When I speak of silencing women, I am not referring to speech. No, in fact, the sound of their words is simply the expression of their voices, not their voice itself. What I’m speaking of is the silencing of their souls, their spirit, their divine expression. I’m referring to the things they came here to say and do and think. I am referencing the destruction of the potential of all things. This mighty, divine potential that arrived wrapped up in the shape of an infant.
When we silence that, what is the cost?
I truly believe the figure is so unfathomable that if we sat down to calculate all that never was, we would weep together as a planet in a way we never have before. The grieving would spread from shoreline to shoreline as every man, woman, and child mourned the lost contributions of women from every race and every continent, wondering what this world might’ve been?
And if it was all laid bare, many would ask, why? Why didn’t these women stand up and fight? Why did they allow it? Some do, but for many of us, the problem starts at the beginning. The horrific silencing of our women starts when we are far too young to understand what’s happening.
If you take a baby bird and remove its flight feathers, burn the endings so they can’t grow back, the bird will still look like a bird. It will sing and warble and cry out, but it will never fly. The tragedy is that it will never know the measure of its creation and will likely be unaware of its calling. It won’t go looking for flight because it won’t know what it’s missing. And in those rare instances where instinct takes over and it spread its wings, leaping to the air for reasons it doesn’t understand, only to come crashing down, the lesson will be reinforced.
You are a flightless bird. The skies were never meant for you. To look upward is dangerous. To look down is safety. Live well, little bird, and we will feed you and clothe you and listen to your pretty song—not of captivity, but of the music we say is well deserving of praise. The notes of which are surely a greater gift from God than soaring through the clouds above.
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When I speak of silencing women, I am not referring to speech. No, in fact, the sound of their words is simply the expression of their voices, not their voice itself. What I’m speaking of is the silencing of their souls, their spirit, their divine expression. I’m referring to the things they came here to say and do and think. I am referencing the destruction of the potential of all things. This mighty, divine potential that arrived wrapped up in the shape of an infant.
When we silence that, what is the cost?
I truly believe the figure is so unfathomable that if we sat down to calculate all that never was, we would weep together as a planet in a way we never have before. The grieving would spread from shoreline to shoreline as every man, woman, and child mourned the lost contributions of women from every race and every continent, wondering what this world might’ve been?
And if it was all laid bare, many would ask, why? Why didn’t these women stand up and fight? Why did they allow it? Some do, but for many of us, the problem starts at the beginning. The horrific silencing of our women starts when we are far too young to understand what’s happening.
If you take a baby bird and remove its flight feathers, burn the endings so they can’t grow back, the bird will still look like a bird. It will sing and warble and cry out, but it will never fly. The tragedy is that it will never know the measure of its creation and will likely be unaware of its calling. It won’t go looking for flight because it won’t know what it’s missing. And in those rare instances where instinct takes over and it spread its wings, leaping to the air for reasons it doesn’t understand, only to come crashing down, the lesson will be reinforced.
You are a flightless bird. The skies were never meant for you. To look upward is dangerous. To look down is safety. Live well, little bird, and we will feed you and clothe you and listen to your pretty song—not of captivity, but of the music we say is well deserving of praise. The notes of which are surely a greater gift from God than soaring through the clouds above.
When I speak of silencing women, I am not referring to speech. No, in fact, the sound of their words is simply the expression of their voices, not their voice itself. What I’m speaking of is the silencing of their souls, their spirit, their divine expression. I’m referring to the things they came here to say and do and think. I am referencing the destruction of the potential of all things. This mighty, divine potential that arrived wrapped up in the shape of an infant.
When we silence that, what is the cost?
I truly believe the figure is so unfathomable that if we sat down to calculate all that never was, we would weep together as a planet in a way we never have before. The grieving would spread from shoreline to shoreline as every man, woman, and child mourned the lost contributions of women from every race and every continent, wondering what this world might’ve been?
And if it was all laid bare, many would ask, why? Why didn’t these women stand up and fight? Why did they allow it? Some do, but for many of us, the problem starts at the beginning. The horrific silencing of our women starts when we are far too young to understand what’s happening.
If you take a baby bird and remove its flight feathers, burn the endings so they can’t grow back, the bird will still look like a bird. It will sing and warble and cry out, but it will never fly. The tragedy is that it will never know the measure of its creation and will likely be unaware of its calling. It won’t go looking for flight because it won’t know what it’s missing. And in those rare instances where instinct takes over and it spread its wings, leaping to the air for reasons it doesn’t understand, only to come crashing down, the lesson will be reinforced.
You are a flightless bird. The skies were never meant for you. To look upward is dangerous. To look down is safety. Live well, little bird, and we will feed you and clothe you and listen to your pretty song—not of captivity, but of the music we say is well deserving of praise. The notes of which are surely a greater gift from God than soaring through the clouds above.
