The Deterioration Of Symbols Is Natural. They

All The "not Readies," All The "i Need Time," Are Understandable, But Only For A Short While. The Truth Is That There Is Never A "completely Ready," There Is Never A Really "right Time." As With Any Descent To The Unconscious, There Comes A Time When One Simply Hopes For The Best, Pinches One's Nose, And Jumps Into The Abyss. If This Were Not So, We Would Not Have Needed To Create The Words Heroine, Hero, Or Courage.

Since Time Out Of Mind, A Considered Act Of Heroism Has Been The Cure For Stultifying Ambivalence.

When Women Hear Those Words, An Old, Old Memory Is Stirred And Brought Back To Life. The Memory Is Of Our Absolute, Undeniable, And Irrevocable Kinship With The Wild Feminine, A Relationship Which May Have Become Ghostly From Neglect, Buried By Over-domestication, Outlawed By The Surrounding Culture, Or No Longer Understood Anymore. We May Have Forgotten Her Names, We May Not Answer When She Calls Ours, But In Our Bones We Know Her, We Yearn Toward Her, We Know She Belongs To Us And We To Her.

There Is A Time In Our Lives, Usually In Mid-life, When A Woman Has To Make A Decision - Possibly The Most Important Psychic Decision Of Her Future Life - And That Is, Whether To Be Bitter Or Not. Women Often Come To This In Their Late Thirties Or Early Forties. They Are At The Point Where They Are Full Up To Their Ears With Everything And They've "had It" And "the Last Straw Has Broken The Camel's Back" And They're "pissed Off And Pooped Out." Their Dreams Of Their Twenties May Be Lying In A Crumple. There May Be Broken Hearts, Broken Marriages, Broken Promises.

Our Own Sorrows Seem Heavy Enough, Even When Lifted By Certain Long-term Joys. But Watching Others Hurt Is The Breaker Of Most Any Heart.