It has been a while since I last wrote here. A religious part of me usually, at some point, takes over, becomes very Christian during Lent. There is an urgency to immerse myself into Holy Week leading up to Easter. To delve deep into the Pascal Mysteries of death and resurrection.
This year is different. Recovering memories, allowing memories from a deeply dissociated place to surface, I now know that Ritual Abuse had a place (time-limited, and I believe one perpetrator of this form of abuse only) in my early childhood. For many survivors this time is a deeply troubling one. One which brings with it flashback memories. Deep wounds.
Easter should be a time of joy. Not the deepest and darkest pain. I ask anyone who reads this to please hold in their thoughts those who have been ritually abused, sometimes throughout their childhoods in truly horrific ways; perhaps light a candle of hope in the dark.
This post is in gratitude to Bear, who has walked with me longer than I knew.
Bear came to me around 5 years ago in a shamanic journey/meditation. When I trained in Reiki Drum a couple of years ago 2 male black Bear came to me.
Today in therapy I faced up to some truly sadistic behaviour from my parents as a child. Bear came and flanked me on either side as I worked through this, leading me gently away and above a body in extreme pain.
Bear communicated he had been with me then, had been with me throughout my life. My sense of gratitude to Bear is deeper than any words can express. Thank you Bear.
Yesterday I shared a powerful healing Sacred Meal with an Interfaith Minister friend of mine.
It was largely to share within ritual space some of my journey with emerging memories of MDSA as a child. To share healing. To place this trauma in the hands of the One who is my Source, the One to whom I will return, and the One who is my Light along the way.
We blessed each others bodies with salt water. Blessed my lovely Brighid statue, which I surrounded with my Northern Tamarisk beads and gems sacred to Brighid.
I shared my emerging memories in the form of a litany of grief: grief for the girl raped by her adoptive mother; grief for the girl who was made to experience oral sex at such a young age; grief for the girl who nearly died at her mothers hands; grief as well for a father unwittingly coerced into more covert sexual abuse.
These memories, written on a piece of paper, were placed along with my vows made into the hands of Brighid at Imbolc under her statue.
I am grateful for the sacred friendship offered. For a true Anam Cara. For the possibility of healing.