down. We go naked a lot. We feel the Goddess and we act like Her.
To the outside dwellers, we are said to be self-indulgent, hedonistic, amoral, thoughtless, lazy, vain, and unproductive. We’re not, but even if we were, we’ll take all that in exchange for the generosity, love, and charity that comes from being oneself and allowing others the same, affording each other loving kindness, compassion, sexual love, and support in the night-time. There are no roads in Her Womb, but all roads lead to here, and away from here. We must choose and find our True Self and walk That Path. Only then do we dwell here, in Her Womb, in splendor and majesty and the contentment of rising and falling breaths.
