Not all men, but all women

Violence against women has revealed itself and reflects in everything that we do. 

First is the act of violence, second is the coverup, third is the revelation, fourth comes the justification, fifth is the deflection, sixth is the sheer number and age variance of victims, seventh is the scale, eighth is the absolute submission of women to the knowledge that we are not safe and we cannot do anything about it.

Not all men were built to violate. But all men were built to protect. 

Pause to think - who protects? What needs protection? 

To nature all that matters is the birth and rebirth, and regeneration and evolution. Who carries that responsibility in the womb? Of course the one who has been given the gender of a woman at birth. The woman. The first gender. The queen bee. Women were supposed to be the heart of the lair.

Men were supposed to protect, not because she is weak, but because she carries the offspring, she carries life itself. She needs rest. She damn well knows her job and does not need command. She needs to rest while knowing that someone guards her gates. She is the mother. She is the nurturer.

Men were supposed to guard the gates, so that life can be birthed, species can be carried along. They were built to be the soldier who safeguard - the role of the protector, it is real. In all species.

But not in the way, human social atrophy has presented itself.

The protector has turned the tables because of raw power, and dismantled women from within. The one who was supposed to hold the power was systematically broken from within until she forgot that she ever had it. 

The commander therefore became the king. And shoved a harem full of women into dark corners. Either submit or be witch-hunted. Be packed in clothes like parcels, like goods in transition. Like commodity.

Look at the world systems today - society, politics, religion, corporations - do you see nurture anywhere? Imagine if women were at the helm. They would have built systems that would care - unfortunately we cannot even imagine what that system would look like under the chaos in the world.

Patriarchal corporations are stuffing women into sweatshops and have not been able to create safety, despite measures. They have silenced people who question.

Households have told women - work is hierarchy, money talks. Earn money like a man, or be thrown in a corner.

Human beings - the most sophisticated species of the planet - have betrayed their own. The monkey kings have built money empires that will justify sweatshops. 

National leaders who wage wars have men at their helms. And then they use their harem of slitherine women to justify their acts. The sisterhood has been corrupted.

And religion? What religion? Where man gods are at the head. Where Adam was the innocent guy whom Eve corrupted with the poisoned apple? Works well to stuff the apple forever in her throat and let her rest in guilt! And where the most diverse religion on this planet, hesitates to place Sita beside Ram. Where Buddha's enlightenment is built on Yashodhara's sacrifice

The women dead, the children dead. Often tortured, ra*ed at will, but always shoved back into dark corners. Violated, humiliated, commanded, trafficked, silenced. 

Life began within women. Men built an entire system to make her forget it, calling it civilization.

Women will have to take up the sword. Not because it is their war, but because it was brought to their door, and the gatekeepers became the invaders.

Not all men, but all women were supposed to lead his command. 

Frozen!

The mental and emotional angst of lying low under the vigil of a hawk who is waiting to devour you. The feeling is paralysing, the morale death is slow - you know you are alive, you know you can fight back, even shoot them down. But you are held down by an unknown fear - a fear that evokes a certain sense of survival, and the limbs don't respond. 

You pick up a dead blade of grass and throw it at the hawk to shoo it away - but it thinks that it is a friendly wave and continues to soar high. 

Everyone praises the hawk, and the hawk tells you that you can also fly, and it can give you the wind beneath your wings. 

You lie there in shock, wanting to get up and fly away, but you are frozen. There are no shackles, no bars, just the weight of your own mind. You have an arsenal of arrows to shoot the hawk down - but you don't, somehow. And you hate yourself for your own debilitation. And you lie like a piece of wood - listless.

You shut your eyes. But the hawk's eyes keep haunting you. You lose track of time lying there.

Such is the emotional effect of moral abuse of a predator! 

Then along comes a friend, places a warm hand on your forehead gives you a sip of water and asks - can you move your thumb? Just the thumb? "Yes!" - you barely speak through a dusty vision. "Okay, move your thumb" - he says. And you do. 

"Now can you move your wrist?" "Yes" - you speak for the first time. 

-"Both?" 

-"Yes!" 

-"Okay, let's see you do that."

You move your wrists. 

He says "Place your palm on the ground, and hold my hand and get up." You do.

"See? It isn't so difficult" - the friend says, holding your hand. 

With one giant heave, you get up and stand. 

You know the hawk is watching. You clasp onto the grip of the rapier slung around your waist, and look up. 

The hawk takes his gaze away, and says that it's a shame since we could have soared higher together. 

You cling onto the friend's hand for dear life. You keep wondering why you cannot kill the hawk, and why it held you captive.

You want to scream. But you don't. 

You start to walk towards home.

The hawk still soars, never really losing sight of you. And even when you don't look up, you feel those eyes on you - still waiting to devour you.

Exhaustion sets in. But you trudge along towards home.

[If you know someone who is under the spell of a hawk, don't ask them why, don't shame them if they are not able to get up, hold their hand. Tell them to move one muscle at a time and make them walk home.]