The pervasive spirit among women is one of incomprehensible strength. They not only withstand systematic oppression and gender-based discrimination, but thrive on a planet that is so very much against them. Throughout all of humankind’s history, women have been treated as second-class citizens, and things have only changed but so much in the 21st century.
Nevertheless, they regularly take the poor hand that life has dealt them and turn it into a royal flush. Women all over the world persist, time and time again, to craft a future for themselves and others that is worth sacrificing for. Would you do the same in their difficult situations?
***
Despite being the children of kings and queens, royal progeny are often pawns. Traded for both peace and war, you’re an Austrian export, ready for shipping, saying “I do” via proxy, dressed in white like a lamb to the slaughter. Do you think your subjects vibrated out of their skin in reaction to your holy union? Don’t get too comfortable, they’ll hate you soon enough. The magic is wearing off, do you have any other tricks up your sleeve? What about your womb? A girl will not be enough, can you do nothing right? When you deliver the boy child they’ve demanded and they relent, remember this moment, and savor it. This too shall pass. You’ll always be “l’Autrichienne.” Give them their male heir, let them have what they want, play the villainess. Girls just want to have fun after all. You never said, “Let them eat cake” but it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.
There is a special madness that accompanies a people mistreated. Now you are a woman without court or country, but a queen nonetheless. On your way to the guillotine, you apologize to the executioner. Rest your head.
***
In that room full of salacious men, I wonder if you could feel the tension build as each of those veils dropped. If anyone cared to watch closely, they’d realize that you know the power of your suggestion. So the mouths of the wolves water, watching as their little lamb contorts into undiscovered shapes, drinking in the motion of your gyrations.
Breathe, keep your steps even, arms out, head up, you’ve almost got them now. Your family honor is at stake. All eyes are on you, ready to consume every movement, waiting for you to make good on promises that you never committed to. Remember what your mother said as he promises you up to half of his kingdom. When he asks about the desires of your heart, you’ll respond, “I will that thou give me by and by in a charger the head of John the Baptist.” And there you have it: vengeance on a silver platter.
***
Your life changes when that streetcar pole flies through you. Combine your displaced vertebrae with a fractured pelvis, collarbone, legs, and ribs, and what’s left is the essence of something truly extraordinary. Your gilded frame acts as your first canvas, a hodgepodge of flesh, metal, and colored dust, swirling into a gruesome collage. The corsets used to hold you up are adorned in lipstick and paint, photographs and mirrors, pebbles and glass. If there is to be decay, let it be exquisite.
You see life through a kaleidoscope and love famously, loudly. Your body is unable to keep quiet the least of your affections: Noguchi, Baker, Trotsky, and countless others taking up space in your heart. The outside of La Casa Azul will be your menagerie, filled with monkeys and Xoloitzcuintli, a fawn, parrot, and eagle. Its innards are stuffed with artifacts, memorabilia, art, and other items that solidify your mythology. You build an entire galaxy around you.
They dub you “exotic,” a daughter of Coyoacán, a little foreign tchotchke. But you are, life and fire burning so brightly that many are unable to withstand your brilliance. When you flower, they stand back in wonder, awestruck as their minds struggle to process the splendor of your self-invention. The paintings aren’t surreal, they’re your reality. Woman, artist, activist, revolutionary, icon, you are so much more than his wife.
***
There is something about the intrinsic nature of women that make them fireproof. They facilitate life in the birth of others, but also of themselves. Grace is wheedled from ashes, mourning exchanged for joy. Harriet Tubman saw visions of God Almighty after an overseer broke her skull. She was a conductor on the Underground Railroad directing slaves to their promised land, using nothing but music, her mind, Polaris, and a revolver. As a child, Saint Vitus Dance bit Anna May Wong, and she didn’t stop moving until the very end. They tried to tether her to the “Butterfly” and “Dragon Lady” but she was a black and white goddess, traversing continents to find a congregation worthy of her deity. Nanyehi the Wolf figured out the time to serrate bullets with her teeth, and the time to retreat. Knowing when to fight battles and when to calm storms is a rare form of discernment. The Beloved Woman of the Cherokee advocated for peace, changed the economy, and cared for orphans, all while European colonists stole more and more from her people.
Throughout all of time women have been silenced, crucified, set ablaze for the second X chromosome that seems to plague them. But they endure. There is pain in their childbirth. Pain in their cycles. Pain in their existing. Some cry, “Boys will be boys” as their violent playground antics build the foundation for their life of carelessness. They are encouraged to infringe upon the liberties of others, told to assert themselves, to dominate. (Did Adam not also eat of the fruit?) But women should be docile, silent, and compliant. “Stop being emotional.” “Don’t take up too much space.” “It’s not a big deal, ignore him.” Just like your mother. And her mother. And her mother.
Despite the tribulations and opposition from the powers that be, women are still able to bloom in the darkest of places. They spin gold from trauma, pull the indigo and emerald from bruises, funnel their sweat and tears into a deluge of change. I’ve seen footage of typhoons that swallow coastlines and drown cities, learned of conflagrations that ravage forests, felt the ground tremble as the earth’s tectonic plates collide. But in this great big world, the most powerful thing that I’ve ever witnessed is a woman be.