Oppression of the ‘Crazy Woman’

One of the most common fears women share about stepping into her power is being seen as crazy. It’s up there with ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone with my rage, and what if they don’t like me and leave ?’
It speaks volumes as women how we are conditioned to fear our individuality, our true self expression. Not the trauma response of ‘nice’ and people pleasing, but at the core of how she really feels and who she really is.
And those trauma responses woman, listen to them. Learn to be present when you’re feeling something from another person knowing you can’t be your real self with them. Watch this so you don’t turn it inwards believing there’s something wrong with you and you spiral down into self rejection attacking yourself and contracting your power.

The oppression we all know is to contain a woman’s power so she can mimic and obey the oppressed masculine. Obey or you’ll be rejected, isolated and ostracised.
And women do it to women too, it’s an ingrained dysfunctional behaviour to void the feminine unless she’s obeying to something unnatural and false to who she really is so it feeds the conformed expectation of colonisation.

That trauma response of masking niceness with people pleasing because there’s a strong fear within her that she knows when a person expects a woman to behave to the oppression of colonisation, and if she doesn’t there’s something wrong with her.

Anything outside this bullshit box is crazy and will be rejected even those that say they don’t but refuse to be inclusive by not living the mindfulness and presence of inclusion and instead falls reign to colonisation and white supremacy which should also show you that to unthread, understand, know and be present with this bullshit inside it takes inner work and daily presence.

Now that I’ve laid that out, this week I will share a little about reclamation of feminine power through goddess myth untangling the religious influence of upholding this power as a statue on a table usually named as an altar which I don’t use (and I’ll explain why in my next post) instead of living the embodiment which is what the practice be.
To be continued.

Visit the the official website ——-> snakeandwildroots.com.au


download (3)

Rage Against Shame

Our ancestral war cries is found in the peak of blinding white rage, right in the fucking source and regardless of the fear around embracing the power of it, some eventually do. At times all at once, then at times slowly, slowly either way it’s the voice of knowing that drives you forward the more you listen and act on it, the stronger and clearer it gets.

This isn’t just focused personal growth of growing from behavioural patterns, I’m talking learning how to feed wounds with enough rage to fight for yourself, and no matter how ugly or fucked up that may look, because I’m not talking about being a better human, I’m talking about being a real one.
It’s not all wrapped up in being fucking ‘good’ that’s not authentic as much as most want to hide behind it.
This constant lets all be fucking good, also hinders the strengthening of standing strong in disagreement and conflict feeding the shame and anxiety of getting it wrong deepening the fear of sitting in the pain of it. This creates so much fuckery in relationships. I am not saying to be an outright cunt particularly in regards to environmental and human rights issues, I’m talking about relaxing into the knowing and expression of you. Gotta fuck the shame off. Observe it, each time you’re feeling you’re overly extending yourself to be fucking good, ask why. What’s motivating you, this need to be liked because of the anxiety beneath it telling you in order to liked you gotta be good and fulfil the expectation of your own and others and that includes being good, I say fucken bullshit.
Ancestral liberation is the action, healing and expression from the inside out.

Visit official website –> – snakeandwildroots.com.au


The Other Side of Privilege

I’m a proud multicultural woman. I love my roots and where I come from. I have spent the past weeks publicly educating people that gypsy is a slur word after white privilege pushing the issue.

After dealing with a racial situation in more ways than one, I could feel the other part of me being pulled in. I wanted to go back to my shamanic roots and reconnect with the mixture of Asian roots that I am proudly from. I’m still in it. Transforming, learning, growing, listening. To be at peace and be with what I know is real. It’s a painful waste of time to defend the bones of who you are. I wish there was no need for it. 

But I want to talk racism. The systems we live under in Australia. It’s a fact and unless you’re ethnic or indigenous to this land, you wouldn’t know any better. 

I want to start with saying, my grandfather that I never met is Romani. My daughters father has Jewish Romani blood and was also affected by the privilege of one particular person that pushed the issue and continued to use the word gypsy. Instead of an apology, white privilege pushes the issue, why? Because she can. She knew she would have the support of other privileged people. Privilege sees, ‘how dare I pull up a pale person on using the word gypsy?’ ‘Privilege screams, ‘I’m no victim’ instead of seeing that this is a humanity issue. This is not the only example and I can line up my fellow Roma’s and we all have stories to tell. Romani people are still very much oppressed in Europe. It is only now people are slowly listening and understanding gypsy is a slur word. It is only in the last three or four years people are slowly listening to what we have to say. Sad, but true. 

The beautiful thing in my experience, is minority groups stick together. I’ve had plenty of chats and support from other cultures not to mention the Romani groups I am part of and the people I know. I can’t tell you how much this helps the heart. There’s a presence and an understanding that doesn’t require words. A genuine heart connection of ‘I got you.’ I also want to shout out to the beautiful loves that have surrounded me and my daughter on this issue. You know who you all are. I appreciate you all for giving me the care and understanding to speak up. For supporting us and showing me your humanity. It only brings people closer and I’m grateful for it. Some of you also may not see it as a big deal because the word gypsy has been romanticised and it is not what most people think it is. But this post isn’t about explaining this again. If you want to know head over here: Romani Alliance 

This is about racism and pale privilege. My parents came over to Australia by ship and met over here. To sum it up, my mother is mixed European and Romani and my father is mixed Asian. Both speak more than one language. Both have accents. My mother is pale and my father is what most people will describe as black but I call him brown because that’s what he is. I’ve never met a black person but varying shades of brown. 

I have watched both of my parents experience racism. Every member of my family has and for myself personally I still do. These systems we live under are created for pale people to benefit from and for the rest of us to believe a skin colour is better than the rest. This toxic belief has ripped through cultures with such ferocity. And many pale skinned people still live by this, and there are many that are working through this trauma and toxicity and I say thank you, because you’re healing more than yourself. Because it is a trauma to believe one colour of the earth is better than the other. It is a trauma to have your own culture destroyed to believe in something that not only keeps you from knowing who you really are, but the pain of not knowing your ancestors and your own roots. I can understand this can be a reason why people hold onto what they have been taught, but I say to you friend- go deeper. For you, for the earth, for all of us. 

I have a tonne of experiences to share but I’ll just point out a few foundational ones. When I was six, my father came home bleeding and bruised because eight pale European men he worked with waited for him to finish night shift and beat him so bad he couldn’t see out of his eyes leaving his face and much of his body bruised and swollen. Why? because he’s brown and Asian. I remember how that made me feel, and it does affect you. The first four years of schooling I was picked on by the same four white girls that called me derogatory names for having brown skin. This started when I was five and didn’t end until I left the school. I was pushed by two of them and cut my head open the exact outcome they wanted. How do I know? Because they laughed as blood was dripping down my face. I’ll never forget the hatred behind it. My brown skin made them sick. Every day they told me I was disgusting. They weren’t punished, and it won’t come to any surprise to you one of their mothers called me a racist derogatory name and denied it when my mother confronted her. Said I imagine it. Not only racist, but too scared to be honest about it when confronted. 

My next primary school more white kids told me that my brown skin was disgusting and it wasn’t till my indigenous brothers and sisters pulled me aside and said, ‘don’t worry sis you come hang out with us.’ They’re understanding and compassion saved me as my rage grew over through my teenage years because this shit didn’t lessen and not because it was just my personal experience. I hate racism. I don’t understand how people can hate so hard even with all the reasoning and trauma experiences behind it. I don’t understand this kind of hatred. 

I watched pale men speak to my mother likes she’s stupid because she has a strong accent. Like she’s their property for them to sleaze over hoping for a fuck. In my late teens I would go out with my father and have pale skinned men look at my father like he’s a piece of shit and that some how he’s taking advantage of me. I would walk past them and yell ‘he’s my fucking father’ most of them would look away embarrassed. I bring this up because this is what I now experience with my daughter. She’s 19, paler skin than myself and every time we go out I am looked at like I’m abusing her. We don’t know any of these people and of course they don’t know our relationship. It hurts her and I try not to let it bother me. All the people that look at us that way have pale skin. So unless your ethic or indigenous you really don’t know how alive and well white privilege is.  And majority of those that scream ‘go back to your country’ have pale skin and they’re not even in their own country, go figure. 

My indigenous brothers and sisters have been nothing but understanding. What does that say about the toxicity in this country? And the people running it and the people benefiting from the systems that are in place to feed this separation and toxic belief? 

The thing is with racism it cuts bone deep and shouldn’t exist. No person is more than a tree or animal or another person. We’re all earth. Everything else is trauma I believe this wholeheartedly because when you’re deeply and authentically connected to your own roots, there’s no racism you just see beauty. That kind of connection and evolution looks at difference with curiosity and not hate. We’re all indigenous to a patch of land. It’s all beauty. 

This piece below I found powerful and want to leave it with you. This is necessary for all of us to heal.Blog post, not long and written by a recovering racist. I share because this covers so much from a pale person that explains her privilege and what she was taught. It’s worth the read: https://www.patheos.com/blogs/ecopreacher/2019/01/recovering-racist/utm_content=buffercb20e&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook&utm_campaign=FBCP-PRX

images (1)




Under molten lava
Soon to be
Ash of crow and bone
Flesh is no more
Intricate scripted skin
Inked with indigenous blood
I’ve been gifted the thread
Now I weave my way
To become my own death
Fire ablaze
Thrashing from the core
Death feels like your body
being dragged
Over sharp rugged stone
Skin ripping off to always
Expose the bone..

And I welcome it

Smiling, staring death in the face
Writhing in pain for the love of it
This is when death becomes sexual
Aroused by the love that makes you
And the love that breaks you
Ecstasy wrapped in fucking nothing
How quickly the blood turns cold
If you choose to stop moving

So you got to keep questioning
This is where magic happens
Gotta make sure the weave is
Knotted in all the right fucking places
And you know when you can rest
Lost in the in between

The place between layers of earth
On a great bed of bone
Whispering all the right wisdom
Bringing you back home
From nothing that is something
You rise with all the colours they are
This raging movable fire
Forever calling you back home
To die over and over
To live the freedom you haven’t been yet
To live the freedom that you always are.

Written by Astara Lak’ech

(Visit the official website – snakeandwildroots.com.au)


The Difference



This frustration you have
This guilt you keep pointing at me to feel
I want you to take this poison you choose to be and slit your chest open with it
Put your fingers on your heart and feel if it’s beating right
You can scream and you can cry
But don’t tell me about it
I’m not fucking interested in your self indulgence
In your projection of blame
It’s because of this poison people like you have destroyed the things and people I love
Made purity impure with your self deceit
Your lust to weaken yourself and
Give into the conformity of those that will never give a fuck about you
So you tell me friend
Is your heart ticking right
When you can’t help but delight in people’s pain
Make them feel bad for your self contraction
The lack of power you feel inside yourself
But I’m the one that’s bad because I choose not to live your lies and talk your bullshit
I say look in the mirror and
Take that knife and keep slicing away at your own flesh
Until you feel the pain of your own bones
Singing to you the truth you refuse to live
Have sex in your own blood and create something new for yourself
Free yourself from this craziness and
Enter the madness I live in
The kind where love lives in the most potent of wild
I fucking dare you, and only then will we ever talk the the same language
And you actually have the respect to look me in the eye and
Say, I understand.

-fuck religion


Visit the official website at snakeandwildroots.com.au

FullSizeRender (46)


The Rage

It’s a quiet a simmer
That rage
Each time you drop in deeper and deeper still
It’s nails digging into a wound you’ve done everything to protect
Wide open
Forever picking at the stitches
Masking it with the right words and behaviours
So no one can ever see what you’re afraid of seeing
This rawness you want to stay hidden
Yet it festers and it grows
A rage so big you want it to consume you
Oh and you do
You want nothing more than to show the world how dark it is in here, don’t you?

You don’t fear death and you don’t fear pain
You fear being trapped
Living an existence that you know isn’t fucking real
But you’re too afraid of not fitting in with the same fucking clones out there
The same ones masking the same bullshit
So you pretend, and keep pretending
Then soon, here and there it starts to slip
That rage of yours
You say something that’s out of your ‘character’
And it drives you to pick that fight, say exactly what’s on your mind
Fucking conjure that chaos
Get revenge..and it’s all fucking delicious and you mean it don’t you..

We’re both smiling now aren’t we..

Part of you wants to drive that knife in
But a bigger part of you wants to be free
It’s freedom.
Freedom to be yourself
No matter how dark
How fucking weird, how offensive it may be to some
You just want to breathe
To know what it’s like to be the real you without giving a flying fuck what anyone thinks..

And if you got this far, that isn’t a big ask
To be you
To be free
That rage is asking you something over and over again
It doesn’t go away because there’s always more, there’s always more..
Are you listening?
Because the only person you need to confront,
The only person you really need to love, to commit and not abandon
To be present to be that freedom, to know..

Is you.

(Visit the official website –> snakeandwildroots.com.au)

Artist- Guy Denning, 1965