September 15 2023

I am a thief. I steal grains of sugar from women. A poet I love says that stealing a pound of sugar will put you in hot water, but stealing one grain won’t get you in that much trouble.

I tune in around the feminine, my senses heighten to learn what I don’t know. The smells, patterns, leadership, strengths, nurturance, styles of relating — all of it there for me to take in, a free education. The places where I am strong and knowledgeable all lean toward the masculine, and so the feminine part of me requires more attention and calibration. This is where I steal sugar.

And if you read this as me saying I understand the feminine or the masculine or the divine then I have grossly miscommunicated. I know so very little, almost nothing. The universe is infinite and I have mismatched socks and stains on my shirt.

On the playground at my boys’ school last week I heard a mother ask if anyone had a band-aid. Three women each quickly produced one, at the ready. I felt in my pockets like a dummy, as if I had one, like a guy reaching for his wallet at dinner hoping the other person would say, “No, no. I got it this time.”

Band-aids are more symbols of healing than anything else. I know this. When one of my boys has a scrape or scratch that isn’t bleeding, they want a band-aid regardless because it gives them a sense of being taken care of, that there is a healer who can help. A band-aid can go on the forehead of a child after a nightmare and they feel calmed.

The feminine is so good at this care. Healing feels feminine to me. To nurture, hold, care for — I listen and look for all of these moves in places like the school playground to further develop the feminine in me.

So now, the place in my wallet that used to hold cash in the times before I had kids now holds two band-aids, ready for any physical or emotional wounding. Thank you, divine feminine of the playground. I saw your nature and put those grains of sugar in my wallet.

As the poet said,

“‘You’re a thief,’ the judge said.
‘Let’s see your hands.’

I showed my calloused hands in court.
My sentence was a thousand years of joy.”