Beth FiĂĄin
A call for mitigating matters of menstruation and changing the language. The colours flow from me as I move through the cold desert night. I walk alone. I feel the millenia of evolution descend earthwards through my body and I am tired, yet so strong. Some notion of death is lingering yet I am no longer afraid of the darkness. There is regenerative powers in my blood this night as I seek to rest in the belly of the Earth.
The First Blood By recognising the culture surrounding menstruation on any given continent, amongst all different peoples we are given insight into how the history of menstruation unfolds. We can see the west begin to flow to all corners of the inhabited globe. Generally, it is clear that little acknowledgement is given to this remarkable transition in a young women’s life, the ability to foster new life on earth although as we see, many women wait as many years again to conceive and become a mother. Looking at the products available for purchase in general stores and supermarkets is enough material for a clear understanding of what is actually going on. The bleached white. The invisible tampons. The masks and charades. The pretense one can do as much as at any other time of the cycle. The desperate need to try. The chemicals untested, exposed to ones most private and sensitive anatomy. There is no initiation. No celebration. No rite of passage. Yet on a more deep and profound level where individuals are continually searching for meaning and fulfilment, could this not be the start of a profound journey into womanhood where each one can begin to recognise their own unique gifts and talents. A time to share and remember. A time to tell stories and listen to wise women, aunties,