Venus and Her Lover

by Becca Tzigany

  So much of my life I had been working to heal the betrayals of myself. For the past decade, I had pursued a full-time devotion with Venus and Her Lover to tearing the Dominator Culture asunder, to making peace in the War Between the Sexes. Before I could do that, however, I had to take responsibility for it, and to feel it.

  I was feeling it, alright. So now I offer to you, dear Reader, this confession. I lay at your feet this long-winded story of Venus and Her Lover, Venus and Her Lives, Venus and Her Creations... to ask forgiveness for my part in perverting the energy of love in service to a system of control.

  Please forgive me.

  How to say I am so sorry?... to the African slaves who died on Caribbean plantations; to Mysterious Molly who battled to the death for her identity as a woman; to the ghosts at Ground Zero, sacrificed in a geopolitical game; to the hundreds of thousands of dead in the Middle East, caught in the tradition of the War Goddess Ishtar; to the partnership culture of Crete that fell to the sword; to the millions tortured to death by the Inquisition; to the native Hawaiians whose sensuality was stifled by Christian missionaries; to Mohammed the Mad Manager, abuse victim and perpetrator; to Nick, for having to choose between love and success; to the indigenous peoples of the Americas, for their genocide; to Ambika, for her desperation; and to the millions of females in India eliminated because they had no value...?

  How to move this deep woe, this sincere remorse?

  IN THE SHADOW OF ISHTAR

  If you haven’t cried,

  your eyes can’t be beautiful.

  ~ Sophia Loren

  Sienna leaned forward in her chair, eyeing me. “So do you think you were the goddess Inanna, or Ishtar? Just imagine what your ego could do with that! All that power and glory.”

  “Not at all, Sienna! I am horrified at what the Goddess of War has wrought, believe me. And my memories are more as her high priestess.”

  “Yes, you are tuning into her for some reason. You served her agenda...” she said.

  “Exactly,” I agreed.

  “And you still do,” Sienna continued.

  “But Sienna, this lifetime, look at all my struggles, and all my devotions – my environmentalism, my mothering, my spiritual practices... and Venus and Her Lover has run me through the mill with the man-woman tragedy. I have worked all my life to make up for the shady dealings of my past, even though I wasn’t aware of the whole story,” I argued.

  “It does make sense to you – does it not? – that everything you’ve experienced in our sessions must somehow be operating in the here and now? How could it possibly be otherwise?” Sienna countered. Her compassion for me was rigorous.

  “You don’t see it, do you? People trust you, admire you. But realize: even the charming, super-competent, well-respected humanitarian Becca was – and still is – serving people’s energy to the Dark Side. What are the ways you are still being used today to fulfill this ancient contract? You must take responsibility for where your energy has gone, and still goes.”

  Thus I plunged even deeper into a Dark Night of the Soul. Questioning my motives, checking my ego, criticizing my specialness, I languished in a hell realm of my own making.

  As activist and workshop leader, I built the structure, named the rules, and led people through the paces, bending reality to my vision of how it should be. I especially enjoyed how people looked up to me. Wouldn’t it be better if I encouraged more co-creation?

  Did I feel smug about my “good works”? As an environmentalist, I helped “save” our Puerto Rican town... for the developers. As priestess at the pyramid by the beach, I became a pariah, and our spiritual community (with me at the center) dissipated.

  How long had I cowered before authority? My parents, my sisters, the government, the morality-enforcers... all threatened to slap me down if I went too far out of bounds, or so I envisioned.

  I had always relished my Goddess of Love persona, trusting the path of sexual ecstasy to launch me into delicious realms of unity. How had I manipulated others with this promise? How had this fed my ego?

  During the weeks of my torturous voyage through the Shadowland, James looked on with some concern. “I’m here whenever you need me,” he assured me. I insisted I needed to continue on my own.

  Although I understood that excavating and embracing the Shadow was a lifelong process, there had to be some point when I could emerge from this round. Then, at long last, I simply was weary of being weary. One day I felt a fresh current of strength, like a tide lapping into the dug-out pits of my Underworld, so that I had the wherewithal to turn and face my inner tormentors.

  When I reported this to Sienna, she said, “I know of some spirit doctors who live in the mountains. They are good at finding old contracts and exorcising entities. Maybe that’s the next step for you.”

  “Exorcists?” I exclaimed. With everything I had already undergone, I felt ready for a breakthrough. “Sure, let’s do a road trip!”

  Why the War, Theory #5

  There is something in every one of you that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself. It is the only true guide you will ever have. And if you cannot hear it, you will all of your life spend your days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls.

  ~ Howard Thurman

  Through the different exercises and inner journeys, I had gained a broader view of human history, as well as Earth’s place in the kosmos. The Anunnaki legacy now formed our fifth theory as to “Why the War” between women and men, and where the Dominator System came from. It was a system of control by design.

  This fifth theory busted out of the binding of traditional history books and into a multidimensional, karmic, soul evolution frame of reference. When the idea of reinventing a galactic mythos came to us in Puerto Rico, I had no idea what it meant. Now I beheld a mythos of domination, expedient for beings who ruled this planet, that was planted in our cradles of civilization.

  Earth’s evolutionary classroom, it seemed to me, offered a curriculum for activating different centers of awareness. Souls who embodied here could develop from first chakra requirements of survival, through second chakra experiences of flowing with emotions and sexuality, and to third chakra lessons about power.

  Most of the memories called up in my Shadow work with Sienna had originated from a time when the Anunnaki dominator pyramid was shaken by competition and strife, and a more predatory breed of controllers seized power. Had the bloody wars between Goddess Ishtar and God Marduk opened Earth to Reptilian domination? In a flash of insight, I saw that the nuclear detonations had torn a hole through the dimensions, inviting the warlike Reptilians to pile in.

  Tracing the comparable storylines of world mythologies for a decade had led me to a meta-myth, which plausibly originated from an extraterrestrial culture living on Earth. Sumerian mythology of the Anunnaki “gods” was replete with power struggles, and the archetypal story of contending brothers rolled across Mesopotamia (armies on the march), India (wars in the skies), the Middle East (Cain and Abel, Abraham), and Egypt (Osiris and Set). Likewise, the Anunnaki established the storylines and antagonists in the War Between the Sexes, which played out in our myths, dramas, movies... and lives. It looked like we had signed up for a theatrical course on power, and the Anunnaki and/or Reptilian overlords had happily complied with lessons on master/slave, predator/prey, and dominator/victim.

  Was that our souls’ contract with them? To teach us those lessons? If so, then I must have the right to terminate the contract! Or did I have to graduate first?

  And graduating must mean... rising to the heart chakra.

  Claiming Power

  One must rise by that by which one falls.

  ~ Hevajra Tantra

  Sienna and I traveled to the foothills of the Western Ghats to find our spirit doctors. Susan and Sven of Crystal Mountain Healing combined their years of experience with Reiki, bodywo
rk, rebirthing, and recovery from trauma, and were both crowned with the silver hair of wisdom. Though in his 50’s, Sven was as solid as an athlete, and Susan’s cheery laugh immediately put me at ease. The couple lodged us in a small bungalow next to their house and healing room.

  We told them briefly of my Shadow work process, and my efforts to clean up the karma of past lives. Laid out on their massage table, I closed my eyes to receive their work, with Sienna seated nearby observing. They worked efficiently as a team, asking a series of diagnostic questions and receiving answers through dowsing (watching how a suspended crystal pendulum swung in response): What was my personal energy level? How many nonbeneficial contracts, vows, or promises was I upholding, from this life or a past one? Were there any implants or entities attached to my energetic field?

  When they got around to asking about the rape ritual, they decided to do psychic surgery on me. Susan explained: “Through the process of psychic surgery, we work with you and your subconscious mind to discover and shift any nonbeneficial energetic imprints or overlays in your body.”

  Sven counted me back to that ancient time. The instant I felt myself there, I burst into panicked screams. I felt Sienna leap to her feet to gently touch me, as Sven and Susan talked me into an observer position.

  “The sword is still in me!” I wailed.

  “Show me where it is,” Sven commanded. I indicated that I felt it severing my heart and just piercing my throat, with the hilt jammed up against my yoni. I could see the sword clearly. It was wrought of pure silver, with a gold handle, covered with brass carving. Inlaid in the handle were three stones: black onyx, white moonstone, and red ruby.

  “There’s a spell connected with this sword,” I heard Susan saying. It has severed the Feminine force from her body, I think. Becca, are you ready to release the sword and break the spell?”

  “Yes,” I whimpered. “I am ready.” Sven told me later that he realized that it was for him, as a man, to remove the sword. He felt the responsibility for all men who had used rape and violence against women.

  While I continuously breathed deeply to endure the pain of the sword within me, the two of them gave me suggestions for visualizing the sword smaller, in increments, and then making it slippery so it could slide out smoothly. Sven described his every move, and sought my consent every step of the way.

  When I felt his hand on my yoni, positioning to grab the handle of the sword, my eyes flew open. Sven leaned over me. Staring through his eyes was the man from the dungeon long ago, the one who had brought the silver sword, rammed it up me, and maliciously turned it until I died.

  Oh no! my mind shrieked. I am in the clutches of my murderer again!

  But as I continued staring at his eyes, I perceived a different story. “Please forgive me,” his voice said in my head. “I was only following orders.” I then saw what had happened to him. With me as victim, he had been locked in the role of perpetrator. By “just following orders,” he had induced karma that had bound him to repeated acts of savagery in service to the Dominator Culture. I saw the anguish of his lives as perpetrator/victim, over and over again, across the millennia. “Please forgive me,” he repeated. “Release me, I beseech you.”

  Compassion flooded my being. Let us end this nightmarish story, I communicated to his woeful eyes. I forgive our need to play this out. I release you. With one last look of sorrow and relief, my former torturer receded, and I saw Sven looking at me with some alarm.

  “It’s OK. We can continue now,” I told Sven.

  Knowing that something had happened but not exactly what, Sven let out a deep exhale. “OK, Becca, you will tell me when. You count, slowly, from ten to zero, and when you get to zero, I will remove the sword.”

  “Ten,” I began. I reclaim my power! As these words reverberate within me, I notice that I am inside an otherworldly golden pyramid structure. Before me is the Reptilian man, my rapist. We stand together as if in a marriage ceremony.

  I repeat my declaration, directing my words to him. “I see how the Goddess of Love was splintered, abducted, and manipulated. I now reclaim the power of my lineage.”

  A murmur moves through a group of beings, who I notice have gathered in the pyramid.

  The Reptilian man says, “Join with me. Be my queen. Behold how we rule Earth!”

  “Nine,” I said aloud. Funny how that sounded like “Nein!” (“No!”) in German.

  Despite the strange feeling that the Reptilian man and I are old friends, I shake my head. “You have ruled for a long time... with my support, I know. But we are done now. Don’t you see how tired and sick your cohorts have become?” I point at some of the crowd, who are hunched over with hard shells for backs. “It takes so much work, herding and harvesting the energy of others.”

  He snorts. “But we are ruling! Don’t you see the wars, the blood, the ritual sacrifices, the terrorism, the ingenious control?”

  “That may be, but you are no longer using my energy to do it,” I affirm. Old impulses toward revenge arise, but I refuse to be fooled by them.

  I continue. “I withdraw my support from your manipulation of men and women. I admit my complicity, that I helped create the template for Unfulfilled Woman. Because of this experience, I understand the Feminine much better. But I now terminate our contract. I use my free will to call my energy back to me, which is mine to direct.”

  “Eight,” I pronounce to Sven, Susan, and Sienna.

  “Oh, you think you can quit just like that?” the Reptilian ruler taunts me. “What about the karma of what you’ve done? It will take you lifetimes to pay your debt.”

  Although he speaks reasonably to me, I sense his agitation growing. With sudden clarity, I recognize his trickery. Karma, consequences of our actions, must be answered, yes, but who was the keeper of accounts? Not him! It was my own energetic signature, the vibration I hold, that would keep me at one indebted level, or propel me to a level that would transmute my karma.

  Enunciating each word, I say, “I’ll take my chances with my karma. I claim my own soul integrity, my sovereignty. You may no longer use my energy to feed the control grid.”

  The Reptilian man puffs himself up and hisses at me. I squint against the blast of his putrid breath, realizing he is preparing to strike me.

  “Seven,” I continued the countdown.

  Instead of cowering before the Reptilian rapist, I stamp my foot.

  “No!” I shout. “No more war! Listen to me! If you would just realize that you are whole in yourself, you would not need to prey upon others! You could get your sustenance from the Universe, like this: access it through the heart.”

  Placing both hands on my heart and then opening my arms, I feel my heart energy expanding... encompassing him and spreading out, resonating through the pyramid.

  The others gasp. Some fall to the ground as if fainting. There is commotion among the crowd, so I continue shouting. “I am the one who contracted you for the lessons, and I have learned in the world of duality and limitation. Thank you! I truly thank you. And now I am done! Our contract is completed.”

  He is so angry, he breathes fire. Cursing me, he storms off. As I watch him go, there is a twinge in my heart. Compassion. I feel sad at the departure of my taskmaster, sad for his refusal to evolve.

  “Six,” I announced.

  Refocusing on my heart chakra, I feel the whirlpool from the black hole at its center – a stupendous swirling of energy in and out. Immense waves of love whip out from the center, like a spiral galaxy, sparkling with stars.

  I realize that some of those present are receiving this love. Like parched nomads in a desert, they are surrendering to the pleasure of water. Others are fleeing the pyramid.

  The heart! The heart is a portal! I had spent lifetimes martyring myself for having lost control of a stargate, only to finally recognize a portal that no one could seize from me, the one at the center o
f my being. I had been tricked into handing over my power, thus allowing the manipulators access to this gateway. Now I was reclaiming it, just as anyone could do. Everyone has access to a portal to all dimensions, and to all power. The heart.

  I relaxed into my inherent divinity through love.

  “Five.” Upon declaring the Tantric number five, I felt my reality shift. I felt myself right back in India.

  Before me stands Shakti, elaborately dressed in flowing sari and sparkling jewels. She moves toward me in a ritualized dance. “I was here at the beginning, wasn’t I?” I say to her.

  Skirting the question, the Great Goddess says, “We welcome you back.”

  “We?” I ask. As if in response, she shimmers into three! The Triple Goddess, whom I presume are Sarasvati, Lakshmi, and Kali.

  I say, “The Triple Goddess embodies the spirit of the Feminine as a whole. Would you bestow upon me this essence?”

  The three of them smile, saying, “How can we bestow what you yourself have?” Simultaneously bowing their heads, they whisper to me, “But it is difficult to express ourselves in this oppressive environment. Don’t you see the patriarchal construct that even we are upholding?”

  I know exactly what they mean about the Goddess being co-opted by the Dominator Culture. The Feminine requires a safe environment. So I whirl around, imagining ourselves in a protective egg of light.

  “Four,” I said.

  The three Indian goddesses and I find ourselves on a sunny riverbank. I think, This must be a Mother River, maybe the Indus or the Sarasvati. Once safe, the goddesses tear off their finery, complaining about how restrictive it is. I disrobe, too. Then we bound naked into the river and begin splashing each other and posing seductively.