All the resources I need

The young woman looked about her at the room in which she found herself. Was it hers? It looked only vaguely familiar, but also somehow intrinsically part of her, as if she had been involved in its creation. Disordered and disarrayed, the outward chaos disguising the corners of hidden filth as well as the unseen beauty and depths submerged in the well of loneliness. 

She had just turned 21 and was entering adulthood. She understood something of the cyclical, non-linear nature of life and knew she had been bestowed the blessing of a second chance. 

“A chance to live well and be healthful” said the voice within her, “and you have all the resources you need”.

The young woman pondered on this, for her experience of life was different, although she had, over the years, gathered around her a cloak of wisdom, woven from the voices of the nurturing ones. The cloak had helped her through dark times and kept her warm and it had contained her when the night-time fears threatened to shake the life force from her.

And now, she understood, she was being asked to become an adult and to take responsibility. The cloak would provide comfort, but the true answers lay within. 

And now, she understood, she was being asked to ignore the distractions of the world, not to get caught up in the idea that she could quell her hunger and her longing through putting anything in her mouth. Not through love, nor wordly esteem, nor through the birth of a child. Not through the ravages of addiction, nor even through the beauty of a starlit sky

She did, she understood, have all the resources she needed, for she only needed herself. 

And she turned to the room, seeing and understanding the task that lay before her. Tears ran down her cheeks, telling the story of feelings so intense that she could not tell if they came from sadness, grief, relief or joy. 

Carefully and tenderly she took off the cloak, lay it neatly across a chair and started to clean the room.

Insider

Here I stand, 
Feeling the sun's empowering rays
Pouring in through my window
Boom!
 The reverberations fill my room 
Darkness threatening
Unwellness beckoning
Here I stand, 
Feeling the force of doubt and smallness
Pouring in through my defences
Here I stand 
Feeling the transition, shifting horizons
Pouring into my being
I leave the room
And here I stand, alone 
Feeling the rawness, strength and truth
Pouring from within
Here I stand 
Feeling alive
Pouring my feeling out into the world

Begin within

I was told that it is an inside job and that I had to begin within. And so it seems, for that is the part of me that knows all that I need to know – my Creative Intelligence and my Instinctual Nature.

I had not written creatively since I was about 15 years old and full of teenage angst, fuelled by the sorrow of my childhood. I stopped writing and stopped connecting with my inner self.

I had no real tools when I entered adulthood. I had already experienced the pain of being left by my mum and the strange pain of knowing I was loved, but feeling little in the way of emotional connection from my caregivers.

I lived with excruciating and crippling shyness that comes with low self-esteem. I did not really know how much self-hatred I had, but it played itself out in my life through a series of calamities and damaging relationships, and I did my own share of creating pain for others.

At the age of 50 and suffering depression, I picked up a pen again. The first time I wrote, a short story emerged – it was perfect (to me) and full of hope, but more importantly, the act of writing it opened up that part of me that wants me to thrive and the part of me that is connected to the Divine.

A small boy lived in the woods. He didn’t have a mum and dad, but he had learned how to live with the land.

On a particularly lovely day, he was relaxing on the grassy bank. Suddenly a frog came by. “Good morning!” said the frog. “Good morning,” said the boy.

(Dear Reader: I remember how I could not get these stories finished at school because it took so long to write out all the dialogue and express the ideas. And the writing had to follow rules and be in my best handwriting).

The boy looked at the frog and smiled. “I know you,” he said, “I have met you before”. He took the frog in his hand and whispered something in its ear.

(Dear Reader: I couldn’t go down the road of the boy kissing the frog and it turning into a princess because that would not turn patriarchy on its head)

The boy kept the frog in his hand for five minutes, while he tried to think of the rest of the story. The sun beamed down and he decided that, even though the frog could talk, he needed to let it go. “Goodbye,” he said, “I love you and always wish you well.”

The frog hopped away with a glint in its eye. It had heard what the boy had whispered and it knew – the world was not as it seemed but you could live with the land and know God.

Begin within – it’s where your stories live. The act of writing this simple story enabled me to break through the oppressive fear “I can’t do it! I’m not a writer!”

Begin within – it’s where life is. The act of writing this simple story enabled me to begin to breathe life into the characters that were going to guide me onwards through my healing journey.

Begin within – it is where you will find the Divine, it is the Place of all Knowing. The act of writing this story enabled me to tap into a source of Creative Intelligence, a power much greater than myself.

After this, my first story, I began to write poetry, using my poems to navigate the way and shine the light on my unresolved shame and pain and darkness, connecting with my inner self and journeying to the depths of my soul in an attempt to heal the past.

Deeper within and deeper still, until I found a wretched and Wounded Child in desperate need of nurturing. A child who deserved so much love, but who I had left behind, abandoned and neglected. I picked her up and resolved never to leave her again, and to parent her as best I could.

The story started lightly. It was an adventure story for me to tell my inner child, but my Instinctual Nature had other ideas, recognising, in its wisdom, the potency of a well-told tale.

Deeper within and deeper still, a story about belonging, about feeling, about being. A story about the pain of living and the absolute joy of healing, the strength of the human spirit and the gift of receiving a new life.

Deeper within and deeper still, my hand barely able to keep up with the words that flowed into my mind.

I had been influenced by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, who taught me (at the grand old age of 50) that I needed to tell my own story in a loud, strong, clear voice. It was Clarissa’s influence that led me to choose the genre of a fairy story.

There could have been no better genre than the fairy story because it meant that there were no bounds of time or space, and events that actually happened could be rewoven, reframed and re-lived with new light and new hope. Despite the magical genre, everything I wrote actually happened, in some sense, in the past or while I was writing the story. My story is magical, but not fabricated.

By journeying through time and space within the story, I was able to reframe Wounded Child’s experiences as a hero’s journey, empowering her and showing her she is not alone. And in doing so, these things became part of me, and I was able to reclaim the power which is my birthright. As within, so without!

I began within, and writing took me deeper within. The gift of the story is great indeed, and all I had to do was be still and listen, pen in hand.

Fire Girl, Fire Woman

Been connecting with my teenage self who helped me write this poem

Fire Girl!
Fire Woman!

Fiery light
Fierce heat
Glowing coal
Cloud of smoke
Crispy crackling
Brave soul

Fire Girl!
Fire Woman!

You are fierce!
You are strong!

Fiery light
Fierce heat
Glowing coal
Cloud of smoke
Crispy crackling
Brave soul

Your fire has power!
Let it burn!
Let it light!
Let it go!

Fire Girl!
Fire Woman!
You have power!

Fiery light
Fierce heat
Glowing coal
Cloud of smoke
Crispy crackling
Brave soul

Sullen anger
Self center
Mean spirit
Jealous soul

Use your power!
Let it burn!
Let it light!
Let it go!

Hidden aspects
Protective force
Secret spirit
Restless soul

Use your power!
Let it burn!
Let it light!
Let it go!

Lost female
Abandoned child
Neglected spirit
Damaged soul

Use your power!
Let it burn!
Let it light!
Let it go!

Hungry, hopeful
Always seeking
Independent spirit
Needy soul

Use your power!
Let it burn!
Let it light!
Let it go!

Shameful, sinful
Hidden pain
Sickening spirit
Dying soul

Use your power!
Let it burn!
Let it light!
Let it go!

Buried treasure
Sullen anger
Buried treasure
Self centre
Buried treasure
Mean spirit
Buried treasure
Jealous soul

Uncovered treasure
All parts reclaiming
Fiery spirit
Fierce soul

Fiery light
Fierce heat
Glowing coal
Cloud of smoke
Crispy crackling
Brave soul

Life cycle


I wonder what my mother felt
As I played,
And grew,
And thought.
I’m sure I meant the world to her
As I played,
And grew,
And thought.

I moved along and hurt and died
And didn’t have the skills
I didn’t know that adult life
Continued with those things
I didn’t mean the world to me
With no playing,
Growth,
Or thought

My children, gifts, the world to me
I watched them grow and play
But I had no skills to help them through
And show them how to be

My children were the world to me
As they played,
And grew,
And thought.
I played along and loved that time
As they played,
And grew,
And thought.
But I didn’t mean the world to me
So I stumbled by default

My children were the world to me
As they played,
And grew,
And thought.
But I always drank to dull the pain
Of feelings that life brought

My children were the world to me
Their world an unhealthy sham
Still they played,
And grew,
And thought,
With small fingers in the dam

My children were the world to me
But still it was no good
With stunted growth I could not care
As they played,
And grew,
And thought.

So how to find the nurture
That I so badly need?
I found my God and knelt and prayed
With God I can succeed
My children mean the world to me
Recovery has begun
I face the light
And start to learn
To play,
And grow,
And think.

My children, gifts, the world to me
Are with me on my path
My children, who mean the world to me
Teach ME play,
And growth,
And thought.

Anne

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
She didn’t remember life that well
Or chose not to focus on it
But several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
“I was one of ten children”, she explained,
“We all looked after each other”
And several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
“That must have been hard”
“Oh no” she said, “you just get on with it don’t you?”
Still, several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
Her name was Anne, she told me once
And briefly spoke of children
But several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
She was a positive, cheerful type
Bus pass in hand she enjoyed her travels
But it couldn’t stop her thinking,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
She said childhood was her happiest time but
“It’s harder now, I just…… you know”
And it was clear that she was grieving
From her mum dying when she was two

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
I felt identification with her pain
Enduring abandonment
And several more times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

Inspired by Akala, I wrote a new rhyme

Happy International Women’s Day to all the wonderful sisters. The power of the feminine …

Beyond Dreaming

The power is within me
The power is mine
The power is in me
It's there to be mined
The power is within me
Not the power of the mind
The power of the feminine
A force of a kind
Not the kind that recommends filial piety
More akin to a female deity
It's not like a film script
Where it all falls into place
It daunts and it challenges
It gets in your face
It's the power that is needed
The power that is felt
It's a power to be heeded
To heal and to feel.
It's a force and a power
and it is real
It's angry
It's forceful
It knows what it wants
I won't use it to hurt you
But to heal you
and grow you
and show you,
to know you
Its my power
I know it
My yin for your yang
It's your power…

View original post 58 more words

Inspired by Akala, I wrote a new rhyme

The power is within me
The power is mine
The power is in me
It's there to be mined
The power is within me
Not the power of the mind
The power of the feminine
A force of a kind
Not the kind that recommends filial piety
More akin to a female deity
It's not like a film script
Where it all falls into place
It daunts and it challenges
It gets in your face
It's the power that is needed
The power that is felt
It's a power to be heeded
To heal and to feel.
It's a force and a power
and it is real
It's angry
It's forceful
It knows what it wants
I won't use it to hurt you
But to heal you
and grow you
and show you,
to know you
Its my power
I know it
My yin for your yang
It's your power that dominates all over the land
I won't use mine to hurt you
But to righten a wrong
Not to whiten, but brighten
and shine the light on
The crimes of the past that still go on.
There's a fire in my belly
Not a fire in the booth
Akala said it,
And I sought out the truth