Dirt… dirty… mud… blood… wine… soil… soil… Soul.

Mmmmm, I’ve always loved the taste of dirt.

As a child I would eat it. I’d make mud pies and throw them at people when they weren’t looking. In 5th grade I would eat all of the dirt-flavored Harry Potter jelly beans and leave the laughable others untouched. Dirt was the only kind worthy of my taste buds.

I’d lay with my dog and smell his paws because they were caked in dirt. When I visited New Hampshire for the first time I noticed the dirt there was different. Instead of the Virginia clay dirt with hints of red, this dirt was black, moist, rich and deep. I fell in love. I loved it so much I wanted to take some home with me on the airplane. I remember fantasizing about rich, black moon pies all the way home.

I still love dirt. I drink Puerh tea solely because it tastes like refined dirt. It brings me into my body, into my flesh and bones, my pulsing blood. It brings me into the sassy Queen with mud stains on her knees from dirty acts. One of my biggest fantasies is to make love in some rich, warm, clean, Mother mud. The animal in me loves getting dirty. She loves rolling in it, throwing it, smelling it, tasting it and feeling the squish on my body. I feel alive. This is what being alive feels like. My lioness pussy growls in pleasure! Oh… Dirt.

No one else knew the ferocity hiding beneath my dress.

I’m not sure I knew her either. I didn’t want to fully accept her. When she came out with fire or playful conviction, people were uncomfortable. When I mooned the neighborhood boys I was yelled at and sent to my room.

I remember looking at my butt and wondering, “How come when my brothers moon people it is funny, but when I do it, it is disgusting?” When she came out, I would get in trouble. I caused too much raucous and too much laughter. I mean, who pees in their pants from laughing so hard then shamelessly tells the whole class as if to announce a grand celebration: It was… her.

Soon after being teased at the parent-teacher conference for only having two gold stars when the rest of my classmates had five or six, I knew I needed to take action. I needed to hide her. It was not safe for her. I needed to go undercover…

I needed to get the gold stars to go to the pizza party for the “smart kids.” It was a no-brainer!

I learned to swallow my words, keep quiet, meek and small. I learned to obey, smile, cross my legs and become a good girl. I learned to become what others wanted to see and say what others wanted to hear. I painted her in cute doll dresses, ruffles, curls and giddy giggles. I would listen intently to soothe others; but I would not dare show them what was hiding beneath my dress.

I would share her with the trees, animals, my journal and trusted companions. But, I hid her otherwise. I was ashamed of her. If everyone knew the dirty Queen the way I knew her, I would be ostracized. If everyone knew I touched myself just because I loved the way the wind touched me, I would be called gross, disgusting and God forbidden, dirty.

“Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” they say. I wonder how would they react if I responded, “No, Dirtiness is next to Godliness!”

The evidence was clear. I could never pull off hiding her no matter how hard I tried. She always found a way to peak out. Whether it was from an absurd comment, a brilliant observation, a grass stain on my pants or ripped tights. Whether it was from a fart that reverberated throughout the entire room, the cartwheels I did down the aisles at the grocery store, a chocolate stain glopped to my cheeks or an insane laugh attack. Or from that first dark curly hair that peeked through my skin and said, ”Hello, I’m here!” She was always there.

And the people who knew me best were not fooled.

She is an artist, a believer in magic and a lover of God. She is a vast visionary that cannot be caught or caged. Her name is Ruby. She is my Soul. And she loves the taste of dirt.

I have graduated.

I have graduated from hiding, from squeezing myself into man-made boxes. I have graduated from the soft goody goodness that dances around it, but does not stir the stew.

I am a stew stirrer!

I am something big, loud, fierce and wild. The dirt hiding under my ruffles and lace cannot be contained. The ferocity hiding under my dress is alive and she has come out to play. The lioness pussy and unbleached asshole that loves the taste of dirt are here to get dirty!

She is here to taste her. The bloody pomegranate heart that loves to bleed is bleeding for her. The loud voice that loves to scream is screaming for her, growling for her, moaning for her.  She is the Earth, the soil, the mud, the Soul, the blood, the vulva, the death of lies, the death of what’s fake and primmed to look pretty. She is the dance, the unknown, the fertile void, the deep-throated canal to the witchy wise cauldron of feminine mysteries. I loosen my jaw for her, I cut my hair for her, I make love to God from her, with her.

This is a Holy Threesome that I cannot pass up.

She is boundless love. I’m a renegade for her love. A Rebel, a Heretic. But out of dishonor? No. For the greatest honor. An honor of bleeding heart courage. I wear my Red badge of Courage. A scarlet letter across my chest. A scarlet letter of unapologetic shamelessness for being a woman! A woman who gets dirty with the bloody, rich, fierce, loving woman inside all of us.

This Harlot. This love that flows through us and cannot be contained.

She says, “Wake Up! Listen… I am here.”

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Editorial Apprentice: Jamie Khoo/Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Gail Margolis