“Beyond God the Father”,an Interview with Mary Daly :: DALHOUSIE REVIEW

. . . Following in the paths of these many fore-sisters, including fore- sisters who were burned as witches, Virginia Woolfand fore-sisters present and future, I would like to move towards conclusion thinking about the breaking out of women as a summoning of our deep memories. Women are like volcanoes. Explosions of our ancestral racial deep memory are necessary to break the unnatural crusts of the Fore- ground. Such explosions coming from deep internal potency can be compared to the explosions of a volcano. A volcano is a vent in the earth’s crust from which molten or hot rock and steam issue. Volcanic eruptions in women’s deep Re-memberings are Elemental, breaking through the vents in the crust, and although these may be experienced as sudden, the forces that caused them have been brewing in deep natural cauldrons. Women ourselves are the brewsters as well as the cauldrons; we are the agents of our own elemental explosions. The rhythms of our Re-membering are not like the tedious, tidy, tick-tocks ofthe clocks and watches oftidy time: Father Time, which is very tidy, 9 to 5. Think also, of the doomsday clock. The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientist put out in the United States has in every issue, a sketch of what they call the doomsday clock. Midnight represents, of course, nuclear holocaust. In January 1984, they set the hands at three minutes to midnight. So much for the clocks and watches of Father Time. The rhythms of our Re-membering are tidal. We may find insights about these rhythms in the words of the scientist Rachel Carson, concerning a small, green worm known to marine biologists as Convoluta roscof- fensis who lives in the sea sand, rising when the tide has ebbed and sinking into the sand when the tide returns. Sometimes scientists transfer a whole colony of these worms into an aquarium where there are no tides. Rachel Carson writes:

“But twice each day Convoluta rises out ofthe sand on the bottom ofthe aquarium, into the light of the sun. And twice each day she sinks again into the sand. Without a brain or what we would call a memory or even any very clear perception, Convoluta continues to live out her life in this alien place, remembering in every fibre of her small, green body the tidal rhythm of the distant sea.”J

So, too even within these most alien places women can remember our original rhythms, and these rhythms are lunar, natural rhythms: Rhythms of spirit j matter, rhythms of imagining, of thinking, of psy- chic force.

*     *     *

. . . Women are batteries. If you refuse to be a battery, then the male has to find the source of energy in himself. The patriarchial male then is thrown back upon his own possibility for generating his own energy, without sapping, vampirizing, women. And that, indeed, would be a great opportunity, it seems to me-to be able to not be a parasite, to not be a vampire. But, the trick is, if you do this primarily for men, again, you are missing the point, because women under patriarchy have never been for ourselves. Yes, most women bond with men in some way, but I’m inviting you to consider something ehe: the gynergizing, ecstatic experience of woman- bonding. Then you may want to reconsider that question or ask it again but it Will be in a different context, in a different environment.

 

— Mary Daly  (pp279;685-686 DALHOUSIE REVIEW )

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