Eve, Mother of Life and Mother of Tradition: An argument for agency

Tradition can be a force for good in terms of preserving good things, but it can also become a cage that stops people from living as their full selves. I believe deeply in the agency of women—their power, their resilience, and their ability to remain formidable in whichever space they occupy, whether religious, social, or political. Women are the mothers of all living. Rules are man-made and ought to foster a positive, flourishing society rather than a caged one. While I believe in true equality for both men and women, this piece today is for women—a reclaiming of raw power, wild essence, and unbroken freedom.

Eve, Mother of Life and Mother of Tradition

Call me Eve mother
Nature in person.
Mother of the wild.
All my children are tamed by me.
I hunt sniff trace
A mother bitch
Guarding a home feeling safe for my inhabitants.

Call me mother of the fruit Call me mother of the rulers.

Rulers some of them my estranged children Lying about omnipresence Giving rules.

They are omni impotent.
Their word for their babel tower- rules.
There is thrust rule
Gravity rule
Lift rule
Electromagnetism rule.
Sometimes they are plural- rules.
In the biblical narrative.
I am mother of Eden.
Mother of the living.
Caretaker of life.
The one who nurtures the wild.
I bliss- ignorance -innocently- seductively.
I am the old friend of the snake that slithers opening mouth to swallow whole, deviants against rulers.

They say. I am fact and fiction. Do I have a say ?

They say snake my old friend
Well now, ex-friend whose tongue gives slaves of unquestioned traditions whippings.

Is out there always- mouth opened unsuspecting to curse a rule breaker.

Over the years, whispers have followed me.
They were not chinese.
My kin painted me always with their imaginary friends- I became whole in their eyes.

Whatever they liked- a pure image of their overworked hyper imaginations flying like a kite.

My children have forged planets and moons separating themselves from pleasure, bondage is now home.

They mistake the wild as unfree
When rather the fruit, they call Apple, never mentioned in my origin book. Made me know good and bad.

I had to hide in the rules trapping my soul
I use to be a rarity.
Until I knew the rules of what should be not be tradition.

I hide with the clothes of knowledge.
My real being is naked unshamed knowledge blissfully.

When did I become a soft thing. I who is helper.

I hear I also brought the curse which led to death.

I am life giver and killer.
Sometimes they call me mami water in ancient traditions.

I kill my own life every month and it leaves me in bloody death.

I still offer water to thirsty travellers longing for rest in my bermuda triangle

I give family.
I give birth I nourish with milk-nurture.
I am mother of wild, a free thing.