The Rebels Rite

rebel bird

I was often labeled as a rebel, in my growing up, my school days and even as a young adult. I never really did anything ‘by the book’ or as my mother would have liked things done. She used to sing Frank Sinatras song to me, “I did it my way!” or “She did it her way!”

She joked about it in later years, seemingly coming to terms with her wayward daughter who was a little out of control. Her Control? It was a sort of family joke.

But I now have a different view. I don’t really view rebellion as a negative aspect in myself or anyone else. I do not view it being – out of control, or not doing things the way they should be done.

The way I viewed my ‘behavior’ was to see it as me having to learn in my own way, how to master my own destiny, to break free of any repression that lurked in my being, to take control of my own life and make the decisions that I needed to make for myself. I saw my life as my own responsibility, and I, along with God/Spirit, would sculpt and pattern it in the ways that worked for me. This didn’t mean I was selfish and uncaring, it simply meant that the creativity and the passions I held dear, were to grow from deep in my core and not be suppressed into a container – that would not set them free.

The dance of life

is a delicate matter

at times –

the embrace of our own soul

and the deep humility it takes

to honor,

and say a respectful ‘yes’

to ourselves

Our true selves.

Oh, so much easier to go

another’s way,

just to engage

with that certainty

that we must be doing it right!

To hitchhike that other ship

and cross the valleys

of what has come before.

Knowing the view

will be totally in keeping

with the rules of them – it – society.

But it will no doubt

become a little dull

as a memory will pull us

towards a richer color

somewhere over to the right,

where a flicker of wisdom

and an innate curiosity

will remind us of a dream,

a fantasy

that will not set us free,

until we bow to it,

to its mastery –

to accomplish

through our own muscle and flesh

and finding its bones

to dress our own cloak upon,

we become born

into the archetype

that fits us well.

And from that place

and the resources

it bestows upon us,

our pride

and accomplishments

so clearly Spirit sent

and guided,

reveal the confidence

and charisma

of one who knows herself,

a one who is not afraid

of being who they are

and is not afraid

of being a stranger to others.

For they fear that one

who is not controlled

by the masses

and they fear that one

because he is so free.

So be free, take that risk

be seen for who you are

and let the power of spirit

and your soul

melt the fragmented

illusions

that are not really you!

 

I danced wildly, from the very beginning, hungry for that release. If I was not to live in my own truth, whose truth was I living?

I learnt the hard way for sure, there is no doubt of that and God/Spirit had many plans for me that was going to rock my boat and unsteady my shores. And maybe even rock the boat of others? I would cast myself adrift many times without a sail and have to hoist my way back to the land, feet planting themselves a little more firmly, re-rooting myself and undergoing the learning as to why it sent me reeling off into the void in the first place!

And as I surrendered to those undercurrents and the waves that carried me, I gave back into the great ocean the conditioning that would try to make me different to whom I was meant to be.

Caroline Carey, May ’17

from ‘Middle Earth Wisdom’ (to be published 2018)

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Following our own shamanic heritage

For the dancers, the freedom makers, the liberators of soul, the poets and celebrators, the magicians of our fold.caroline painting

The new middle earth is upon us, where mystery and dreaming is being brought back into the arena of our daily living. Tolkien gave us the inspirational journey of Bilbo Baggins in The Lord of the Rings, and J.R. Rowlings gave the magical interludes of Harry Potter. We are thirsty and hungry for this kind of fantasy and intrigue, of magic and mystery in our culture where technology and science is beginning to fail us. For sure we have created so many wonderful objects, technically advancing our world beyond measure, yet somewhere deep in our psyche there is a knowing that we are leaving something fundamental behind, advancing ourselves out of a culture that believes in the deeper dream of humanity, that understands there is so much more to our existence than performance, results, financial wealth and marketing,

We recognize that the ways of our imagination are becoming ‘given’ to us by outside forces and we are no longer able to manifest this part of us for ourselves, depending on cinema, film, and images thrown at us from Facebook.

Our own world of imagination is being forgotten and left as something to be provided for us by others. The ability to use simple ‘tools’ to encourage this and practice this is being forgotten.

Back in the so-called dark ages, or middle ages, our own imagination was relied upon. Story-tellers were some of the most important people in the village, children and adults depended upon them, as they wove magical stories of history, fable and myth opening up the minds of those who listened allowing them to create their own pictures and forms, landscapes and imagery that nourished their minds and fulfilled a need to lessen the hunger of the imagination. From these stories we sourced great wisdom and understanding of myth and fairy tale, of history and peoples lives.

It was a way of education, with much to learn about and much to inspire us with.

It is possible to reignite some of these old ways through our own cultures rituals and ceremonies, to begin yet again to awaken the dreamer and learn to trust our dreams, to believe in them and not judge them for something ‘not real.’ Our imagination is key to our own ability to see more, to find the pictures of who we are and to project our desires into the future so that we can manifest from a personal place rather than from what others feel we should know or bring to the world. To pay attention to those moments of Spirit, to those ‘God moments’ in our lives, those synchronicities that make us pay attention a little more to our natural abilities of clairvoyance and ‘seeing.’

Empowering our own imagination gives us the freedom to integrate our innocence and curiosity into a functional practice that is as ancient as the rocks of our landscapes. We become the Seer, being able to see clearly, even predict our own futures and journeys. The imagination is recognised as a portal to the spirit worlds and very much needed in order to follow our shamanic heritage.

In Anglo-Saxon times, even the time of the ‘Old Britons,’ from which I sense my own calling is connected to in my lineage of feminine wise women, healers and medicine people, peoples belief in nature as their gods and goddesses was very clear. They lived their lives with a deep sense of honoring all that was around them, in the forests among the trees, the meadow flowers, the elements and clouds in the sky. They believed in what they could see and touch. They lived in buildings that were close to nature, not that they could not afford or had not invented other ways, but because they did not want to live separately to nature. They did not want to block the spirit of the land from their homes, they needed to live among nature. This was their spirituality. When the Romans came and built huge houses and mansions with all their décor and what the Anglo Saxons saw as ‘false gods’ to deck their halls with they shut out the very forces that the people of these lands understood to be necessary for their daily survival and were not interested in divorcing themselves from what was so important to them. Spirits, dragons, mythical and fairy folk, were all part of the daily spiritual beliefs and practices and a way to ensure that their lives were in connection with this, thus supporting their way of life, and their future way of inhabiting the world. This way depended on it.

In our own day and age now, many people are wishing to go back to the land, to live a more natural life with animals, growing their own food and being closer to the elemental forces. It is being recognized as a ‘need’ in our culture to live in more harmony with Mother Earth and to once again honor her and all of her inhabitants. Yet still we build constructions that keep us very much separate to those forces, protecting ourselves from the winds and the rain, turning on our central heating when ever it suits us and not thinking about the consumption of energy we use. We build our walls thicker with more substance in order to shut out the great outdoors, yet what we are doing as well in our seeking for creature comforts, is shutting out the very spirits that can give us so much more, if we would just listen. Instead we search for something material to give us satisfaction and keep our imaginative world and our fantasy world glued to a box in the living room, replacing the fires hearth and the visions that are all around us.

We cannot go back to these old times, unless it is enforced upon us, we must live the way we do and try our best to live with integrity to what we have become and what we do upon this planet. But if we do not learn from our mistakes and we do not at least try to keep some of our heritage alive and honor the traditions of earlier times, then it will be our loss, and not just our loss, but the loss of our beautiful landscapes, its animals and plant life and the innocence of the human nature. When we reach into our hearts, connecting to the children that are yet to be born, can we not feel a touch of dread for their souls, if we do not at least attempt as individuals to pave a better way and instill a little imagination in their minds eye, resource them with the ability to connect better with the spirit world, to learn to listen to the callings of nature and create an opportunity for belief in something much greater than some one else’s fantasy?

I feel our ancestors calling to be remembered, for the old ways to have a voice and reignite a sense of spirit in our homes.

Caroline Carey

Taken from Caroline’s next book (her 5th book) called ‘Middle Earth Wisdom’ published 2018.

You can work with Caroline on many of her workshops, re-connecting to the world of spirit, through animism teachings and creativity.  see http://www.middleearthmedicine.com

Posted in caroline carey, english soil, fairys, healing, nature, pagan ceremonies, poetry, prose, ritual, shamanism, spirit, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

For those who lost their tongues

 

 

The Middle earth – this holding land,

the indigenous of our tribe,

the people of my heritage,

their medicine

and their myths, where dragons and elves

 

not only in dreams

 

as kings fought for their forests,

the land,

the sacred medicine

where beasts and other-worlds live

 

as one

 

but those who burnt

at the stake,

and those who

ancestors of middle earth

lost their tongues

 

were silenced,

 

bloody and burnt –

I sat there,

her at my back stirring my own cauldron,

knowing when the time was right,

they would come

to listen, to know, to receive

the wisdom of the old one,

 

the witch, the crone

 

And she – the seer,

through my eyes,

through my songs,

would touch those hearts

and that same medicine

that flows,

 

now at this time

the time that is right

for the empowerment of her voice

and the worlds of middle-earth

brought back to life

back to the hearts

 

of our own lineage

 

For I feel the wounds of my great, great, great grandmothers

and I dig my hands and my roots into their soil,

I sing the songs of those ancestors,

their voice will be freed through mine

 

and their screams ‘will’ be heard

and their wisdom will be -released

 

And those who have been forgotten

that flesh – and that bone

in my dreams will – be – remembered

for our ancestors need be sung

 

if we are meant to heal

 

And that soul of our humanity,

 as the old one prays,

 will return for sure

in that voice of mystery

mending the betrayal

 

of our broken ways

Caroline Carey,

may 2017

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I love you, I’m sorry & I trust you!

Being a mother, I learn’t that the most important things to be able to say to my children apart from I love you, were ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I trust you.’
Sorry for the part I played in any of your difficulties and I trust you to find your way and make your own decisions in life. And I didn’t find it always an easy thing to learn!

I still don’t find it easy at times. As a mother we want what is best for our children but as they grow that can manifest as control and manipulation, trying to keep them safe so that we do not feel the discomfort and pain that their stepping into the world can bring. There is of course much to fear. But it is their life, their choice and they must learn from their own challenges and their own mistakes and their own choices.  It is the way of their own souls purpose and who are we to deny them that?

mother trust and sorry

http://www.middleearthmedicine.com

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The Muse in the Dark

I knew my menopause would ‘happen’ as I turned 50. I knew it because that is when it happened to my mother. She told me this and informed me that we usually follow the timing of our mothers on such things. I began my menstrual cycle at the same time as her also, she told me this would happen too. I was 13, so was she. So in my 50th year I stopped having my monthly menstruation and marked its occasion with a very large collage, hanging it on the wall to ever remind me of where I was in my existence, now dusty and losing the odd image as glue became unstuck. It included my blood, my last bleeding. It also included images of the witches, my own female ancestors, healers, pictures of wolves, earth, rock, raging skin including orange peel and bark from the trees, crumpled red tissue paper among broken glass, the skull of a dead bird and its bones and then words amongst many words… “now is the time to leap,” poetry I had written that year from a darkened place, meeting the archetype of whom I was becoming.
                                                                                                       

My dark angel sits in the children’s grove,

My heartbeats and the waters of the river flow from my eyes,

My promise to her is to take her essence fully into the world,

My claws and my new found wings,

Jumping off their pedestal into the dark night,

Now is the time to leap!

Things started to change quite rapidly for me. My mother said she didn’t feel any change at all, nothing seemed to happen to her really. But I wondered if that was because she was a women slightly out of touch with her body, emotions and feelings. Well she never spoke of any of those things and had an uncanny way of shutting down, sulking or disowning anything that might have resembled ‘heat.’
For me I was pretty determined to experience my menopause whatever. I wanted to know what hot flushes, flashes and sweats were all about, what all the many emotions I had heard about actually did to us. Did we really become quite mad and hysterical? I don’t think its quite like that but I did notice a sense of crazy, unadulterated, mad woman desperately wanting to emerge and yet doing my best to hone her, direct her energy and channel into something beautifully creative, which became my task.

Six years after my last bleed I still experienced those flashes in all manner of guises, I still needed to get some of those skills under my belt and I still needed to fill as much of my time with creativity as I possibly could. Failing at times and noticing the uncomfortableness when I didnt resource myself with making something, anything that resembled art, poetry, writing or a dance, frantically sometimes piecing things together to make them look moderately like a sculpture, or an attractive (unattractive) looking display of nature.

In the first year I noticed that everything around me seemed to be falling apart, quite literally and was clearly a time when I had to say ‘enough is enough and I must just give up and let go and immerse myself into this darkened time.’ Many women will say ‘this is your time, a time to focus inwardly, be by yourself and be with the process.’ So try telling that to a mother of six children, a Grandmother, a wife, a lover of community and her work and see how well that sits!

 Well, for me it made the rage even greater and the madwomen for sure would become very frustrated, however I gave it a go on occasion and as I did I came up with some amazing pieces of work/creativity/maps to share with others, and was totally at times, engrossed in that creative energy, my dance and the power that seemed to give to me. But totally alone? I don’t think so.
I’m not a sit in ones cave and meditate kinda girl, but inward I did go, no matter what or who was around me, into that darkened place that only an aspiring crone can really go, because it gets ugly, darker and uglier the further she goes!

I missed my bleeding’s, feeding my plants with their regular fertiliser, having that monthly reminder of my femininity, observing its relationship with the moon and how well it seemed to connect to the seasons, well I was lucky those bleeding’s were never too bad, painful, hefty! I was very aware of how other women might suffer. But it was to be, I quite enjoyed my ‘periods.’ I experienced ‘the cramps’ still for awhile on occasion, just slightly and they reminded me to keep on moving and dance them away as a new dance set in.

Now they are forgotten after all of this time, is it seven years now?  And yes it can be a nice relief, no worries about pregnancy or being caught out when the timing is a bit amiss. But the changes to the rest of the body are some what a shock, as the skin wrinkles, (that was represented as orange peel and tree bark in my collage,) muscles are simply not the same, bones and joints ache and one is continually suggested to, to take this herb and that supplement that are all different depending on the woman and her experience, and so much advice and suggestions drive you a little bonkers and you simply want to just get on with it and stop fussing, because the mad woman is actually enjoying the challenge and even in her discomfort, even if the belly at times is so bloated she cant help but just feel fat, she knows this is such a valuable time and doesn’t actually want to make it easier, because this is part of the process, to feel it, to breath it, to be creative with it, and without the agony of body changing she would miss out on such an experience. Yes that belly knows it is a time for new birth, emerging is the new SHE, the agony of that emergence.

  Well, its not exactly agony, that might be a bit dramatic, its more a fierceness, a hot rage that surges through the body making it so uncomfortable and itchy, yes itchy, so that you want to rub yourself raw with the heat and then that inspires some crazy painting or a poem or words for the next book that seep through the raging skin and there you have something utterly beautifully creative, you need that heat again to bring on the next surge of passion and creative juice!

Who do we become at this time? Letting go of what has been before and some how accepting this new way, this new soul of womanhood. Only the one who experiences can know. It is different for us all. No couple of years can give us that knowledge, no ‘one’ experience, no other woman’s experience, but our own, our own souls calling into the creative spirit that we are. Because at this time our true medicine or power or artistry, will shine through at its fullest, the words we speak, the art we create, the poems, the carefully designed cloth and tapestries and no one, but no one can tell us it should be any other way, but the way we have created it, through all that past experience coming to fruition, the life of our feminine spirit, ready to take her place in the world, to meet with her own power source and let it nourish the very bones of our feminine lineage, that the daughters and sisters will find a way to follow.

 I lay there on that big rock, two days, two nights, cradled in its arms,

relaxed as the sun shone down on my face,

my body, contemplating the meaning of my existence.

I told the rock about my life and all that it involved as I saw it,  

I sang my song for it to hear.

Drifting into the trance of comfort and belonging

I nestle under the sky above me,

looking into the heart of the universe.

What is my name I heard myself ask..ShamanKa-Mama was its reply.

Caroline Carey           www.middleearthmedicine.com

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One step at a time (Voice)

cc-5-fence

Is it a voice?
A passage of words, a diary of keepsakes?
Is it designed to be a different kind of voice,
because it will be heard in a different way?
I guess that’s what I hope for as the stream of energy flows through me and onto every page.
Sometimes I imagine those faces looking at me,
observing the inner dance going on and finding ways to absorb the information.
A channel of light, I like to think.
And I know some of it will meet with resistance and even criticism;
do I care?
What business is it of mine anyway?
But do I care?
Of course I do, could I be anything else but
human on this journey.
I know it is all good teaching though,
I remind myself that it all helps me find ways to improve what I do.
My school teachers would be quite proud of me
– I kid myself;
but there may be some truth in that.
The school report regularly updated
“Caroline could do better”

More effort was needed,
I’ll give them that – well effort  was made in doing things
the only way I knew how to.
But effort for efforts sake, is maybe not the best reason for doing anything.

My mother would not be happy, I am sure.
I imagine her wondering why I didn’t just write a nice story, as I did as a child.
And I would remind her that ‘I am a story and life IS a story and we all live in that play called living.’
Some of us a little closer to the edge of course.
My edge is a precipice close to the sea, where sometimes different beings are buried or lie sleeping.
Yes, that was my dream last night – a recurring dream,
but sometimes the graves are deeper and I have to work a little harder to uncover the sleeping being who lies there.

The dream ties in with the feeling of needing to hold back – as I walk through my life, this story; I begin to feel that pressure of stepping forward as if there is a shroud of energy, making the atmosphere around me heavy and difficult to pass through.
Still, one step at a time, as the aching in my bones and joints yell out, one breath at a time as tiredness try’s to close my eyes to it all,
I know I can bring myself to the other side and move beyond its enforcing control.
One step at a time!

The emotion of course may wish to show itself and that is part of the dance,
the fear and resistance
can have their say,
but cannot be an excuse for stopping dead in those tracks.
Many times I would call to this fear
to lessen its hold on me.
It replies with its usual voice
” but I am one of your very best friends, with out me there would be no journey to explore, nothing to learn from, nothing to move beyond!”
I agree reluctantly and thank my friend called Fear, for reminding me of this and having the good grace to speak out, rather than simply be an observer from the back ground and corners of darkened rooms.
Those areas that I call my ‘shadow’ that will always be some where not so very far away.

Of course in the midst of this my strong and trusty ego flatters herself that she can take charge in those more vulnerable moments and do the work necessary in the world and of course she is right.
She loves that more soulful part of my psyche, the one that every now and again needs time to play in the shadows and drink from the deep pools of forgotten lakes.

But my ego knows that without the delivery of ‘her’ work, all would remain floating on the surface of some obscure little drama pretending that ‘nothing really mattered’, all was as it was meant to be, provided no risks were taken and certainly any kind of ambition would be put firmly to bed.
This she cannot allow to happen!

So as I stir up all these ingredients that are my own stage of heart, body and a rather contemporary mind of more or less than normal function (depending on ones social class or opinion on these matters) it becomes very clear to me that I might just as well get on with it and rather than worry or drop into the possibility of feeling any level of shame – which of course if one starts to  be concerned about what others think then the only emotion to explore IS shame –

I know it is better to make and leave my mark,
leaving something behind after my death than just pretend that I feel nothing at all, even though all the time my own little dance knows better.

And that dance, though moving through its own heaviness now and again
certainly gives this kind of voice a great topic to channel its information from
and without it, maybe not that much would really be brought to life and offered
as a different kind of poetry
for a similar kind of mind as my own.

For sure the rumblings that emerge in these writings
do often come from an un-still mind and the wanderings of a lonely heart,
for this is the way of many melancholic minds
who  awaken quite frequently out of some of the deepest sadnesses
and moments of grief,
into the astoundingly beautiful life we live and simply wonder
how the human race became so unbelievably ridiculous,
themselves included,
they retreat once more into the depths of the heart and soul to gather up the medicine ways of the mind,
the poetry and the dances that is an outlet for those same hidden depths,
seeking the truth of our own existence.

From ~ ‘The Circle, The Fire & The Phoenix’

written by Caroline Carey

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my cultures wounds

middle-earth-image-owlShamanism is about healing our own cultures wounds – and when I look at the dysfunctions around me I get a glimpse of why I follow this path. I’m not sure that shamanism is always the right description for me, I lean towards the Druids, the Celts, the Witches and their craft, the medicine people of this land and every land has its own descriptions alongside its traditional medicine ways, so `I feel that I ‘fit’ more readily with these paths.
When I see my cultures wounds – the addictions, the alcoholism, the sexual wounds, the dysfunctions and societys labels of shame and guilt – the mental instability and lack of self worth, I am drawn to listen, to learn and to play my part.
I am from these shores, this land and I cannot pretend to be from any other. This is my language and my birth place and I want to do what is right for the here and now.
I might learn much form other cultures, but it must adapt and fit into this language, this way of being and I cannot force any other creed or medicine onto it.
When we shine a light on our deepest wounds – we have the opportunity to heal our own hurts without needing to credit a world that we do not fully understand.
This soil, this ground, these rocks and crevices, the trees and flowers are our medicine and the holders of wisdom that is connected to the cellular structure of our wild and free nature.
Returning to that particular dance inside us, frees the blood and the bones of a made-up-structure that does not fit with the indigenous people we are. We can dance ourselves free of what has been forced upon us – we can release the pressure of ‘having to be.’ We can re-member the turning point where we somehow went wrong and turn once more to face the truth and focus on a path that is in service to Good.

Caroline Carey

Posted in alchemy in movement, caroline carey, ceremony, dance, english soil, healing, health, light, movement medicine, nature, pagan ceremonies, poetry, prose, ritual, shamanism, spirit, voice | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments