My consciousness travels back to defining moments in my life to honor what has already been overcome: my first steps in the living room of that one-bedroom apartment, the whiskey man, all those sleepless nights studying until dawn, the inexplicable occurrences, and the final triumph of successfully completing finals. Standing on the other side of a year—of a life—I thought I would not survive, gratitude washes over me. I float higher into the air above the audience and the stage lights brighten intensely. I am glowing like an angel.

I curl the fingers of my left hand into Gyan Mudra, like my higher self from the mirror. Now I can’t tell where she ends and I begin.

I answered the call and defeated the God of Opposition

And it cost me everything I thought I knew.

I followed my heart to the depths of despair

And then to the peaks of bliss

Only to discover I was a woman, human and vulnerable.

I come crashing down to the stage. A loud, sickening thud. The watchers gasp in fear. The rope attached to a hook above the stage released too soon. I struggle to climb to my feet, instead finishing the monologue from a cross-legged position, pressing my dress down between my legs. My knee bleeds from scraping roughly across the floor. Blood drips onto the black stage.

See, ain’t I a woman?

If I bleed every time a stone is cast, ain’t I a woman?

If the Joker can ride against me until insanity prevails, ain’t I a woman?

And if I can die, like every living soul that’s walked this earth, then ain’t I a woman?

But this monologue is not about me.

My voice grows quiet, pregnant with vision and ambition.

It’s for the ones who come next

A prayer for girls not yet born.

Please bow your heads and pray she finds mercy in this unforgiving world.

Dear God

If there is a puddle, let her be helped over it.

If there are seeds to plant and earth to plough, let every knee bend to help her.

If there is trouble in the water, let a boat be built for her.

If her load is heavy, let her not have to carry it alone.

For once, let her body not be stolen by evil intent.

If Christ returns, let him be a woman

For only the divine feminine grants life eternal, birthing form from the infinite over and over.

A mercy She gives

A miracle She grants

Honor her

The Great Mother

The original Chosen One

But remember her humanity first and foremost

’Cause ain’t I a woman, too?

The audience sits in stunned silence. Understanding takes several moments to arrive. When it does, an eruption of applause, hoots, and hollers.

And then, she rose.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN