Inside Wyrd-Mama's Belly
We travel down a tunnel of darkness, walls closing in, suffocated by our pain. Excruciating. We cannot make a sound though, cannot wail and release our agony, our chest compressed and restricted. I don’t think it has been this bad for months but maybe it always seems that way, today’s pain seems worse than yesterday’s. Who knows. Lyn attended a workshop on the weekend and in our therapy session with her uses a technique she has just learned. We stand and allow her to clear out old negative energy that we hold, making way for the new. Our legs tremble and we sob while she performs this. We feel so very weak and shaky. This is death and grief, letting go of it all, that leaves us exhausted and spent. We pass through a dark and hollow place, moving through the process. Even when we return home a heaviness still lingers and we panic because of it. Thoughts of suicide surface from some but others of us say we are strong enough to fight it. Una (4) wants to protect her offspring Phoetus (4). She does not want us to die, does not want us to kill her young.
And there are more.
Phoetus is not the only one. A nest of little ones within Una, in Wyrd-Mama’s Belly. A group, a family, separate and protected by her. So deep Inside.
A sound that echoes against the dark walls, a child trapped in time. She is afraid for the rabbit dolls, that there are those who would harm them. Shana (4) is her name and she writes in our journal, in the third person, divorced and dissociated from herself.
Shana writes here for the first time. Shana can write well. Shana is protected by Wyrd. Loves Wyrd. [Shana]
Another who lives in Wyrd-Mama’s Belly. How many are we now? 47? I am losing count. I want it to stop but it is not in my control. So who else is there?
Draw a map of Wyrd-Mama’s Belly. You will find who is in there she says. [The Mute (3)]
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Work is going really well. Othel (1) loves the job.
The map of Wyrd-Mama’s Belly is a courtyard, tiled in squares. Those squares are important. As well there are four “gates” as there were in Kereth.
Dreams of abandonment hound us. A dream that we had hurt Sarah, hit her and she declares our work together is over. She will not work with us anymore. In the dream, in distress about this, we reach for the phone to talk to Lyn. Last week it was a dream that Lance was leaving us. Panic and fear and such pain.
We draw a picture of Gabriel (3), the Archangel, as he looks up to the heavens, to his god, and asks “Why has thou forsaken me?” His god has abandoned him and he feels betrayed.
Gabriel Forsaken
Miss Angry (1) the doubter. Do you know the value of doubting? If I don’t doubt, then I will have to believe. Which is worse? My doubt betrays the others, invalidates their realities. But my belief cripples me, weakens my legs and I fall to the floor. A helpless heap of weeping.
It feels like someone close to me has just died.
A breakthrough. Una, Wyrd, comes out in a session with Lyn and talks about a memory. Takes us through it and becomes a “mother”. Split Face (4) sees it and divides the “evil” from the “good”. Some of our drawings show Una as split in two, one side white, the other blue. That is Split Face’s work with Una. The process of remembering and mourning works, heals us just a little more, and today we feel some relief. But it has affected our job. We had to leave early two days ago and the thought of having to go to work tomorrow is frightening. We feel burned out, exhausted and drained. This is the Remembering.
Bizarre. The Mute writes that even though Split Face has two sides, they are both right sides, no left. Both The Mother Side and The Lost Side are on the right. Very strange. It’s amazing what we create as children in the face of adversity. The worlds we create in order to survive.
Una’s Brood (4) is what they are called. And another surfaces.
Someone writes in our journal “Little Ruby (4) has all the weapons to hold.”
The woman scratches her long red fingernails on Little Ruby’s stomach. Little Ruby reaches for her weapons to strike back.
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Switching. The hand shifts, the mind shifts, the angles of vision shift, and the handwriting follows. From one to another to another Inside. Words written here by one who remembers then another who fights to stay alive throughout. Information that comes from everywhere, like some strange tribe hidden in the jungle shooting arrows at us from all sides. We cannot see the enemy but we feel its arrow, how it pierces us and makes us bleed. The images keep coming and coming and we peel ourself away from them, distance ourself emotionally. We have to.
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New Year’s day 1995. A day of reckoning. The Web wants to change, to slow down, be open to life, to the movement of the river, to not be so hungry for material things and consuming and stop grabbing frantically at things because we might die tomorrow and to just let go and let be and be so much more respectful for everything around us, our living space, people, animals, things, work, whatever we do. Just quiet down and not worry so much and stop resisting so much. Maybe meditate. Read more. Lots more. Laugh more. Less stress. Listen to the birds, people, sounds. Let go. Don’t be so afraid to die. It will be fine when it comes. In the meantime live. Breathe. Dance. Sing. Draw. Cook. Burn candles and incense. Thank our goddess Pong Yi for her presence. Grow soft and easy Inside.
Whew!
Time to clean the house.
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