blood – Feminism and Religion

(Author’s note: I live in Prague, Czech Republic and teach at Charles University. Try as I might, I could not express in prose my thoughts about the violence in the world and particularly the violence here, in Prague, on the 21st of December, especially given the fact that I was a block away from what took place. So, I have written a poem instead.)

I swim through
the slimy waters of patriarchal violence
Difficult to express in words
the anxieties, the fear, the sadness
I feel as I take another stroke

towards

the parshah Bo (Exodus 10:1-13:6),
a divinely wrought plague of locusts
devouring all in their path.

Breathe,
stroke.

Darkness lasting three long days
blood smeared on doorposts and lintels
the deaths of first-borns, humans and animals alike,
the proclamation of a New Year and its festivities
to remind us of such nonsensical violence.

Breathe.
There is blood in the water.
Stroke.

Disclaimer/Trigger Warning: This post includes content about rape, sexual assault, domestic abuse, violence.

The recent, meaningful discussions on this forum about how so many of us feel broken due to our own personal histories have fortified and inspired me. I’ve marveled as women have spoken up so honestly and even brutally about the effects of trauma, rape, cold and dismissive mothers, abusing fathers and so on.

Some of you know my own story. I am a survivor of my father’s childhood abuse and then a rape at knifepoint in my early twenties. I carry a deep and abiding sense of shame. This feeling has always flummoxed me. Why should I feel shame when I didn’t do anything to create my own abuse? Shouldn’t my father have felt the shame? The rapist? Why did I get saddled with it? I was the victim (and survivor), not the perpetrator. But shame is indeed the feeling I carry and I’m not alone. Why is this feeling so pervasive? I don’t have all the answers, but I do have some clues about where to look.

Continue reading “Let’s Talk About Shame by Janet Maika’i Rudolph”