Beyoncé and The Divine Feminine Renaissance

Source: Beyonce

In mid-August, amidst the weeks of sweltering temps, I’d taken to driving with my windows down blasting Church Girl on repeat. My enthusiasm was rooted in reliving that first …I’ll drop it like a thottie, with the same “Oh Shit!” surprise as the first time, every time. This meant I usually hit replay before I made it to the final seconds of the song. But one afternoon, sitting at a stop light, the sun beating through my windshield while the beat faded back towards The Clark Sisters sample, and I heard Queen B state her case firmly, directly, divinely: “I ain’t tryin’ to hurt nobody. Tryin’ to bring the life up in your body.”

Her words knocked the wind out of me. And as I gasped for air, I burst out crying.

Beyoncé, High Priestess that she is, simply wants us to feel alive. Really alive.

It is easy to understand that the imperative of Renaissance to make you dance. And yes, it is that. But more so, it is to make you feel free. To make you feel good. To feel good about your yourself. To feel release. Pleasure. Ecstasy. Unlike her most recent releases, this album is not visual. It is meant to be felt. There are no carefully choreographed videos accompanying epic dance anthems because Beyoncé wants you to intuitively bring the life up in your body. Your way.

This may be a good place to pause and admit that while I have a deep appreciation for Ms. Carter’s artistry, I barely register on the spectrum of Beyoncé Fandom. So why the proselytizing at the Temple of Beyoncé? 

Let me back it up (buss it, buss it, buss it, buss it, back it up). 

Dance was always a part of my life. First ballet class, then gymnastics. There were years of competitive cheer and college days clad in jean skirts grinding my way through clubs and frat parties. Then, when the post-grad, 20-something social scene trended toward craft beer and roof top soirees void of pelvic thrusting, dance seemed to suddenly disappear from my life.  

I couldn’t name it for what it was at first, though I felt its absence. As far back as 2011, I remember googling “adult dance classes” and when no results surfaced, I resigned that being an adult meant you no longer got to dance.  I’d spend the next decade constantly contorting my life into the Adult Mold replacing carefree and wild, with stress and responsibility. I’d feel the urge to move and express, but I would quickly stuff it down; shoving anything that wanted to come up deep into my stomach and hips then clamping my jaw shut to keep it from escaping. Eventually the feeling started to gnaw at my insides. Year after year. Clawing at me, desperate to break free. By then, I could name it: My body wants to dance. But how? Where? In this body? This body that aches and cracks and carries so many extra pounds?

I’d anguish like this until New Year’s 2020. I was on retreat at Kripalu perusing the free time schedule when a class called YogaDance jumped out at me. I had no idea what it meant. Do I bring my yoga mat? Are we shaking our butts in down dog? It didn’t matter, I knew I had to try it. The first opportunity for YogaDance came and went. I was “too tired.” The second time on the schedule, I “just didn’t feel like it.” Each time the possibility loomed, fear and shame set in. How dare I think I could just dance. Get back into your mold, my inner adult told me.

Finally, on the last day—New Year’s Day—high on meditation, I forced myself to show up. I sat anxiously on the window ledge, jaw clenched, fighting back nervous tears. When the instructor arrived, she made her way through a crowd of familiar-to-her faces giving hugs and New Year good tidings. Oh no! I’m an outsider. Everyone here knows each other and knows what to do. How can I escape?! But before I could tip toe to the exit, she spoke. She shared a story about New Year’s ten years prior, when her life had been devoid of dance and then she found herself at Kripalu. “This dance saved my life,” she said, unsuccessfully fighting back tears (which reflexively unleashed the flood gate from behind my own eyes). And we began. Simple sway of the hips. Roll of the shoulders. Take up space. Move how you feel. Grapevine, Stomp, Hip Roll. Find a new spot. Find a partner. Do what they do. Sigh. Scream. Cool down. She did, in fact, play Beyoncé. And I knew as I headed home, my life, too, had been saved.

A few months later when Covid lockdowns constricted us to our homes, I found immense freedom dancing in my underpants every night. An hours-long ritual of expression, appreciation for my body, and medicinal shift from constriction to flow. It was slow at first. Releasing years of all that I had shoved down. Finding the places where I habitually contracted in my body. Letting energy trickle up and down my spine. (Bringing life up in my body, if you will).

A year after my Kripalu experience, I’d find myself again on retreat in Mazunte, Mexico where fliers for Ecstatic Dance hung around town. Once again, I had no idea what it was, but I knew I was meant to show up. And I did, with the same trepidation, but this time with friends. We arrived at an open field with a few palm trees offering reprieve from the Oaxacan sun. The rules: no shoes, no booze, no talking. A DJ named Piña, adorned in glitter and fairy wings began his set. And we moved. Each week, I found more freedom. More release from self-judgement. From what I thought other people might think. From what I thought my body could or should be doing. And when new covid restrictions prohibited large groups, we’d take it underground. Private messages would circulate the location of a small gathering, like an ecstatic dance speak easy. And we would keep moving and flowing and releasing.

This process of relearning to dance—to twirl around the room like the toddler, to let out a primal howl—was a key piece to healing on physical, mental and spiritual levels. There had been therapy, painting, vitamins, physical therapy, journaling, medications, meditation, sweat lodges, breath work, massage, yoga… Each one a profound part of the process, but then there was dance. American dance legend and 5Rhythms creator, Gabrielle Roth, offers this explanation: “In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed, they would ask…When did you stop dancing?”

Dancing is medicine. And it is a manifestation of the Divine Feminine, the free flowing, wild, exciting energy that lives in and around each of us (yes, even men). The constricting? The repression? The contorting? The shame? The dis-ease in our body? That comes from centuries of suppressing the Divine Feminine (hello “witch” hunts!). Suppressing our expression. Our creativity. Our sensuality. Our intuition. Our connection to nature and natural cycles. Western society warped the Divine Masculine into patriarchy and white supremacy, putting an extreme emphasis on linear progress, thinking, logic, efficiency, competition, and strength. Now, these qualities are constantly in overdrive in all of us. It shows up in the way we experience the world, the way we express (or don’t). It is alive in our 60+ hour workweeks. It is our constant, linear striving toward some unattainable (and probably made up) marker. And it leaves little room for us to embrace the Divine Feminine flow.

This brings us back to our shaman, Beyoncé.

In 2016, Beyoncé brought us Lemonade which forced us to feel the full spectrum of human emotion—feminine emotion—hurt, shame, rage, vengeance, confidence, despair, redemption, freedom, and peace. Lemonade was Beyoncé, The Human working through her worldly emotions; imploring us to stop numbing ours and to go through it with her. Six years later, Renaissance shows us the light at the end of the tunnel (finally on the other side of the tears that we cried). The music is beckoning us to embrace the Divine Feminine in all her wild delight—untamed, beautiful, whole, powerful, and free. Renaissance is Beyoncé, the Goddess, showing us transcendence. If we give way to this energy, well then, she wagers, “Bet you you’ll see far/Bet you you’ll see stars/ Bet you you’ll elevate/ Bet you you’ll meet God.” Mused like a seasoned Tantrika, Beyoncé is telling us the way to meet God/Goddess/Universe/Higher Power/Divine Energy (take your pick) is through your body.  

Lest we forget what renaissance means: Reawakening. Reemergence. Resurrection of culture. Beyoncé’s Renaissance is simply breathing new life into ancient wisdom. In the 14th Century, Sufi mystic and Persian poet, Hafiz, put it this way:

Every child has known God…
The God who knows only four words.
And keeps repeating them, saying:
“Come Dance with Me, Come Dance…”

Beyoncé is not just calling us to the dance floor at the nearest gay bar (but go there, too), she is daring us to come back to the sacred traditions of the mystics, healers, priestesses, artists, poets, wild women and crones whose lineage live in all of us no matter our ancestry or gender. She is signaling us to release the systems that no longer serve us (if they ever did) and to be unburdened by society’s expectations. She lets know mid-album, a psychic hit told me we got shit to do, but we ain’t got time like we used to. A collective call to action. A sense of urgency. Move. Move. Move. Move. Yeah, you got to Move.

The time is now to twerk open what has been tamped down for centuries. To revive our divine feminine power. To make the journey from head to heart. And be bold in this pursuit! She warns: if you don’t seek it, you won’t see it. Which means we have to be ready to open your eyes to new possibilities. Are you ready to see far? Are you ready to be a part of the Divine Feminine renaissance? Are you ready create the life that your heart truly desires? Because when we each do this, then brick-by-brick, we build a new foundation…for the whole damn world. And we usher in a new way of being and living.

Maybe this sounds appealing, but you’re not sure where to begin inviting this energy into your life. Well, you can start with this sacred prayer from the Temple of Beyoncé:

Let it go, girl…
Let it out, girl…
Twirl that ass like you came up out the South, girl…

The recitation pairs well with this ritual: First, find place where you can move solo or in community. Next, as soon as [you] get in this party, [you] let go of [your] body…Then with steady devotion you simply Drop it like a thottie; Drop it like a thottie…

 And as the Divine Feminine power moves through you, be careful, and remember: Don’t hurt nobody.

Follow The Center for Peace & Connection on Facebook & Instagram to learn about upcoming workshops and opportunities to move your body and find your flow!

Sneak Preview: Workshops coming to Denver on October 14 and to South Jersey/Philly on November 6.

Don’t forget! Sign up for our newsletter via the form below!