The journey home
Today I believe, to some extent, more than before, that the abuse happened to us and to me. And with that acknowledgement comes the anger and the outrage. But that’s okay. This is anger that’s assertive and strong, that says I don’t deserve, I didn’t deserve, to be treated like that. No one deserves that. It feels empowering to think that way. It feels like there is a little more control now. There wasn’t any then and you have to come to terms with that. We were helpless then. But we are not now.
We have finally climbed down the mountain. Gabriel (3) is leading us but we don’t know where we are going yet. We will just have to trust him and trust ourself.
Inside I see a strange thing, a bird lying on its side. It has a large breast, with short fluffy white feathers that are falling off of it. It is either dead or comatose. Some kind of death but maybe not final. Yet it has some kind of finality to it, a letting go of something, a surrendering. Its feathers are like white flags falling, flags of surrender, flags of peace. Is this Phoenix (8) dying?
Maybe the bird is a dying of the past, an acceptance that this is what we have lived through. Now we can let it go in order to move on. And that is so very difficult to do. Even if the past is painful it is familiar territory. We know what to expect. The future is full of uncertainty and new things. Oh how we want to cling to the familiar no matter how crappy it was.
We go for a walk in a cold, sad August rain. Alone on the street. Depression. Not even Ariel (1) can take us out of this place. It hurts so much and we do not care about anything or anyone. Is this the precursor to fall, a time of year that is often upheaval and remembering the beginning of school again? We feel so hopeless at the moment, that even the hottest embers of our rage are turning cold. Is that Tir’s (1) despair? Or Phoenix’s? Like being buried alive.
Letty (2) has been crying for days. I only found out today. I wonder if some of those tears the other night belonged to her. Why is she so upset?
We are surrounded by a fog of intense pain that makes everything else disappear. Some of us feel cheated and angry that we hurt so much now. Angry at the world. Some of us want to lash out at anyone and everyone. As if we are saying this isn’t fair. Why me? Why do we have to hurt again, now that we are grown up and all the abuse has stopped? Didn’t we suffer enough? But for me, I do not feel the connection between anger and who that anger is meant for. It seems misplaced. Displaced.
Phoenix is dying. We are dying. What we are dying for is to be the core of who we are.
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Kereth. There is a “shelf” in front of us. Someone jokingly calls it a “Higher S(h)elf”. It stretches out like a plain, seeming to be barren but Patience (1) says it is not. It is only that we can’t see what is there yet. When we get closer we may be able to see more. For now we have to wait.
Sleeping with Lance. So many mixed feelings. Some feel angry towards him – don’t touch me at all! But Annie Charlie (1) and CF (1) are excited and very pleased to wake up in the morning to find him still here. Meanwhile, I am the monkey in the middle of all of this.
“One day in retrospect the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.” Sigmund Freud.
The time to face life head on is rapidly approaching.
Phoenix is incredibly strong – emotionally. She holds so much so that we may travel lighter, a little more able to take what comes our way. We can see us in a future, alive, glowing, vibrant, proof that the healing process truly works. It is worth the struggle. But Tir is not that strong yet. She is not able to face a lot. She wishes we have no home, no responsibilities, no relationships. She would prefer to simply live on the street with no ties to anyone or anything. She does not want to be a part of life yet even though Phoenix carries most of her pain now. She does not trust that she can cope. And yet ... a glimmer. She says she wants to care of Isa (1) now. But Black Widow (3) says she can’t integrate with her like she did with Baby Sarah (8). We haven’t dealt with Isa’s memories yet. I’m not sure Black Widow is right about that however Patience says Tir should go ahead and care for Isa. It may help Tir to be stronger.
So Tir takes care of Isa most of the time now. Holds her, rocks her gently, coos to her, kisses her. Still, she wanders off from time to time, probably into her own world, to where Isa does not exist, to where Isa cannot go. But Patience and others keep an eye on Isa then. There is always someone to care for her. No need to worry.
A dream. We are all on a huge boat that is floating down a river. Then we come to the end of the river and we must steer the boat back again. While one of us, I can’t tell who, steered us out, it is now up to me to steer us back but I don’t remember all the twists and turns we have taken. I don’t remember the path home. The one who steered before says to me it’s no big deal. You’ll be fine.
Three years ago I had a dream of a city and a young girl who walked beside me. She told me to trust her and trust that everything would be fine. Is this the same who now says I will be fine? Is this Ariel? I give my excuses to her. Life is too big for me to handle. I can’t do this. There are too many responsibilities. I don’t know what to do or how to do it but she is not falling for this. She is not going to help me this time. No excuses. Sail this sucker Shell (1, 2). Take us home.
The story of King Arthur says that he had to return home after his long voyage. He had to follow the same path he took when going away. He had to retrace his steps as if acknowledging all that he went through. Writing our book is the act of retracing our steps. We have found the Holy Grail, the quest complete, and now we must bring it home.
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We go for a Reiki session where the healer places her hands upon us, and lays crystals all around. We lie on the table and go away in our dreams and images while she performs her tasks. I take the helm of that boat on the river. All of us in dark robes and silent. Tir sits in the middle with Isa in her arms. This is some sort of funeral. The banks of the river slope steeply upwards. On them are white buildings. It reminds me of Greece. On one side, up a hill, is a funeral pyre. The body belongs to Phoenix. A sadness wells up in us, so profound, so consuming, and we begin to cry. There is a sense of letting go and it feels as if all of us are dying too. The heaviness wants to pull us down to the deep bed of the river.
Now we walk upon the land and come to the pyre. Upon it lies Phoenix and in her hand is a stone, blue, an agate. It is the stone we wear from time to time. When we see it we all realize that there is our hope, there is the spark of life. We watch Phoenix’s body blacken and curl up like paper but the stone remains unburned. It is indestructible. Then the fire begins to consume all of us except Tir. We crumble into many pieces. Only Tir remains solid and substantial. The rest of us shrivel and die. Is this our integration? Is this our future? There is no answer because we are gone.
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In a cluster of tall bamboo stalks lies a stone, clear, no longer blue. Not far away is the sound of children laughing and playing. A joyous sound, full of life and light. Suddenly a hush falls upon them and then one small chubby hand, dirt under the fingernails, reaches and encloses the stone. The other children exhale in awe and reach out to also touch the stone. When we look closer we can see the faces of them, the Little Ones, Annie Charlie (1), CF (1), Julia (1), Katy Ann (2) and The Children of the Thirteen (3). Their images are crystal clear. The words come strong. “The knowledge becomes the children” and the stone begins to change shape, becoming an egg with cracks in it, waiting to open.
The egg stone sits within the palm of a hand. The hand that belongs to Tir. She begins to smile and looks up to see us once again. We are here again and alive. “You are the Light Beings” she says. “You are the ones who saved me, the ones who pulled me out of the darkness.” Yes we did. And we begin to cry. While sadness fills our heart for the injuries done to us there is joy as well ... waiting to begin. This is the Remembering and this is the journey home.
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