As Eve´s daughter, women spell trouble. We stir up the atmosphere. Wherever we appear there is ambivalence. I don’t remember a moment in my life where I wasn’t questioning, and I don’t think that I am very different from my sisters.

Even as a child there was always a power inside of me pulling strings and knowing more than I “thought” I did. All I had to do was focus and adjust my feelings in order to connect with something. Flashes of insight provoked by the peak experience of that kind of tuning-in allowed me to glimpse aspects that might best be described as invisible. In a way, through the generation and manipulation of my own feeling-intensity, I automatically conditioned myself to create upheavals that broke through the apparent inertia of things-as-they-are in order to reach deeper realities. Each woman does it in her own style, even the quiet ones.


I have had a tumultuous relationship with “femaleness” at a personal and also on an objective level. I have questioned, defied and argued with myself about it. Perceptions filter through as answers of a sort, never straightforward, never clear, never precise, and often true in the end. It isn’t exactly intuition; it issues from intention, deliberate effort.

Listening in order to hear and understand entails developing a special language, using another part of the brain, and another sort of emotion. Decoding and digesting information can be difficult; learning happens proportionately to the deepening connection to this state. From this perspective, eventually, what appears mysterious, stands revealed through direct experience and a kind of knowing. Clear enough for us women.

A deep dissatisfaction with ordinary communication, plus knowing that there was “another way”, another access, supported a constant state of nonconformity that I believe we women share. That “other way” is stirred continuously by an ardent desire to know more than is evident. Then I am sort of guided through a maze of inner sensitivities that I use intuitively, without knowing why, what, or how.

My intellect developed proportionately, pursuing the route of my impatient inquisitive mind. Emotional development followed its own rhythm. On the other hand, deep fear in the form of feeling-shadows and keen physical discomfort bordering irritability came hand in hand with the tool that enabled me to go beyond the usual confines of information. This was a repetition of Eve and the forbidden fruit. It felt as if I was chasing the light by walking in shadows, and happiness happened elsewhere.

The greatest enigma, my woman’s body was both the best ally and the worst enemy. It stoked an almost tangible, darker sensation that spelled danger, constantly reminding me that I was alone, even with people, and that there were uncomfortable things happening around me that stirred and hovered. It added to the innate insecurity and vulnerability of being the attractive pole.

I could never empty or surrender my body to another – not completely. I wonder just how many women feel this way. Even sliding into sleep can be difficult. On hindsight, it protected me through the most amazing situations, people, and conditions. If I am honest with myself, I have always preferred the wholeness of aloneness and intimacy that I experienced in tranquility within. Even with the benefits of insight and psychology, I never fully understand superficiality.


Femaleness has offered a lifelong challenge of not quite knowing where to draw the line between people’s so-called truth and their pretentions. There has hardly been such thing as simplicity in my world. For the longest time, my body lived in a child’s zone of forevermore and possibilities, disparate from the emotions and the urgings of my mind; other people’s worlds seemed alien. I appeared “heavy”, sad, tragic to some, gentle and serene to others, mysterious, and yet unpredictable to the rest. The abysmal curiosity, the bottomless pit of immeasurable precariousness and uncertainly I lived in, has driven me to yearn for something indefinable and near.

I always saw family conditions, even the idyllic situation of some of my acquaintances, to be far from stable. I created my persona by patterning myself on reflections and other’s needs. I learned to handle natural sensuality carefully and often toned it down (or up) deliberately. Sex was a terrifying intrusion into the inner sanctity of my privacy and wholeness. Save in very few cases, it responded to expectation. Assaulted by another’s needs, it was a demand performance that bored and frightened me at the same time. Even friendships often proved to be an incomprehensible feat of endurance and pretense, echoing the other and most of the time skirting the anguish of possible betrayal. As a woman, I sensed I never quite fit in, not really, not wholly.

Perhaps for these reasons, strictly bodily delights were not allowed. Not a moment was lived without an emotional counterpart and its corresponding intensity. Thinking revealed a network of traps that camouflaged enigmatic inner dynamics. And yet, as woman, life was beautiful, even in its fearsomeness; human beings funny, touching, endearing creatures. The tremendous affection for life, as strong as the cellular fear, became as poignant as the arousal signs perpetually ignited within me.

I recognise my ancestor’s bequeathal: a sensitive intelligence that is barely perceptible as yet. It is what sparks the women of the future, trained in Adam’s world of cause and effect, learned in handling intellect, order and systems as well as any man, and yet with a different structure: a non-linear awareness of humanity inherited from Eve that allows us to know-without-knowing and with certainty.


My heart is filled with love for this intriguing experience of physical life, for the tenderness that people bear one another in the name of love, for the depth of pain and feeling sensibility that life evokes, for the effort required to communicate in words in order to share the illusion of togetherness. Human love makes me sad and in that depth there is a strange rejoicing; it takes me closer to the bottomless abyss that is always and intensely the remembrance of that paradisiacal subliminal home.

Within the female gender, I dare say, Eve is always reborn old. We are all too conscious, from the beginning, of something that is much too painful for a child, for a woman, and ultimately for a person to bear. It provokes the aloneness and emptiness that defines our womanhood, and yet insinuates endless fullness. This, the transparency of our haunting truth, is the legacy we share as Eve’s children.

Each woman in her own way.

End of Part II


Part III – A Man’s Experience of Adam’s Legacy and The Forbidden Fruit

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