The myth of Eve has served as an eternal warning, an electric fence around our psyches zapping our impulses to revolt or question. I don’t know about you, but the serpent has figured highly in my life, in the form of lovers, sex, drugs, rock’n’roll. I think many of us have been constantly ingesting things that are stand-ins for apples but always with a sense of being wrong. Our life force or hunger to be, our erotic Reckoning impulses, have been distorted through this cellular shame and distrust.
So I would like to present you with another story about Eve. I believe Eve ate the apple because, like many of us, she was trying to remember the other story, the story before the trauma of brainwashing and massacres. The story before they shoved things into our sacred holes and cut the tips of our clitorises where divinity lives. Before they shaved our furry nests and choked the throat of our songs. Before they called us hysterical and intense and emotional, before they beat boys for crying and wanting to wear dresses. Before they stoned us for uttering the words of our mothers and drilled down into us to rob us of our moist and fertile secrets.