Healer, Heal Thyself: Contemplations On Hair And Energy.

I have recently cut all my hair off. Almost all of it. It is short, like a boy’s. It is what salon stylists call a pixie cut. For me, it is just gone. I am lighter, and I feel stronger. I feel that I look like I don’t want certain types of attention.

I feel like wearing darker lipstick, and only black eyeshadow all over my lids.

There are multiple cultural and religious spaces where hair is found to possess spiritual power, and to cut one’s hair also cuts off the flow of divine energy to the crown. I had dyed mine in so many colors, channeling my throat chakra in straight blue and indigo. After that my hair was just as long, and then pink, blue and purple, experimenting with drawing out some bubblegum-plasticine aspect of my youth that I wanted to play with.

And I played with it, my innocence, attending belly dance class, and butoh workshops; finally moving with creative intention without shame or embarrassment. It was the Summer of Venus in Leo, and my hair was long, and painted with the real moods of unicorns, like my partner said.

But then, the colors went strange. I felt unkempt. I was living the bohemian dream — life in the art studio — so my best bet for a shower was the hose out back. My situation begged for something simpler to maintain. I got my hair cut, and then, I got it cut again.

I do not feel diminished spiritually by this transition. I feel younger, and more vulnerable. I am spiritually vulnerable right now, and I do not mind the world to see it on my outside, on my face. I am a spring lamb caught in the rebirth of autumn. I am stronger now in my vulnerability than I’ve ever been in false bravado. As it is, I am purposefully letting all the rest of the hair on my body grow and grow.

I am surrendering to Nature completely, and I do feel that stripping bare my vulva of all its hair would be spiritually disrobing.

As it is, I am not having issue with crown chakra connection, but I always struggle with allowing my womb energy to speak first and loudest. It is my creativity, it is my womanhood, and I have been taught to suppress its voice at all cost, lest I be accosted, as was done to my mother, to my grandmother, and her mother before her. I’ve heard stories. Incest. Knifepoint. Ill and sick men, wounded women, and me with a Vagina, a Vulva, and a Voice.

Triple V, VVV, 555; in numerology, curiosity, vision, and decision-making toward life purpose.

I am healing now. Part of this healing is meeting the masculine within me, and my animus enjoys my new cut, to be paired with dandy hats and silk scarves, big earrings and statement dresses. I feel like hopscotch and whiskey, candy and kale. My nose delights in the scents of glossy paper and ink, and sandalwood.

So I feel spiritually empowered for cutting my hair.

Tonight I danced nude around my living room, to be in my body, and remember. I put up one finger and channeled the earth’s energy through my own, and I began to circle. I glimpsed my figure for one moment in the mirror I had been avoiding, and I cried warm tears of relief and memory. I tasted some on my tongue, and cried more and collected the water from my own eyes to anoint my breasts and put in my vaginal sacred space.

I held myself, and cried generously. This is called healing magick. This is one part of something I’ve been waiting for.

My accidental glimpse in the mirror reconfirmed something incredibly necessary: that Female Body is powerful, and it is mine; it is sweet, innocent, sensual, and mature, ripe with sexual power and vessel to creativity. After my dance was over, I went to the bathroom, and I began to menstruate. I bleed with gratitude at yet another confirmation:

It is my body that holds this power; literally my very own container.

That is what I had to remember.



BriannaBlissGardnerBrianna Bliss Gardner is a namesake cultivator of joy; writer, poet, artist and submitted vessel for divine intervention. She promotes Verbal Alchemy, that is, that words are power and we heal through expression of all our parts. For pleasure, she reads, explodes on a page, blows glass, and explores what she can of the web of life and its synchronicities. You can view works by her alter ego, the raw B. Wilder, at Words Are Free.


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