Imagine, for a moment, the most dangerous woman in the world.
She may not yet exist.
She may be right in front of you.
What is it, my sweet, that makes this woman so dangerous?
Do you know?
Let’s call her M.
What does this woman do, that is so dangerous?
Is it that she carries weapons? Is it that she has influence in matters of politics, or government?
Or could it be, perhaps, that she knows things about Church?
Could the danger of this woman simply be, that she is smart, and can outwit you when you try to turn against her, to shun her, to cover her up?
Could it be that she is so intuitive, she knows your thoughts, knows where your heart lies, through her own deeply felt intuitive wisdom?
Could it be that she is beautiful, and so you want to look at her?
Perhaps, in front of this woman, you feel naked, and somehow, unashamed about your nakedness, until you are outside of her energy, when the world’s patterns of domination, and skill in treachery, take hold again?
What makes a woman dangerous, my sweet?
It is quite different than the danger evoked by a man.
A man is dangerous because he holds titles, and offices, and carries guns, or tells others to carry guns, and robots listen to him about what to do, and deny their own inner knowing, their own wisdom and intuition, in order to fulfill some false man-made prophecy.
But a woman?
Well, to trust her, to acknowledge her power of intuition, combined with her beauty, her peaceful presence….
You’d have to rethink all of your faulty ideas about the world, and who runs things, and what God is, if God is anything you care about.
You’d have to actually listen to her when she speaks, and do what she says, because you’d know that she’s right, time and time again, if she happens to be a good woman, one who respects you, but does not bow down before you as though you are superior.
A good woman, beautiful, smart, unconditionally loving and generous. And savvy about the world, wise about the way the systems have tried to keep her down and hold her back, and completely independent in thought, word, and action….
Well, danger, indeed.
Can’t control her. Can’t assume you run the show. Can’t make her your trophy. Can’t deny her power, once you’ve recognized it, or risk lying to yourself and others if it comes time to speak on her behalf.
(Well, I guess you could just call her crazy, and handle it that way. That’s been done many a time.)
I don’t know, I wonder if this dangerous woman, call her Ms. M, wore a white robe some days in the past, wandering around desert places with myrrh, or sweet-scented oils.
Wonder if she told people things about how their hearts had turned, and helped them become better people.
Wonder if she prayed in quiet places, before joining friends, in communion over bread, wine, and hopefully, cheese.
Wonder if groups would have tried to kill her, put her up on a stake, stick nails in her hands, or chop off her head, maybe light some fires under her, for all the stuff she somehow knew.