It’s been about seven years since I renounced Christianity, or as I like to say, Jesus and I mutually broke up. After growing up in a Baptist church—even though I was christened as a Methodist, I finally confessed to myself that it wasn’t for me anymore. My principles were changing along with my ideas and space. Calling myself a Christian seemed foreign to me, now that I think of it; I always felt out of place. The final straw, after years of feeling discontent, was when I was chastised by a group of church buddies for asking a biblical question. I don’t like feeling shut down, and that was the last time we talked.
In the summer of 2017, I made a bad decision that resulted in me fighting for my life in the hospital. Strangely, I heard my late grandmother say you only have one life while I was unconscious. After that, my spirituality was reawakened, but not without struggle. I cut my dreadlocks after nine years of growing them out, and my depression reached a new height. The next summer was a turning point when I visited New Orleans for the first time since I was a baby, reeling in the culture and history made me seek a new faith.
I was learning IseseIfa in my hometown along with other spiritual outlets. The former is a traditional religion of the Yoruba tribe primarily based in Benin and Nigeria. While doing so, I was confiding with a co-worker and friend, who’s Wiccan, about how I struggled with my faith over the years. She was telling me how she took what she learned from various practices and blended them. Although I’m still navigating my path, I knew I had no desire to blendbecause I didn’t consider myself eclectic. What sucked was there was no word to describe how I was feeling. Until I finally coined something up, polyeverie.
What is a Polyeverie, and how does it differ from being an eclectic? An eclectic is someone who combines elements from various faiths to construct a belief system of their own. Whereas a polyeverie is someone who identifies with many religions but practices them in the tradition they adhere to without blending the faiths. I coined the term after discovering the word Dvoeverie, which means double faith. When Christianity was making its mark in Eastern Europe, the Slavs saw this as a way to embrace the new faith and keep the traditions of their old one, according to Emily Die Katze.
As I said, I’m still learning new things and growing every day. Who knows what I want to learn next, but I’m excited about this journey I’m about to embark on.
Mercury Gentry is an intuitive-empath and Jyotish enthusiast who likes finding the practically within spirituality. When she’s not roller skating or surfing the web, you can catch her blogging at Saturn Says. Or doing oracle readings in her home town in southern Nevada.
“They needed to hear more about being with a woman. Thank you for sharing that,” my friend, and the only other woman at the table, whispered to me.
•
“What is the best and worst sexual experience you’ve had?” was the question prompted by a viral New York Timesarticle stating the 36 questions that can supposedly lead to love in relationships. All of us New York City transplants were out at a bar when this conversation enveloped us: four straight-identifying men, one woman – we’ll call her K – who was currently exploring her sexual identity and married to one of the men, and me—the unabashed bisexual.
They wanted to go around in a circle, of course starting with me—the furthest acquaintance from this particular friend group. I smiled, dropped my head to my dark beer, and passed while I “thought about it.” They graciously accepted while I started to internally ponder my own landmine of sexual experiences…
The men at the table added their escapades to this seemingly bar-banter of a conversation. Each one sharing their worst experiences with women, which consisted of: women’s untimely period problems, women’s bodies becoming too sensitive after orgasm; and women accidentally urinating while drunk, while the best moments mostly boasted tender minutes in a lover’s embrace and exciting locations in the backseat of a car.
This led to some pause, and not just from me. There were follow-up questions: Was this the first time you experienced a sexual encounter during someone’s cycle? Could you not touch her at all after orgasm? So, then what did you do? So, like, how much pee was there? Did she care? How did she feel about it? And overall, do you still talk to her?
In that moment, the thoughts that I ashamedly felt I couldn’t say aloud were: Is this fucking serious? Is this the conversation we’re having about sex as thirty-somethings in the “best city in the world” right now?Stressing over normal bodily functions and disgracing the women for having them as if they are unusual and depraved?
•
My mind kept flipping through sexual scenarios I’ve been in, but mostly the horrific ones: multiple rapes, countless harassments, and wondering which of the following scenarios was worse: that time I thought I was sneaking out with a friend for some car sex but found that he’d planned for his large friend to be there as well, which ended with a drive into woods I didn’t recognize? Or the time I was drugged and woke up naked next to a stranger? Certainly, these would not do because our social mores dictate that these things remain unmentioned to avoid discomforting or upsetting people. This was at a bar during a festive moment — a very public space — where a woman killing the vibe could be the biggest rule to break of all. Instead, I decided to pivot into a mad mental dash to bar-appropriate erotic hijinks. What would be amusing? What would be funny? What would keep the conversation light and the party going?
•
Then, it was K’s, the only other present woman, turn to speak. Her best experience included a time with her husband in a sensual backseat rendezvous, which also happened to be his best experience too. Her worst experience was with a past partner. He had asked her for sex and she had not wanted to. He kept pushing to make love — he did not want to take no for an answer. Finally, she gave in. After he was finished, he said to her, “You know you wanted it.” At this, she looked down at her beer nodding. Then tells the table that that was the last time she ever had sex when she didn’t want to. “It was fucked up,” K said.
•
Now, I had to speak. For my worst, I decided to go with the time my now-husband fell asleep on me while we were having sex. At this, one of my male friends asked for clarification, “But was he tired or drunk?” Why, yes — he had worked, acted in a show, and had a couple of beers. He gave a nod of approval. Interesting, I thought, or was it really? This way of questioning to defend another man is something I didn’t really notice before, and why? I pocketed that note and moved on with my turn. For my best, I depicted the first time I was “with” a woman in the very back of an SUV full of folks. Or better described as: the moment I knew I was truly attracted to women.
Stepping back into beer three that had now been switched to a cheap domestic, it wasn’t lost on me that these lovely, well-intentioned men tended to blame their partner for their worst experience, while I, the woman, subconsciously took on the responsibility of being the “worst.” Why did both K and I have such shielding body language? That reaction of being faced with these traumatic events had us looking away from the men and down into our supposedly liquid courage. This wasn’t the first time I’d detected something like this or the first conversation that had brought up not only the discrepancy between what a “best” and “worst” experience is, but also who gets the responsibility of being the worst in said experience. Once again, I was struck by how commonplace it is for women to have abusive or simply unsatisfactory stories in regards to sex. K and I both had them even though she was much braver in sharing hers than I was. I was also witness to further evidence that men seemingly have no clue that women — their friends and lovers — have many horrific stories as their go-to “worst.” They themselves have never experienced a “worst,” nor do they get that it is feasible that they may have been someone’s worst — even if it wasn’t blatantly abusive.
•
Then, K turned to me and said, “Thank you.” I was shocked. Shocked that she thanked me. Shocked that the men felt blameless. Shocked that the women felt shameful. Sadly, I was shocked that a woman would thank me for telling my truth.
Kristine Esser Slentz is a queer, experimental poet from northwest Indiana and the Chicagoland area. She is a Purdue University alum who double-majored in English literature and creative writing. Recently, she earned her MFA in creative writing (poetry) at City College of New York where she is an adjunct professor and an organizer of the MFA Reading Series. KRISTINE’s full-length manuscript has been long-listed, is a 2020-21 Glass Poetry Chapbook Series finalist, F®iction Spring 2020 Flash Fiction contest finalist, and will be completing a residency with Poets Afloat in the near future. Some places her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming include Yes Poetry, Moonchild Magazine, The Shallow Ends, Glass Poetry, Pink Plastic House, Barren Magazine, Crab Fat Magazine, Philosophical Idiot, and Flying Island Journal where she was nominated for a 2017 Pushcart Prize.
Famous Japanese Feminist Authors. Left Yoshiko Yusa who was a famous russian/japanese translater and right her long term partner, another feminist author Toshiko Tamura.
First issue of Seito in 1911, which became an integral part of the Japanese Women’s Rights Movement.
“The magazine’s name, Seitō, translated to “Bluestockings,” a nod to an unorthodox group of 18th-century English women who gathered to discuss politics and art, which was an extraordinary activity for their time.
But Seitō was not intended to be a radical or political publication. “We did not launch the journal to awaken the social consciousness of women or to contribute to the feminist movement,” wrote the magazine’s founder, Haruko Hiratsuka, who went by the penname Raichō, or “Thunderbird.” “Our only special achievement was creating a literary journal that was solely for women.” Raichō was most interested in self-discovery—“to plumb the depths of my being and realize my true self,” she wrote—and much of the writing in the magazine was confessional and personal, a 1910s version of the essays that might now be found in or Catapult.
Women’s feelings and inner thoughts, however, turned out to be a provocative challenge to the social and legal strictures of this era, when a woman’s role was to be a good wife and mother. The Seitō women imagined much wider and wilder emotional and professional lives for themselves. They fell in love, they indulged in alcohol, they built careers as writers, and they wrote about it all—publicly. The stories were radical enough that the government censored them. The story that prompted policemen to visit the magazine’s office late at night was a piece of fiction about a married women writing to her lover to ask him to meet her while her husband was away.
As they attracted public attention and disapproval, instead of shying away from the controversy they’d created, the editors of Seitō were forced to confront more baldly political questions, and this in turn earned them more banned issues. In the pages of their magazine they came to debate women’s equality, chastity, and abortion. Without originally intending to, they became some of Japan’s pioneering feminists.”
-Excerpt from HERE documenting women’s history in Japan
Can’t believe Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice in the 2000s
And in 2015 Emily Brontë released literary clsssic Wuthering Heights
Thank God someone paved the way for them…
if you think jk was the first woman author, you don’t actually care about women authors.
Mary Shelley didnt fuck on her parents graves for this level of disrespect
Murasaki Shikibu didn’t invent the novel for this.
Christine de Pizan did not sit down at her desk and write The Book of the City of Ladies, advocating for women’s education and finding value in women of all social classes and backgrounds, in 1405 for this.
SHAHARIZADE HAD A THOUSAND TALES
This……….isn’t even true in 20th century fantasy or childrens books? Pierce, Lackey, Applegate, McCaffrey, Bradley, Butler, whomst?
Casual reminder that
a woman was the first known author/poet in 2300BC - Enheduanna
the first novel in recorded history was written by a woman in 1010AD - Murasaki Shikibu
the earliest example of science fiction was written by a woman in 1666 - Margaret Cavendish
horror science fiction was popularised by a teenage girl in 1818 - Mary Shelley
a Scotswoman expanded childrens’ stories from moralising tales into anarchic adventures in the mid 1800s, well before it became popular in the early 20th century - Catherine Sinclair
the masked/costumed hero archetype that inspired Batman and Zorro was created by a woman in 1905 - Baroness Emma Orczy
And while she is problematic as all get out, we all know who is to blame for popularising Boarding School fiction (which is a huge inspiration of She Who Must Not Be Named) from the 1930s onwards - Enid Blyton
And do I even need to mention what a badass pioneer Ursula Le Guin was for women author in the fantasy/sci-fi genre?
Not to mention Agatha Christie is literally second only to Shakespeare in terms of works sold – 4 billion compared to JKR’s paltry 500 million
The very first poem I wrote for the book. From my book, She Dreams When She Bleeds: Poems About Periods now available on Amazon. Link in my bio.
Words and art by Nikki Tajiri @nikkitajiri on Tumblr and Instagram.
My book sales have picked up recently! Thank you all for your support, I feel so grateful and honored when someone chooses to spend their hard-earned money on my book. Hope you are all safe and hopeful. - N
Which other woman of my kind has felicitated scholars with such gifts and money? To which other women of my kind have epics been dedicated? Which other woman of my kind has won such acclaim in each of the arts? You are incomparable, Muddupalani, among your kind.
[…]
A face that glows like the full moon, skills of conversation, matching the countenance. Eyes filled with compassion, matching the speech. A great spirit of generosity, matching the glance. These are the ornaments that adorn Palani, when she is praised by kings.
