I’ve said this before and I’ll point it out again -
Menstruation is caused by change in hormonal levels to stop the creation of a uterine lining and encourage the body to flush the lining out. The body does this by lowering estrogen levels and raising testosterone.
Or, to put it more plainly “That time of the month” is when female hormones most closely resemble male hormones. So if (cis) women aren’t suited to office at “That time of the month” then (cis) men are NEVER suited to office.
If you are a dude and don’t dig the ladies around you at their time of the month, just think! That is you all of the time.
And, on a final note, post-menopausal (cis) women are the most hormonally stable of all human demographics. They have fewer hormonal fluctuations of anyone, meaning older women like Hilary Clinton and Elizabeth Warren would theoretically be among the least likely candidates to make an irrational decision due to hormonal fluctuations, and if we were basing our leadership decisions on hormone levels, then only women over fifty should ever be allowed to hold office.
A little everyday #1
Waking up this morning felt like i’d already done so much wrong , the taunting voice i haven’t heard for a while was back with jibes of ” not good enough”.Still, the day moved by and the sun blazed most of the time away. So we spend a few hours napping and wake up thinking it’s the morning again. Soon after a movie lunch i’m anxious , heightened to a level where i scroll and scroll through social media screens until i pull myself away and meditate. This time i am aware . I sit facing the west , asking for release , feeling and not running . Acknowledging and sending love with conscious intent of “let go” to the moments, “let go” the people whom those moments are attached to. I feel it out , like being birthed. Like being birthed there is painful slowness where the depth and intricacy of the moment are safeguarded by sturdy patience , slow my soul to a standstill …. Of breath and closed eyes - frankincense smoke and angel guide so close to my ear breaths whisper fallacies away and when all is still , there - then , the tears and drooling mouth where i don’t care for the vampire stealing some poor soul elsewhere nor the motion of the sun’s axis. Breathing , stretching , balance. A timeless viewpoint arriving back in the frame. When all is ready the tree calls out for a conversation . The bed is filled with a love , whom i eye with new lenses each day , checking to see if i am seeing an image i desire or the majestic view of a wild solitary flame in the middle suburb. But , there he is. Even clearer than before. Take one hole at a time he told me once about a golfer. Take each 24 hours at a time. I become honorary American. I eat 2 smores and 3 deer grace us with their ethereal presence as the luminescent flare of final sunshine dip dives to dusk’s quintessential hue of deep ocean blue. Grandma has a hungry monster inside her as i eat the watermelon grown with pesticides in a house full of things. Tarot cards are up to 35. It’s easier to wake up here early , it’s like the day slides like melted butter off pancakes.