Posts Tagged ‘abuse’

So much work I have done to awaken the Sacred Feminine within me.  So much attention have I given to embodying Her, to BEING Her in this world that has been so out of kilter for thousands of years.  And that has all been right because it has brought me home to a large part of myself that is strong, deep, profound in its desire to heal and mother this world.

And in the last few months, another voice has been respectfully poking its head into my consciousness.  It feels pointed, focused, exacting, harder than the quality of energy I experience with Great Mother or the Sacred Feminine.  It is absent entirely unless I give it permission to enter my space, and then it comes in with a full force of presence, taking up room.  To my great surprise, I am told it is the voice of Great Father.

Well, it is true that I have on obsession with balance.  I know that my soul has a sense of humor because that is my maiden name.  Balance is the closest thing to a religion I could say I have.  Balance is the way of the universe, the way of nature, the way of the middle road.  I respect and want to emulate balance very much, because I believe that is the natural way that things are, and I want to be as close to that as I possibly can.

Masculine/feminine balance is also part of that duality that we see played out in physical form.  Notice I did not say men and women, but masculine and feminine, qualities of energy that play at opposite ends of a spectrum, holding the space for physicality to occur through the magnetic polarity of opposites.  This is how all physical matter is able to be in existence.

So it would make some sense that my focus on the Sacred Feminine would be so successful…that I would feel Her, embody Her, teach others how to awaken that pathway within themselves…and that would lead me to Him, the Divine Masculine.  From the strength of Her, I will come to know Him.

More to come about my resistance to the masculine, the work I am doing to remove the veneer of my internalized father from the face of the Great Father, and the success I have had recently in my new relationship with Him.

Untitled Female Figure, Licia Berry, 1988, ink wash

It’s really true what they say, that if we are not aware of history we are doomed to repeat it.  We can see it on our world stage, we can see it in our relationships, and we can see it in how we become our parents if we have not done a significant amount of consciousness work.

Having internalized my father as the more positive role model of my two parents (if you know anything about my history with my father that may be jaw dropping to you!), I sought my way in the world with a dominant immature masculine energy as my primary lead.  I worked hard, I forced and pushed, I didn’t let myself feel much, I succeeded when I should have totally failed or died.  It was survival of the fittest; there was no room for getting soft or taking a breath or self care or soul care…none of that pansy stuff. 

That served me well enough to get through 5 years of full-time university and student teaching, all while making good grades and working enough jobs to pay the rent.  I had no help from my family and was living on my own in downtown Atlanta, a young girl with nothing to her name but a hand-me-down station wagon that stalled while driving and a scrappy attitude.

When I met my future husband, my survival was more assured.  He took me out to eat and I tore up a steak, threatening to spear his hand when he reached for something on my plate.  I had not eaten properly in 2 years, making due with one box of macaroni to last me a week, and mooching off of my wealthy roommate when she would let me.  Mostly I got through by just not allowing myself to think about food.  Keep moving, keep moving.  Besides, I was getting calories from the alcohol that folks would buy me at the dance club.     

It took some time to start to calm the wild beast who was fighting to survive within me.  Being in close proximity to Peter’s family (mine had been mostly out of the picture since I left home) induced a deep depression; those feelings I had been too resistant to give air time to finally had some room to come up to the surface.  I became a very uncomfortable FEELING creature.  I started therapy to learn why I was feeling the way I was, and began the long slow climb into consciousness and the light.    

The year that I was pregnant with my first son was when I began to consciously feel female.  I had been tough and together and sharp minded, but now I felt softer, squishier, joyful, less concerned with working hard to survive and more concerned with the baby growing inside of me.  I took wonderful care of my body, learned about organic foods and alternative ways of thinking.  This was when I started to see my inner nurturer come to the surface.  Somehow I knew how to treat myself as more precious.  This was such a great gift; it was truly the first time I can remember feeling feminine in an authentically powerful way.

My second pregnancy drew me ever more into the feminine, but the wild, deep, dark feminine.  I craved tribal music and walked in the woods and the mud.  I talked to the trees and the wind and the earth, feeling the eyes of nature on me as I moved through the world.  I carried sticks and rocks as talismans, weighing down my pockets with precious bits of ground that seemed to want to walk with me.  It was as if I were a child again, but a powerful, pregnant woman-child, innocent and knowing at the same time.  I found myself drawn to women in Asheville who taught me about birth being a natural process that my body knew how to do.  It was the beginning of learning to trust myself and my body as way-showers.

It was during this time I first heard the word Goddess, at least consciously.  I didn’t like it much; “Goddess” evoked images of hippie women in long skirts with wild hair and flowers in their teeth.  It evoked witches and feminists and crazed, alternative thinkers.  Even though I was coming into my feminine self in a powerful way, I was way too practical (read fearful) to embrace the “goddess”.  I experienced the Divine as something more abstract, a combination of feelings and love and creation and evolution.  I wasn’t going to worship anything.  I didn’t believe in a dude in the sky as my god, why would I believe in a woman in a skirt as my goddess? 

But my feet were firmly on the path of embracing Her, whether I saw her as a figurehead or not.  My internal knowing was taking me deep into Her, and what I discovered was that She was inside of me, in my body and heart and belly.  She wasn’t outside, wanting to be worshiped.  She was part of me. 

(to be continued)

Feeling as the New Frontier

First published May 12-2009-

(February 4, 2010-I re-publish this piece I wrote last year now as it comes to my attention again and again that we can do horrible things to each other or buy in to outrageous belief systems because we are not connected to our feelings….it is our feelings that guide us, provide feedback to us about whether we are following a moral compass, let us know if we are off track. 

Case in point: the incredible lack of feeling response demonstrated by James Arthur Ray, wealth advocate and teacher, who said in an interview 2 years ago that the Holocaust “was a good thing”, after people were traumatized (and some even died) at an event he held in Sedona AZ in October 2009 .  He was arrested yesterday, and the outpouring of feeling from the public shows that this is an important thing to look at.   http://abcnews.go.com/gma/video/spiritual-guru-arrested-sweat-lodge-deaths-9744388&tab=9482931&section=1206825

I have long said that the worship of the mind, intellect and thought as king is a very imbalanced masculine quality playing out in our world.   Feeling requires us to be present in our human, fragile, animal bodies, and to find a way to courageously live with that temporary, precious nature that our physical existence has.  Feeling requires honesty, that we feel the hard stuff as well as the easy stuff.  Repression of feeling is denying our physical existence, wanting to run away or escape, wishing it were different than it is.  It could be said that feeling is a feminine quality, if we look at it as a “being still, accepting and receiving” practice.  Perhaps if we were to balance our minds with our feelings, our world would not be in the state that it is in today.)     

Published on liciaberry.com and Face Book under notes

I write this today in response to an email that I received in which a woman friend is processing feelings and looking for some answers.  She is not alone!  I include partial transcript from that email, as well as more thoughts to offer.

I know a whole lot of folks who are feeling emotions right now….and I think this is GOOD.  I am told that the “return” of the feminine looks like folks FEELING their feelings, not just talking about them or conceptualizing them or thinking “positive thoughts”.  Feeling is not logical in any way…it is the right side of the brain, it is the feminine way, it is the antithesis of putting things in a box so we can understand them.  It is soft, animal, messy, uncontrollable, heart, soul, dreams, and water….it is the balance of the way humanity has been living for 5000 years. 

I FEEL and am told that feeling is the next frontier in human consciousness and expansion/evolution.  I think the women will be leading the way to learn how to BE this feeling state that we are entering…at least the women who have not internalized patriarchy so much that they are “men in skirts”!  We will have to allow this feeling to BE us, then we will teach others, and then the world will truly change to that balanced state so many of us feel coming.

We are meant to feel…this is part of our design as human beings.  We have physical, mental, spiritual and EMOTIONAL capacities, all of which serve a purpose and have a very important function towards our being fully human. 

My experience shows me that the problems come in when we judge ourselves for what we are feeling, or that we are feeling at all. 

Once a woman called in to my radio show…she was a “Law of Attraction”-inspired coach in her day job, but she was calling in seeking some answers for a traumatic event in her life; her son committed suicide.  She was driving her self crazy trying to cope with this incredible, unnamable loss by “thinking positive thoughts” and looking for “spiritual” answers about it.  What I offered to her was swift and clear: “Honey, you need to allow yourself to grieve.”  She broke down on the air, and wrote to me several months later that the permission to FEEL that I had given her changed her life. 

If you are finding yourselves in tears more frequently lately or feeling a little chaotic on your insides, maybe even angry or depressed, I would offer to you not to think you are going crazy or that there is something wrong with you. 

I say all this to reflect to you that I FEEL you are right on track….and that I echo your experience of feelings being a very important expression of my humanity right now.  I am finding healing, understanding, self acceptance and incredible love as a result of my allowing myself to feel without judgment or conception…just FEELING.  And when I allow the feelings, no matter how uncomfortable or painful to move through me, I come out the other side wiser, cleansed, and feeling whole.  I’m so grateful!!!

First published on http://www.liciaberry.com   in May 2009

Copyright Licia Berry 2009

It seems to be in the media everywhere right now!  Between Mackenzie Phillips, Oprah Winfrey, five men in one family arrested, and the movie “Precious”, it seems the collective mind is attempting to bring up the heinous topic of sexual abuse. 

I hear many saying how disturbing it is and wanting it to go away.  I understand that, for sure.  It is ugly, uncomfortable, and unbelievable that sexual abuse goes on.  But as a survivor, I know it does, and I also know that the culture of secrecy around it is why it continues to infect people’s lives.  It must be talked about, it must be SEEN, in order for it to stop happening.  Children’s lives are at stake, RIGHT NOW.

The below article is something that I found some years ago that was helpful in knowing what adults can do to stop sexual abuse. Source- http://www.darkness2light.org/KnowAbout/adults_responsible.asp

Child sexual abuse: the hidden epidemic

Child sexual abuse is a hidden but significant problem in every community in America. Experts estimate that one in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused before their 18th birthday. Less than one in ten will tell. Research clearly shows that individuals who are sexually abused as children are far more likely to experience psychological problems often lasting into adulthood, including Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, depression, substance abuse and relationship problems. Child sexual abuse does not recognize region, race, creed, socio-economic status or gender; it crosses all boundaries to impact every community and every person in America.

If child sexual abuse were like most childhood diseases, the prevalence and consequences of it would lead to telethons to raise money for its cure every weekend. But child sexual abuse is one of the last cultural taboos. With the exception of child-focused personal safety programs, almost nothing is being done to address it.

Darkness to Light believes that adults should be taking proactive steps to protect children from this significant risk. It is unrealistic to think that a young child can take responsibility for fending off sexual advances by an adult. Adults are responsible for the safety of children. Adults are the ones who need to prevent, recognize and react responsibly to child sexual abuse. Yet, the statistics clearly show that adults aren’t shouldering this responsibility. Darkness to Light believes that adults just don’t know how.

What adults need to know about child sexual abuse…

• It happens more than you think. A lot more - one in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually abused before their eighteenth birthday.
• It can happen right under your nose and you may never know – less than one victim in ten will tell.
• The perpetrators aren’t usually “dirty old men hiding in the bushes” – 34% of those who sexually abuse children are family members. A further 59% are friends and acquaintances of the child and his family.
• You probably don’t realize how big the problem is – 67% of the victims of all sexual assaults (including adults) are children.
• And we’re not talking about young teenagers having consensual sex – the median age for sexual abuse is just nine years of age.
• Child sexual abuse is not just a bad experience. Child sexual abuse wrecks young lives – victims of child sexual abuse are at far greater risk for all sorts of psychological disorders including PTSD, depression, substance abuse and relationship problems, often lasting into adulthood.

The personal pain of child sexual abuse…

• Adolescents and young adults with a history of childhood abuse are 3 times more likely to become depressed or suicidal as compared to those without such a history. ( Brown, Cohen, Johnson & Smailes, 1999 )
• Women with histories of childhood abuse report a greater number of physical and psychological problems, and lower ratings of their overall health than their peers. ( Moeller & Bachmann, 1993 )
• 34% of children who are either physically or sexually abused, and 58% of children who are both physically and sexually abused meet the criteria for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. ( Ackerman, Newton, McPherson, Jones & Dykman, 1998). Untreated, PTSD is a chronic disorder. The residual emotional, behavioral, cognitive and social symptoms persist and contribute to a host of psychiatric problems through life. ( Ferguson & Horwood, 1998 )
• Adolescents and adults who are abused in childhood are significantly more likely to drink alcohol and/or use illicit drugs than their peers. Adolescents and adults who were victims of childhood maltreatment have been consistently found to be more likely to engage in high-risk sexual behaviors.

And the cost to us all…

• A 1996 National Institute of Justice study estimated that each year child sexual abuse in America costs the nation $23 billion
• Victims of child sexual abuse generally spend more on psychiatric care and medical services throughout their lives. Some victims of child sexual abuse require more expensive special educational services. Child sexual abuse causes lost potential and productivity. These expenses, which would not be necessary if not for sexual abuse, are a financial drain to each and every one of us.

So, what is happening to prevent child sexual abuse

• Preventing sexual abuse with child-focused programs… There are several well-known and successful programs that teach children self-protection skills and techniques, as age-appropriate. These programs also teach children about physical boundaries and about discerning types of touch. These programs are valuable to children. The skills learned by children in these programs have thwarted some abductions and sexual assaults. However, we must not fall into a trap of thinking that these skills are the only protection children need.
• Think about it. It is unrealistic to expect a six-year old to fend off sexual advances from an adult relative. A six-year old can’t recognize sexual advances for what they are. And a six-year old has been taught to “mind” adults who are authority figures. It is unrealistic to think that a six-year old can or even should protect himself in this situation.
• Adults are responsible for the safety of children. We strap children into car seats, we walk children across busy streets and we ask our teenagers questions about where they are going and who they will be with, all to keep them safe. Adults should also be responsible for protecting children from sexual abuse.
• Why don’t adults do a better job? Child abuse statistics show that adults do not adequately protect children from child sexual abuse. There are a lot of reasons why, but the main one is THEY DON’T KNOW HOW!!!
• Research suggests that adults are unaware of effective steps they can take to protect their children from sexual abuse. Most do not know how to recognize signs of sexual abuse and many do not know what to do when sexual abuse is discovered.

“When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.”  -Adrienne Rich

free bird

There is something about having an audience that provokes an artist (of any kind, whether writer, musician, visual artist, actor, etc.) to rise to the occasion and express themselves.  I find this to be what will cause me to sit down and write, sometimes more than the need to express, itself.  But the need to express today is strong.

When I was a little girl, I had a vivid imagination.  I imagined worlds and dramas and tragedies and great tales of heroism.  I sometimes told these stories during show and tell in 1st grade, interweaving the facts of my life with the fictions in my mind.  These acts of creativity were unappreciated for what they were, however.  The era, the lack of knowledge or understanding in the family I grew up in, and the location of backwoods North Carolina where I grew up had little appreciation of normal child development, and so I was labeled a Liar.

That label followed me around for many years….again, doing what normal children do to sometimes cover up their mistakes, to try to look good in the eyes of those who have the power, to try to minimize the punishments for falling down, I sometimes did not tell the truth.  No, I did not take a cookie.  No, I don’t know anything about the candy in Grandmom’s drawer being gone.  No, I did not take the few coins on my father’s dresser.  It is absolutely true that I did those things.

Later in life, as I understood some of the crazier events that happened to me in my family, I began to see that labeling me as a “Liar” was a brilliant, if unconscious, strategy.  No matter what excellent grades I brought home, no matter what awards and accolades, my identity at home would be one of not being trusted to tell the truth.  And so, when I did understand the importance of speaking out about my early life and dealing with it head on, I would have an inner conflict set up even before I started.

I wonder now if there is a different standard for boys and girls when they do the inevitable and make up a reality, or lie.  Are boys expected to be “naughty” and therefore not stigmatized about lying?  Are girls expected to be pure and chaste and innocent, and so if they act out in ways that children do, they bear the brunt of unfair discrimination?

I remember a particular day when I was 11 years old, when I was caught in a lie (I cannot remember what it was, perhaps the stealing the change on the dresser thing), when I was sent to my room.  I lay on my bed and cried for a long time, feeling a sense of injustice and not being understood.  My parents did not give me an allowance, so I did not have money to buy myself little things like candy or toys.  At the time, I didn’t intellectualize the fact that children need to feel a sense of power and control over their lives in some aspects as they begin to enter adolescence, a healthy, normal development, and that my taking the change from my father’s dresser was an attempt to have some power.  I just knew I felt zero support and understanding in my world.

My father came up and sat on the bed with me for a long time, speaking the importance of telling the truth and how all we have in this world is our reputation.  It may surprise some of you to know that this was one of the most beautiful gifts my father gave to me in our twisted, convoluted history together.  While he raged and sexually preyed on me as a drunk at night, when sober, he became the kind of man my inner masculine wanted to model myself after.  His sharing of his concept of honor made such a deep impression on me at that age that I am touched by his teaching to this day, and part of my moral code and devotion to truth I attribute to this conversation.  How interesting and ironic that my dear father, whom I love and hold in my heart despite everything, would coach and prepare me to reveal what he did to me.

Perhaps I was at the age that I began to understand the difference between truth in the consensual reality and the truth of my imagination.  Perhaps at age 11-12 the child’s brain is capable of conceiving what that means.  Already a prolific writer and winning competitions for my essays in school, I had some sense of the worlds that I had access to through my artistic ability.  I began to learn that I was intelligent, and that the way I put words together had an impact and inspired people.  But add the complexity of what had been done to me in the name of satisfying sexual greed in the dark of night, and the desperate need to keep the secrets in an alcoholic family, and you will see how the telling of the truth has become a very loaded topic.  The gravity of the truth began to shine clear, and the heavy weight to burden me.

What is the truth?  Is something true if we don’t want to look at it?  Is it true despite our attempts to deny it?  What are the ramifications of pretending something isn’t true when it is?  These are all questions that I have wrestled with in endless cycles since I began to wake up.

To this day, I have an obsession with truth.  To the point that if I try an experiment and say something that is NOT true, such as “My name is Beth”, I will start coughing.  I can’t do it.  My inner barometer won’t let me speak or write something that I don’t personally experience as true. 

I have examined many spiritual traditions as well as modern physics and understand now that there are as many realities as there are perspectives, and all are valid.  I also know (and experience) that if a reality is unobserved it may as well not have happened. 

Additionally, I understand that there is some modicum of truth that we can all agree to, if we are willing to acknowledge it.  While my family has given slight, grudging acknowledgment of the sexual abuse and no acknowledgement of the alcoholism I encountered as a child, there is great resistance to me talking about it.  Does this make it untrue?

In my desire to be a loyal daughter, I have censored myself for many years, even though the truth has leaked out in ways through my writing and art and conversations.  Even in therapy I have protected my family as a “good daughter should”, revealing only parts of the story, perhaps the parts that I could handle revealing to myself.  I love my family, as people and as having been the sieve through which I arrived in this world.  I would not be who I am without them.  I have even attempted over the 21 years that I have been in conscious recovery and healing work to actually heal my family, out of my love for them and desire that they, too, be free from the sickness that bound us.  They have been unresponsive, however.

Now, the bird that has lived caged in my throat must be freed, and I am going to talk about my life openly and unapologetically.  I will censor no more.  I choose not to become a raging fanatic for a cause, because that would be out of balance.  Yes, I am a survivor of sexual abuse and an adult child of alcoholics, but that is not my identity or the sum total of who I am.  Not by a long shot. 

My desire is to tell the truth in a measured, grounded way, honoring myself, with the intention and purpose to heal and to give permission to others to acknowledge the truth within themselves, no matter how heinous it may be to see.  I know from my own life journey of looking at these truths that therein lays the path to integration and Wholeness.  And an even deeper appreciation of The Truth.

They say in therapeutic settings that we always confront and heal what’s easiest first.  For me, first was to confront the sexual abuse, then to confront my father, and to reclaim my sexuality, my feelings of safety in the world, and my power (and probably will continue to for the rest of my life).  Harder for me was confronting that my mother knew what was going on and did nothing to stop it; that betrayal has been harder to bear. 

Over the 21 years that I have been doing active consciousness and healing work, I have made great strides.  Most recently, in the last 4 years or so I have had the most amazing sense of relationship with the Divine Feminine, or Great Mother as I have called her.  It was my decision to actively cultivate this relationship and even embody Her on earth, to really fully claim my Feminine Self.  It has been challenging at times because this meant confronting and feeling the pain of what my biological mother did to me.  I realized that there is a direct relationship between my relationship with the Sacred Feminine and my feelings about myself as a woman, as well as how I feel nurtured in this world.

These last few years of choosing to embody the Great Mother or Sacred Feminine has been utterly delicious at times….I have distinctly felt Her grace and presence in my life, and I feel how different Her energy feels than the energy of the masculine or angels or Source energy.  There is indeed a distinct quality of energy that permeates the feminine principle.

I was under the impression that if I embodied the Divine Feminine, I would be providing a great service to the Whole as well as providing a wonderful service to myself.  I had always felt that masculine and feminine balance needed to happen in everyone, but for some interesting reason, I did not give a lot of thought to integrating my own Divine Masculine.  

It seemed that things were going swimmingly when I broke my ankle in February of this year (my right, masculine ankle in my case).  My ability to embody Great Mother came in very handy, as my inner immature masculine was very, very grumpy about the ankle breaking and being forced to sit still.  I realized I had used movement and busy-ness to distract me from feeling the painful feelings of my powerlessness as a child (and even as a baby, I am coming to find out).  When I was forced to “sit down and be quiet” for a solid 8 weeks, it provided the opening for me to discover that I had some work to do to heal my inner masculine.

Fast forward to today, when my ankle is mostly healed, I am getting around to some degree, and living a happy life in a new town, surrounded with beautiful family and friends who support me.  I had the most lovely invitation to attend a beach retreat as the resident writer (I am writing an article for the hosts that will be used to market their business), and looked forward to the time with women on the beach with nothing to do except pay attention to my needs and inner life.

One of the activities available to us was to walk a labyrinth that had been constructed on the beach.  My second full day in attendance, I was relaxed and happy, and went out on the beach that sunny morning to do some intuitive movement and breath work.  As I listened and deepened my inner awareness, I noticed that in my body’s experience and my inner vision, I picked up my self as a little girl, and she whispered in my ear “You are such a god mom.”  This delighted me to no end, as I have had a tough time convincing her that I would be a good mother to her!  I smiled and allowed this lovely experience to permeate me, then I felt the prompt to walk the labyrinth. 

As I stood at the opening, I prayed to experience my inherent wholeness.  I was in a very happy place and did not feel the need to initiate any healing process as per my usual stance.  As I walked, I hummed to myself as I felt my inner little girl integrating into me even more than she had before.  When “we” got to the center, I waited in silence for several minutes.  I could not discern anything in particular in terms of a course of action or intention, so I just paused there.  I definitely felt I was at the center of some womb space, far from the outer world of the beach and sun and sound of the surf.  The insulated quality of being inside the labyrinth was reflected in my mind and heart as I listened deeply for any sign of message or instruction. 

I did not feel anything in particular except great, great joy, so began to move out of the labyrinth’s center.  I got a few steps away when I noticed in my mind’s eye that there was a little lump of a person in the center.  I continued to walk forward, not really thinking much about it, when I felt distinctly I was to STOP.  When I get a strong “STOP” message, I am learning to do it on a dime.  I paused, and as I listened, I was told to go back to the center and “pick him up”. 

Him?  When I looked back at what had been a little lump of a person, I saw now that there was a dejected looking little boy in the center of the labyrinth.  Perhaps 3 or 4 years of age, he looked so sad and so lifeless, like he had no energy in him at all.  I was puzzled, but my maternal instinct took over, and I walked back into the labyrinth’s center to be with this mysterious little boy.  I sat there with him for a little while, me next to him on the sand.  He did not look at me except occasionally with a sideways look out of the corner of his eyes…he made no contact and did not speak in any way to me.  As I sat there, I had the distinct feeling that I was to pick him up and carry him out of the labyrinth.  I still did not understand at that point who he was or why I was to help him, but I did lift his limp body into my arms and carry him out of the labyrinth into my life with me.       

I have been carrying this little boy ever since.  I have learned since that day when I was so puzzled about the arrival of this boy that he is a personification of my inner masculine.  Thwarted very early in my life from expressing my power and will, this aspect of myself was arrested and has been in a de-powered state ever since.   In his de-powered but frightened state, he would holdup his fists sometimes, perceiving the whole world to be a threat, and other times he would just lay about and do nothing.  Another symptom of his immaturity has been to force, force, force things when instead some quiet stillness or discernment was needed.  My tendency to push myself relentlessly, as well as to analyze with my head are both outworkings of this immature masculine within.  His anger has been palpable; his rage at having his legs cut out from under him, being belittled and made to be still for unspeakable atrocities have made him a very mad little boy.   The fact that I did not know to acknowledge him within myself for all of these years might have added to his feelings of being so alone in the world.  So focused on my womanliness and my embodiment of the Divine Feminine, I did not see that what was even more broken inside of me was my own inner masculine.   

As the weeks have gone by, he has begun to show signs of life.  The more I get to know him and acknowledge him, the perkier and more animated he becomes.  He is looking at me now, and talking to me sometimes, too.  I am working with “him” every day, listening for guidance about how to support him, to heal him, to help him grow up.  My dreams of tiny babies, just inches long, being lost in my pocket or in a drawer have evolved into dreams of laughing baby boys that are able to morph into full grown teenagers, with full awareness of and delight in their remarkable evolutionary process.  My dreams, messages from my subconscious, are telling me he is healing. 

The pain I have felt as I opened this door into my consciousness has been very real and very intense.  There are days when I am hurting inside so much it feels like leaving the house is too much.  I have also doubted my sanity; in all the years I have done this hard work to reach into and heal the darkness within me, I have always been able to hold myself above the swirling dark waters of my feelings of rage and powerlessness.  A dip into the madness here and there, but never complete immersion…a coping mechanism, to be sure.  I keep reminding myself that I would not be feeling the intensity of the pain if I were not strong enough to do so. 

 And then today, there is light.  Despite the grey skies and downpour of heavy rain here in the panhandle of Florida as a tropical storm passes its eye over us, I feel some sense of a phase completed.  A very dark cloud which has been over me for some time is lifting, and I feel my life coming together in new ways.  A return of my joy, but deeper and more grounded this time.  A sense of wanting to DO in concert with the BE parts of me.  The little boy is now a teenager…he will periodically be a baby or a toddler or an adolescent again, I imagine.  But the evidence shows me that he is growing and learning that he is safe and loved.  Hallelujah. 

I am once again reminded how miraculous we all are in our unique processes, and have a humble, deeper sense of love and appreciation for myself and All of Creation.

The Stolen Mother Moon

from a story that Clarissa Pinkola Estes tells on “warming the stone child”, worshipfully transcribed by Licia Berry

This is about a light, a certain kind of light that is represented by the moon, a psychic light, a cool light, it has some distance to it, not the hyper-tropic mother that is all over her children every time their nose is running they might have pneumonia, this is a mother that is a little more aloof, a little more circumspect, she does not so much love by showering love as she loves by guiding, by bringing consciousness out of the darkness.

There was this village, a wonderful village, and everything happened just the way it was supposed to happen, and all the children were terrific and all the mothers and fathers loved each other, except, as there always must be in the psyche and in fairy tales, there was this one thing that was very, very adverse…..this beautiful, harmonious village was surrounded by a moat of black, murky bogs.  It was dark there always, and it stank because everything was rotting.  It was for that reason, the darkness of those quagmires and quicksand, that the people depended on the light of the moon to guide them at night.  Some nights, she did not come, and on those nights the bogs were filled with treachery, because there were evil things that lived there.  Things that live in the darkest corners of humans’ minds would come out at night and lead the poor, struggling travelers with no light into the quagmires and drown them. 

Well, it turned out that several people died in the course of a very short amount of time.  When the Moon Mother learned of this, she was filled with sorrow, for she cared for humans.  In fact she was so concerned she decided she would come to earth and see for herself.  So when the dark of the month came, she stepped onto a slow shooting star and landed at the edge of the marshes.  She wore a black cape pulled around her so that no light could escape, and for as far as she could see, the bogs were like black mirrors, with a few sparse willows sticking up here and there, and the smell of muck everywhere.

Around the bottom of her cape there was a bright rim of light; she saw that and she pulled her cape even tighter.  It was so cold she was trembling, and she feared the evil ones, just as we all do, but she loved the human soul more, and so she began her investigation, guided by the little golden light that leaked through her cape over her beautiful white feet.

She felt her way through the grass with the dank ponds on the left and the quagmires on the right. And just as she had thought she got the lay of the land, all of the sudden, she felt a vine across her ankles, and too late to hold herself, she began to fall forward.  She reached for a twining tree, the kind under the control of the evil ones, and sure as she grabbed its branches, it sent out tendrils around her wrists and her ankles, holding her as though with manacles.  And the more she struggled, the tighter it held her.  And there she was in the blackest dark, shivering and straining. 

She heard a voice calling from far off, “help me, please help”.  She listened and the cry came nearer and nearer, and she heard footfalls stumbling; at last by the dim light of the stars, she saw a haggard, despairing face with fearful eyes and she knew it was a poor soul who had lost its way, and was floundering on to his death. 

And the traveler now caught sight of the glimmer of light from the captive moon, and made his way toward the light, thinking it meant help, but there was a quagmire right in front of the moon.  She was filled with sorrow because she was luring him with her little tiny light, luring him to his death.  Frantic to warn him, she struggled until her hood fell back, and her dazzling hair lit the black waters; a flood of yellow, precious light of the Moon Mother glinted and the whole was as bright as day. How relieved the traveler was to see the evil ones rush back into their underwater holes. 

But the moon struggled against the branches which held her tighter, and she was so glad he was safe, but the traveler ran to the edge of the marsh so quickly, with such haste and relief that he forgot to wonder about the wondrous thing that had just occurred.  And the Mother Moon sank, exhausted into the mud, and as she did, her head fell onto her breast and her hood fell back over her hair and all became darkness again.

And the vile things that love the dark came too, then.  They came with a kind of whisper chatter… “we’ll get her now, we’ll get her now, now we’ll kill her, yes, we’ll kill her.”  They gathered around the Moon Mother, snarling and kicking and grasping, and they drove her into the ground, they who hated humans.  At last, no more light shown across those dark waters.  The One who gave light and even more, the One who shown down on mothers nursing their babies, the One who made sleeping women kiss their lovers’ backs, the One who put words into the dreams of poets, that One was pushed deep into the mud.  The evil ones didn’t care about mothers or babies; they didn’t care about lovers or poets.  The Moon Mother let one last ray of light zig zag over the waters before she disappeared completely.  The evil ones rolled a great boulder over her grave and danced a crazy dance on top of it.

On nights there was no light to guide, and so many people became lost, and so many children became orphaned, and so many people suffered, that the villagers decided they must go and find what had become of the moon.  Armed with torches and clubs, they trekked through the night into the bog, sinking down into the wet and slimy grass all the way up to their knees, and cold and wet they continued on.  The evil things were about and surrounded them, scratching and clawing at them, but the flames from their torches kept them safe.  

And they came to a great boulder, and they said they did not think this boulder was in this place before.  There was a little lip of light all the way around it that shown whiter than white.  With great excitement they lifted and they hauled and they tugged until the boulder rolled away.  And then staring down into what seemed like the most beautiful face they had ever seen, they saw eyes filled with the love of humanity.

  The light rose up, lighting their faces first from beneath and then straight on and then finally from the top as the Moon Mother escaped from her prison and climbed the dark staircase back to the sky, where now, on most nights, she travels across the sky with her hood turned down and with her radiant light everywhere. 

And on those few, now predictable nights, when she veils herself in grey and does not shine, travelers have learned to stay by the hearth and wait until she shows the way again.  

Adventuress, by Licia Berry 2006

However, there is an even larger cycle in our lives that has become apparent.  Peter shared with me a few days ago his realization that we have come to the end of a 21 year cycle, 3 seven-year chapters, which began when I made the choice to wake up from my slumber and go into recovery work to heal.  This choice changed life utterly for many people.

It was in 1988 when I was 23 years old and Peter and I were about to be married that we were living with his parents at their property in Suwannee GA.  At that time, I became very depressed and wondered why.  It turns out that being in the immersion of Peter’s family invited my old family dynamics to come forward within me.  (Folks that read my writing know that I am an abuse survivor, sexual, emotional, and physical primarily.)  I made a choice to enter therapy to discover why I did not want to be on the earth any longer.  It was a hard decision to confront my beliefs about myself and my biological family at that time, and to turn them upside down and look them over critically to see if they were indeed true.  I’m grateful that I had the strength and insight to choose this path many years before I had my own children.  The desire to break the cycles of abuse and to NOT pass on the illness that was passed on to me was a primary motivator.  However, in the end, it was a decision to honor myself, no matter what hell may come as a result.

Hell did come…when I confronted my father by certified mail, he did not respond at all; nine years later, I called him to have a truth-telling at the top of the mountain because I realized I was stronger and more courageous than he was.  He couldn’t hurt me any more.  When I told my mother, she slurred her words in her usual drunken stupor, and accused me of ”always being warped”, despite my reputation for having the best memory in the family.  After that lesson, I chose not to speak with her unless it was in the early part of the day before she started drinking.  My sister hoped it was “all a misunderstanding”, and shared with my brother the hope that our family could reunite and be happy together despite the years of affairs, drunkenness, unhappiness and divorce, the definition of sheer insanity to me.  It was a rough time for me, the lone truth-teller.  I have been blamed, called names, been seen as “making conflict for conflict’s sake”, and otherwise rejected.  Subject to the projections of my biological family, I had no one except my helping professionals and my beloved husband to feel truly safe with.

Over these 21 years of reclaiming my life, my mind, my body, my spirit and my center, I have gotten clearer and clearer that I am not to blame.  The mantles of shame and projection have become more obvious as others’ issues rather than mine.  I have been less willing to take them on, less willing to carry the burden of other people’s unconsciousness.  The more I have reclaimed myself, the stronger my voice has become, and the more I have attracted others, women in particular, who share or find strength and solace in my story.  It is one of the obvious tenets of an abusive family to keep the secrets….to not tell, to not share the story, to keep it under wraps of darkness.  But the only way the cycle can stop is if we talk about it, regardless of the threats or entreaties to cease.  No, mom, I won’t be quiet….I won’t stop talking.

There is goodness in this…some sweetness after all the years of pain to hear another woman say “Thank you for telling your story, because it gave me permission to tell mine.”  Whatever wisdom I offer has been hard won.

Now, something has happened in these last months within me…some immense shift of knowing, an awareness of my strength, a vision of a light within me like a beacon….it is getting stronger, and I feel I am finally beginning to become what I was meant to become.  What I offer to the world, what I am meant to express, how I am to walk in a way that is in integrity with my soul and spirit…it is coming forward at an ever faster pace.  After all the years in the mud and darkness of putting my pieces back together, suddenly it is time to be Whole.  The process has been nothing short of remarkable, and is speeding up each day, it seems.  It appears to be coinciding with our departure of our quiet sanctuary into a larger world, as well as the outer world’s intense changes as if there is a larger knowing coming to fruition as well.  The work that our family has done these 11 years will be needed in the world.  And the work I have done these last 21 years will also be needed in the world.  When we arrive in Tallahassee, I have a sense that we will need to hit the ground running.

(As a result, I will be creating a new blog attached to my professional website.  My professional writing website as well as services for clients will also be evolving.  Keep an eye out…my sabbatical is over!)

The pendulum has swung…the years of intense devotion to our inner life have been rich and fed our souls; we have drunk at the wellspring of our spirits and been filled to the brim with goodness and wisdom.  New outer life, new expressions, new invitations, new opportunities.  Now it is time to balance the years of inward motion with expression in the outer world, to take what we have learned and live our lives.