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Oh how she spent years gathering herself, her wisdom, her courage,

befriending a knowing that had softened her path all these years

only to recognize that even the known has shadows and darkness

that lurk in the mysteries of being.

Trust became a stranger in her own land, in the vessel she had nurtured

since in utero. The softening of her worth became hardened once again

and learning to trust herself in a new way had her calling to every angel in the heavens.

It is not a path to walk or a mountain to climb.

It is a birthright to be claimed at every corner of your life.

Filled with as much tribulation as it has joy,

trust will have you rebirthing yourself a million times over in an existence only you can define.

We shelter in the dust of emotion that has lit fires throughout our existence.

We go deeper into the darkness plowing through the mire to find familiarity in what we perceive is comfort.

Holding to any semblance or remembrance of hope, the ruins become our home in both heart and mind.

In time those ruins will crumble. It won’t be any external force of nature but a new fire being ignited as you hear the heavens call your name.

A door will rise from the dust and it will open, just enough for you to see a flicker of light.

You peer through the door and see a form you don’t yet recognize.

Could that be you?

Surrounding the form is a story, similar to the story you have been telling yourself only the ruins aren’t there anymore.

You begin to shake with an intensity of both courage and fear.

Do you stay or do you go?

The silence is so deafening that you feel the void with every breath you take.

You clasp your hands in prayer and ask God to give you strength.

You haven’t prayed in lifetimes, yet you are beginning to remember.

You reach for the handle and open the door a little wider.

Your heart pounds as sweat pours down your face, so frightened of losing the story which has kept you safe all these years, even if it was in the darkness.

Versions of your story flash through your mind, versions of yourself pass through your heart.

You keep telling yourself you can do this.

I believe you can.

Trembling, a voice whispers in your ear.

“You are my prayer. Your story is my light.”

You think it is a voice from the ethers but you turn around to see an old version of yourself.

A version that pushed you through the doorway to the other side.

You look around you and realized you are in the beginning of a new story.

You look at your old self, and with tears in your eyes and such gratitude in your heart, you tell them just how much they have been loved.

Pierced by an ancestral hunger

She searched the heavens for silence.

Traversing realms where mortals dared to wander

She abandoned an earthly existence

Even if only for a brief moment.

The coarseness of her skin

The ravages of time upon her womb

The deep crevices within her face

All reminded her how many ancestors roamed her body and spirit

In search of a home long forgotten

In an existence within this world centuries ago.

There is no destination to carry these souls to peace

Only stillness to soften their weariness.

Dissolving into the ethers

One by one they will be called to bear witness

To the cries of those who breathed life before them

And those waiting to be borne.

One day the hunger will be honored by an emptiness that is holy

The wound will be drenched in sweetness.

Those dancing between realms will have a greater respect

for what is truly present in this mystery of life.

Her tears were fragments of the universe.

Subtly changing form as they touched life in every realm of possibility.

Nuanced ripples through time, they breathed life into the soul who shed them

And honored those longings held deeply inside her heart.

One by one, even stillness bowed to their beauty

Until one day, those tears fulfilled a destiny

She could only imagine.

It harbors its own ecosystem of thought and emotion, readying itself to attack its prey or defend its home.

We all have it, we all own it. We all struggle with it at some point in our lives. It tolerates us as we move through life experiences as much as we tolerate it.

Emerging from ancient wounds, devoid of conscious boundaries, shame reveals its nature when we are most vulnerable. Its unpredictability makes it a formidable adversary. Its familiarity can make it an old friend.

Shame communicates between the underworld and those worlds within us. It negotiates between the bowels of darkness and the portals of light in our souls, undermining one’s authenticity, challenging one’s innate abilities to exist in this world, destroying a natural curiosity of the light as it is so consumed with obtaining power.

It becomes its own story in our minds, our hearts, our psyches. it observes us as we struggle against owning it, releasing it, healing it. It divides us, confuses us, disengages us from many truths and realities. It thrives on our need to survive with it. It knows that we do have choice in the matter, A choice to be imprisoned or free.

Not every island sits under the sun, nor does it require our attention and energy. Our survival does not depend on visiting shame as often as we do.

Sometimes we just need to choose other emotional destinations to visit.

These beings can be ancestral, transient, or attached to a miasm for a number of reasons. I find myself listening with one ear to a client and the other to the spirit world.

One story is told via the living, and sometimes another through the dead. Holding space while thoughts, emotions and memories cross parallel realms and boundaries, sometimes with a power struggle ensuing between those voices I am fiercely listening to. The lines become blurred for the storytellers, and trauma has a life all its own. Even if the stories are different, the traumatic thread is shared between this realm and the other, and negotiating various techniques to support a healthy understanding surrounding the miasm is key to every relationship that we are bonded to in the spirit world. I have found that even when my clients have little memory of their traumatic experience, it is being relayed to me by a spirit who also endured the trauma along with the client. The influence a spirit attachment has on in this world and on our stories can be intense, sometimes confusing our own thoughts and feelings. I have spent many hours holding space while assisting clients in disengaging with the “outside noise”, or those beyond the veil. Trauma is overwhelming. Our relationship to it can also be overwhelming to the point we disassociate. It is in that space we allow ourselves to become portals for the unseen to join us in our wounding, to relive the story in our earthly bodies as we try to reconcile and create a story that will carry us through. As individual trauma becomes collective, many feel the heaviness and the burden of bearing the weight of their own stories while having a nagging feeling that they are not alone in their pain.

What I love is that people are really seeing this on their own. In the last few years, many are truly recognizing that some of their experiences and the ways in which they are holding space for them are not without influence from trauma from their past, their parents past, their grandparents past, and so on.

The one question I always ask clients when working through trauma is “What do you have to gain by keeping company with the trauma?”

Then I ask them the same question about their parents and so on. It is not about judgement. It is about them being honest and real with what keeps them safe in this world while they tell their story.

When a client begins to allow their relationship with their story to become more honest, they begin to take accountability for their vulnerabilities, their strengths and their weaknesses. It actually creates a gentle boundary with the spirit world and lessens the power struggle involved in ancestral memory and lineage. This opening grants permission to those in the spirit world to create their own relationship to the same or similar trauma, thus empowering all involved to perhaps, one day, have a new story to tell, a healed one.

We are the midwives of this earth

Of every living creature, our sacred geometry gives rise to both the feminine and the masculine

We inhabit all worlds, the underworld, the middle world, the upper world

The domain of our inner landscaping belongs to no one but us and our ancestors

Who walked miles to give birth to the sun, the moon and the stars.

Penetrating humanity with mercy

Diminishing darkness with every choice made to rise against it

Our names written in scripture

Our deeds recorded in time

We wander the corridors of the gods

Inhabiting both Mother and Father

In lifetimes past and those to come.

We are you.

Honor us.