A very curious thing happened the other day to me around devotion.

I went into a church.

Devotion is the New Black 

Now you might be able to guess that that is not a run of the mill thing for me. I've always avoided churches - afraid the congregation can just SMELL the witch on me, for starters.

In fact, when they heard about this escapade, my friends all joked that the vicar must be hot, or why the hell else would I be going?

But here's the thing.... Devotion is a quiet art. And sometimes she pulls at you in a subtle way.

So I sat through my natural disinclination to hear about "The Son of This and The Father of That." And I just felt into it. Lo and behold I felt her. I felt HER. I felt her everywhere.

I took the communion and I knelt and I received the blessing. And what struck me was that the act of receiving that blessing hit my heart like a literal tsunami of emotion. I felt like I might weep and collapse right there and then and be lifted up by angels. Instead I swallowed my tears, and went back to my house and tried to take stock of what happened.

I realised I had experienced devotion.

And whilst I do not have to swallow religion. I mean I don't have to buy the brand.
Still I found myself going back for that one simple ritual of communion. And each time I found myself surrendering.

This is the main thing I discovered:

The PLEASURE of it was immense.

As a self-proclaimed aficionado of pleasure, I found myself asking - why exactly was that?

I mean, as feminists we are taught that devotion is really a pretty ugly concept. When you think of a devoted person, what image comes to mind for you? For me if I am honest I think of...... stupidity.

I guess I can kind of handle the idea of a "devoted husband and father." But when you hear the phrase "devoted wife", or "devoted mother", or maybe "devoted student" - what comes to mind instead?

I have to admit that when I hear those phrases a part of me just goes "PAH." Like I automatically assume that such a woman must be frustrated, scared and 100% not living out her full potential. A devoted woman? Well, she must be a bit of a muppet, right? 

So it is a little bit disconcerting then, to go into a (patriarchal) church setting and to find that the act of devotion could produce something akin to - peace, well-being and relaxation throughout my entire body and mind. That I could even feel RELIEF.

As a result of this in fact, and because the sense of pleasure I found in devotion was so easily accessible, I started wondering if I should go to church more often.

Gulp.

And even the vicar wants tea with me now.

"Don't worry" he tells me. "You won't need to tidy up."

(And I am thinking Reverend, it's not the mess I am worried about. It's the content of my bookshelves.)

DEVOTION AS RESPONSIVENESS

Fast forward a couple of decades, and I find myself craving something. Knowing something. Like an unfurling deep within me. Something that wants. Something even hungry for some deeper expression of what it is to be human in this world. For what it is to be alive and to be able to feel that in all its glorious intensity. To be able to serve that. To be able to jump anyway and in spite of the danger.

(Use me, God. Use me. Oh, how will you use me?)

Another of my favourite teachers, David Deida, describes this phenomenon well. I recently heard a lecture of his where he said that no matter how potent the masculine force is in its' presence, it will never be whole without the deep willingness of the feminine to open under its' attention.

He illustrates this concept with an example of how the cervix will soften under the exquisite touch of an attentive lover. Or how the pussy will begin to drip wetness. She responds. 

I see this with my coaching clients also - one partner can up their game, but their efforts are always sadly wasted if the other partner stays contracted and unwilling to risk the danger of their own letting go also.

Of course, this kind of mutual surrender will always be edgy. Because none of us is enlightened ... yet. 

But feminists come unstuck here all the time in my opinion. Well why should we surrender? We retort. Why the fuck should we devote ourselves to anything? I mean we are not getting paid enough as it is. I mean,  that guy/our boss/ the church/the current state of the military industrial complex is fucked up. Why should we serve that? It would be like impaling ourselves on a medieval door with rusty spikes. 

That shit hurts.

Truth.

But consider this - I don't think that is what devotion is calling me to do. I don't think devotion is about going along with the above in any shape or form. In fact, I think devotion is actually about responding to what is. Which also means feeling it. Possibly, it means feeling everything.

Just like the tsunami that hit me in the church. Possibly like the feeling that my heart was going to break with the simple burden of having so much love to bear in the face of it all.

DEVOTION FOR TODAY

So where do we even start then? If this feeling of devotion begins calling at us? Appearing at the edges and calling us closer in?

One thing to consider is that we do, actually, devote ourselves to things all the time anyway.

For example, the one dreaming in that dream as me - she was devoted entirely to her self-protection. She was devoting herself to being ahead of the game at all costs.

And that's a thing I have found incredibly useful to ask myself - exactly what am I devoted to - albeit unconsciously - in this moment. And what are the costs involved with devoting myself to this?

Have a think about what you devote yourself to currently. As your time and attention is a precious resource, and the world is full of false gods. (Read more about that in my article about being a Lady Boss here.) It's good to wise up to your devotions, and often you can find them sadly misplaced. As another of my teachers, Layla Martin, says:

check your boundaries - don't go bypassing your way into devotion

There's another thing to consider too, I have found, in my journey of discovery around the principles of devotion. 

Please be careful that you are not bypassing your boundaries if you surrender to a more devoted life in service to all the things.

As I mentioned in my article about said boundaries here, a good way to gauge that you are on the right track with all this is to tune into your pleasure compass. Does it feel good to give? Can you feel your cervix softening? Is your pussy lubricated? Are you responding? Or are you tight, controlled, pious and superior. (Don't do that, girlfriend. Wet pussies are so much more fun than the rest.)

Redfining Feminine Power

As we heal ourselves of our victimhood - and I am not bashing your victimhood - but as we move through it and out of it, which is the ultimate goal of all this in my world, as women we do begin to see things through a different lens.

Perhaps then, as we become more open to the world, as we become conscious of that which we are devoted to subconsciously, and change that devotion to be more consciously in alignment with our highest values (aka our North Star). It is then and only then that we become more available to surrendering ourselves to what the path of that devotion truly demands from us.

I would like to think that when I am in this more surrendered and devoted version of myself, that really I am at my most powerful. 

I mean I have a sword. I know my anger as an asset. But beyond all that, it nourishes me to walk through all the other parts of my persona fearlessly. It pays dividends that I do not forget the other aspects that are there. The more subtle. The parts of me that whisper to me.

I see this in other women all the time also. A true devotee of the feminine can take on a nourishing type of softness. The type of surrender that can pull the entire focus of the room towards her magnetic gravity.

I believe this is a different type of power — the type of power in a that woman fills the space with her own embodied ease. This kind of power radiates.

She doesn't need to trump anything or anyone. She has no point to prove. She becomes a true delight (not a forced delight) to those around her. And such delight in her own body becomes, in the end, a kind of small, secret magnificence which she also delights in tending to. 

it turns out then, that that kind of woman was in me all along. Very still. Very silent. In pleasure. And in prayer.

The beautiful and humbling thing, is that now when I go into a church, I can feel her presence there also. It's like underneath all the pomp and ceremony... there were the Marys all along.

And although it can be hard to hear her, it's like listening for the silence. In my opinion, She  the field inside which all of this unfolds anyway.

Perhaps God is feminine then, when you think about it.

Or perhaps I am a heretic.

And hopefully Jesus loves me anyway.

See you in church 😉