top of page

How to come to a Cavitation Bridgehouse

Susanne Hutzler

Have you ever heard of Cavitation? And what could a Bridgehouse be?

Coming to a Cavitation Bridgehouse is not an ordinary journey.


The journey is an epic one. A journey to a never heard of space of community, to a new space which is created by intention that is a cavitated space: A journey to a gameworld that bridges into Archiarchy, which is the culture that evolves after Patriarchy.


THE BLUE LINE

My journey starts in high fear. It starts on a summer day in the Training space of a Women of Earth Lab. Anne-Chloé Destremau and Vera Franco, these dauntless Women, hold an Adulthood Initiation Space for over 20 Women from all walks of life.

 

On that day, I cross a blue line on the wooden floor of the Training space, a line that marks the edge of Patriarchy. I am called forward by brave Women on the other side of the Line to join them in the Unknown, in the territory of what comes after. “Come over”, they cry, “dare the leap, be with us!”


My anger rises and rises and I shout out all the hurts and pains of a life lived in capitalist Patriarchy. The Earth rises her voice through me and I cry: “it’s over, the game is over!”

With the power of anger, backed by Gaia, I cross the line, I exit Patriarchy forever.


I decidedly leave behind my survival habit of going alone, bearing all alone, withdrawing into the reliable safety of solitude from where I can control the distance to the world and manipulate what is happening outside. My fear warns me to stay in the known, or else I might die.

My fear is accurate.

I die.


TRANSFORMATIONS

Grief floods my days. Grief about what I did to my child by forcing her into the school system. Grief about having played along in the capitalist consumption frenzy for so many years. Grief about how I adapted to patriarchal structures in University, in Business, and how I bartered my dignity against prosperity. Grief about having bled out all my energy to the system.


My cool self dies in agony. I feel fear to be kicked out of the community of mankind, I feel fear “they” would come after me and torture me, I feel a huge anger at suppression and war and supremacy. My bodies cry from pain. I am sick for uncounted days drifting in a grieving space. I wade through rivers of tears. I resent contact and withdraw into my cave. I mess up projects. I fall paralyzed in financial matters.

It feels as if the floor is pulled out and I fall, fall, fall.


Women are at my side, and hold space for me to go through all the emotions in processes, and heal.


The healing process continues in actions. I sort out all my possessions, touching every single thing, to become light, as light as possible. A Woman from my Team gives me the experiment of a basement whizzbang, which we do together. Within 20 minutes we pile up all my belongings and separate them into give away / keep piles. I only keep what I actually use.


The hardest thing is to let go of the memories that the physical objects recall so vividly. I’m digitizing videocassettes - and I meet myself and my parents, my partner, my siblings and friends of a former life, 25 years ago. I look at them with the distinctions and the finer perception of a trained consciousness and I see strangers that behave differently from what I remember. What I perceive now does not match my memories.

My memories are stories. I grieve that I believed them to be true.

I grieve my unconsciousness. I grieve how I was trapped in fighting for survival and could not love the beauty of life by then.

And still, my memories stick as if my life depended upon them. They are baggage I’m leaving behind.


DAWN OF A NEW LIFE

In a held memetic engineering process I lay bare a construct on which my life in Patriarchy operated. It goes as following:

Source is my greatest joy. It is in me, it is my own source. I have to protect it from other people stealing from the source and thus taking away my joy. I cannot share from the source because the others are unscrupulous bandits who will taint and deplete the source for their own purposes and leave me behind as a sucked out grey shell, bereft of all joy, a mere object of ridicule.


A new picture comes to me.

The source being actually uncountable sources in a mossy ground. Where ever I touch the ground, water bubbles up, the more I touch, the more water comes up and trickles away into creeks and streams. I only need to share all I discover so that the next thing can come up.


When operating on the system of scarcity I cannot go out and offer anything to the world from my own research, especially not the fresh, the hot stuff. I can only do so now and then when I am in a generous mood. I know now why. It’s a child’s worldview.


I feel fear. I feel fear that the old construct is as sticky as my old memories.


THE TREASURE

I feel joy. The construct crumbles - I am gifted with a new life.

The stream of my old life, drying down, is my adapting to the surrounding context. If it happens that I adapt, and give my center away, and this might be even to my own fantasies, I notice it now through my anger - and that is new and cool! Why am I so angry, I ask myself? Ah, I did it again, give my center away!


THE BRIDGEHOUSE

In my new life I inhabit my space where my own culture lives.

In my new life, I keep my center with myself, and notice my impulses from within. And, I am in touch with reality, which is what is. Not what I fantasize life to be about.

What died from my old life when I crossed the blue line, is doing everything alone, being a knowing-better-expert. In my new culture is especially important to live together in collaboration.

This is what pulls me towards the Bridgehouse. To live in a shared context, and in the company of people with a big Heart and a big Gremlin to cocreate Archiarchy.


MY CULTURE.

 

0 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


bottom of page