Caroline Carey Writings, Prose & Poetry

An attachment to the story has flowed through me and I feel as if an old sponge has been soaking up its dregs and what is out of my control. Feeling its heaviness in my body I realise it is time to find a new way. I am not to blame. I am not responsible yet I feel the need to make it so. About me is it? Am I so important as to think it could be? But I recognise what I want, what I long for and what I need from the other.

If that is fulfilled for me, will the other be happy? My needs, fulfilling my needs – can I recognise this and let the other go?

Beginning that journey I feel hope even pleasure, letting go of that heavy sponge, I am lighter and relief replaces the story of needing to fix what is not mine. The road ahead is more open and I can feel clearer about the journey.

I may whisper to the one, ‘I trust you to make your own decisions, I trust you to do what is right for you’ and then somewhere I see the recognition in me, and seeing what they really need to hear. I begin to see their own light shine!

But for me there is also a darkness as old habits die-hard and want to pull and grab me aside telling me I am powerful enough to break through their own mind of dysfunction, that I can make such a difference, but years of holding space for others; so many others, I know it cannot be done and that I am here to empower myself  not the other, yet in my own empowerment I can simply inspire.

But the darkened tunnel does not stop there, I must explore this journey into ‘self’ and wonder why it affects me so. For to be truly effective I must begin here in my own heart, how else can I truly stand beside another on their journey without projections from my own story.

The journey opens up and I begin to take stock of that caretaker, my memory is brought into the picture. The young girl who took in so many animals, her own doing and collecting. The teenager with two small babies, so soon with so much responsibility, the blind boyfriend and the poverty that ensued, how could I not learn to try to control?

Yet I know in my mind and in my heart it is a story no more, I step into the dance and look for the visions to guide me and the heavy coat of responsibility falls from my shoulders onto the ground. I step forward thanking it for all it has taught me, for the way it has protected me and gently supported me with its weighted texture that has warmed the worn out shoulders and let me know that for a while it was necessary to carry that burden. As it dropped around my feet I knew it would make wonderful compost for the earth and I feel lighter, my spine is straighter.

 Yes I am tested, over and over again – ‘do I really want this?’ Does it feel like I am abandoning all and selfishly thinking only of myself now? Must I be even more alone, for it is a lonely place, if there is nothing to be responsible for. Being responsible only for myself – what a strange thing! But maybe an animal or two and the space I live in? How curious a time I will have.

So I imagine stepping out into the world without looking back. No food cupboards to fill, no washing basket to empty, no child minder to put in place – just an open road. It is exciting and it is scary!

I feel the criticism and judgements of others – oh she just thinks of herself, how mean! Yet the wisdom that permeates through the skin knows all and sees all and knows it is just a story and not the truth. It will win over any negative assumptions that could be made.

Is there fear of what others may think, maybe of those close enough to need that co-dependant love, but for sure if I cannot allow them to turn it around and make it ‘self-love’ what good could I possibly be to them. What message of inter dependency do I give, as all manner of co-dependency drops away and I let go of the need to control what others might think. Do I really care what others might be thinking? Is it any of my business what goes on in their minds, or is that not simply their own projection?

And still I create the life of my own choosing and still it affects others as they  bathe in the essence of what is created.

‘Do what you love’ I hear those words, ‘make what you will of your life, step up and out and fulfil your own dreams – do not drag that heavy coat, it is old and worn now and any holding onto it will create a stickiness that will tear at the flesh and hurt the muscles. The joints will wear out and the spine will curl itself over. Step away from that coat, leave it there on the ground, so as not to wrap your roots around it too tightly and get caught in its snare just in case it longs yet again for a body to hang itself on.

Thank it, leave it, step to the light, be aware of the journey without remorse or regret. For sure the old story has your roots, it is where you have come from, but they remain with the ground and the rotting compost of the old coat, never to be worn again.

Come and remember,  

come and share

offer to the play

of life

returning

the rite of passage

you forgot to do

because no one told you

you could

or it

was necessary

tell yourself it did not matter?

deny your self with shame

hide yourself and tell yourself

it simply is a game

afraid to show

to others

self indulgent did they say?

what do we choose

from our hearts

to remember of that day?

Come remember yourself

the journey that’s not forgotten

let it all become its dance

be seen and celebrated

your life it is a ritual

a re-membering,

a tale to be told,

a forgotten being

a story of the heroin

or of a wounded soul

She always has her place a story to unfold

the lives that she has touched

that will never grow to old

An empowering rite of passage

that can no longer be denied,

you know in your heart

it matters

and your life can be your pride!

Caroline Carey

Dancing in my cauldron, the circle around me, I feel my breath. Without motion there is no dance, without e-motion there is no dance – for I dance the being that is alive in my heart, freeing her so she can live her life more fully – sometimes there is no where to go but in, deeply touching the soul of the being I love.

And then the spirit calls to me from the atmosphere and the nature that is around me, sharing with me its lightness and its shadow as I take the dancer into the world, there is no escape from the dance of soul, exploring a deep crevice of forgotten tales, yet the spirit keeps me free of the sticky dark solitude that the soul knows of its own shadow. The shadow that wants to draw me in too soon, to lose me in its depths and swallow the possibility of sharing this story.

A turning point in my life shows me it is the right time to make some changes and to embrace a new passage into creation. Into a time of careful consideration to all that is ready to manifest itself.

I feel the veil lifting and guiding me to greater possibilities – this is a powerful time for us all – a knowing time and holds a vibrancy deeply connected to that same soul within each cell and each story.

I am dancing my words onto the page, as they pour out without any knowledge of what they might be in the end – I am noticing the need to keep that one reference to the spirit that is outside myself. The spirit that moves freely around us, that sings in the tree tops and moves with the wind.

Keeping my attention on the essence of that visible face of spirit reminds me not to forget that I am here, that I am not lost in a story and I am not dwelling too much in my past.

There is life around me and that is still part of the story and I can create what ever I want from it.

How open are these portals and how much are we willing to open our own? There is care needing to be taken, for when open fully we can connect to too much energy and leave ourselves sucked from and open to trauma and madness that really is not our own, yet open we must, or life will force its own story on us and make head-lines of our frailty and inability to let go of the drama.

So I dance and make reference to that small witch like creature in the corner, she plays her drum and calls to the fire once her circle is strong around her. There is no knowing what the fire will illuminate for her, but illuminate it will and the path will become clearer as she looks out with steely eyes at what is being hatched and brought to life.

Her connection to the three worlds is alive and her journey is to visit each one and give each one as much importance as the other. Keeping these worlds alive and allowing the veils between each one to thin a little more with every journey she takes.

Stirring our own cauldron the journeys enter into the soup of creativity and bring the stories more and more alive. Returning each one to the home of the cauldron, allowing the manifestation of the mystery to blend and unfold its magic.

‘Dont open the pandoras box!’ ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’ We’ve all heard these words, sometimes ignoring them and sometimes allowing them to influence who we are today. Secrets can lay buried and emotions can stagnate in the shadows of our personalities, brewing slowly, awaiting a time for release as soon as an opportunity arises.

Those opportunities can arise but are not always handled effectively. If the release of emotion is to be effective, we sometimes need to know its original source. Where did this emotion begin its story. Often people come into our lives to remind us of our original traumas and challenges, arriving with perfect timing for us to engage with our past, helping it to heal.

But what if we ignore that? What if we just assume it is all about the present moment, and whoever is ‘triggering’ this emotion is to blame.

What will happen to that friendship or that relationship?

In my own experience it has been far better to sit with my own emotions and to ask myself, ‘what does this remind me of?’ Are there any memories connected to it? This feels like a mature and effective way of dealing with our own wounds within our history.

An effective route to healing our pasts without blame towards others.

In those moments of connecting to memory we can begin to form the images of what was true at the time. The images that come to us that hold powerful emotions are often the  ones that need to be explored a little deeper. The emotion is the gateway to what needs unfolding. It is the immediate guidance that we need.

If we have chosen a path of denial then those emotions will remain stored in our body and possibly force us into states of depression. To de-press ourselves; to deeply press into the body  the very life force that we need to live from.

We become immune to feeling, not just the negative and old emotion, but also immune to the joy that can be felt at its release. Life can become mundane, we can experience tiredness, fatigue and disillusionment.

Choosing to remember our past and all the destructive patterns and dramas may seem like opening a Pandoras box, where you have no idea what will emerge; but a life living with unnecessary care and caution, can be extremely boring.

Many habits and strategies are brought into place as we ride above the waves and undercurrents, that lurk in the depths of our heart and gut. Those habits and strategies will force us into a premature adult hood with loss of innocence and creativity, long  before our time.

As the memory and emotion fume away, unnoticed for what they really are, our lives can become dominated by one challenge after another with ill fortune and various circumstances that cause us to ask ‘why does this always happen to me?’

The reason is because something is asking us for our attention! Something deep inside, maybe a memory from our childhood or adolescence. Maybe even something that was pre-birth and that can be harder of course to deal with but not impossible.

We need to give it our time, not just to think about it or analyse it but to just be with it; sensing whatever happens to our bodies  ‘in the moment’. Acknowledging its fears, confusion and deep sadness, its losses and frustrations.

Memories can come thick and fast, we’ve been holding them back for a reason! A reason that has protected us until it is the right time for us to make some changes in our lives.

Getting support in this process is pretty vital as going it alone can be rather traumatic and it actually really helps to have some one there, as witness to your process. Rather than disappearing and ‘spacing out’ the simple act of making eye contact through the process really helps us to stay present and ‘in-body’

Honoring those memories as ‘part of who we are’ helps us to appreciate what we have lived through. And we have all had our challenges, very few are immune and if they are then they are a lucky few, but I say that lightly! Once we have begun the journey of re-membering there is a world of magnificence to explore, as each tear and each heart ache takes us to the truth of who we are. Without those challenges and our own ‘suffering’ we may never meet with the possibility that soul retrieval offers us.

The results of many journeys into those unknown places can be amazingly fruitful, inspiring us to live more fully rather than remain trapped and hidden inside a Pandora’s box of  memory forgotten. But the memory is never fully forgotten by the body, it lives through us as fear, frustration and arguments, meeting constant dysfunction and a way of being in the world that lacks presence and fulfillment.

To the spirit and essence of our soul this is a way to inhabit the body by living life from the neck up, lost in a daydream of unreality, lost to analytical assumptions about who we really are.

Remembering all of who we are and where we have come from can open us to the light of our own spirit, the source of our own magic and the change that our consciousness is ready for.

There is no better time than now to remind ourselves of our history and to do the work necessary to step into the future, a future that fits with the way our world is changing rather than the old way that no longer serves us.

It is a time for the opening of hearts, a stronger connection to spirit, with authentic  relationships between us and the realisation of what is really important now.

I wonder how many people in authority are still acting out their
wounded childhoods? How many of us have seen pain inflicted
because someone is angry with their parents or siblings? Unless the
work is being done, the past will keep visiting us. It will need its
reenactment. How many world leaders are still seeing ‘the world’ as
the family unit, trying to be seen and heard, trying to make their own
lives more comfortable by simply saying that the other is wrong,
or holding back secrets from each other? How many battling out
brother and sisterly quarrels are we being subjected to by our world
leaders?
I read the following on a petition signed by a man from New
Zealand. It was a petition to end the rule of a particular government
who were developing a reputation for ruthless suppression of dissent.
He wrote ‘Freedom of speech is available to all of us. No one should
be killed for disagreeing with someone who clearly has no regard for
anyone but himself. If these people are killed their blood is on all our
hands for not speaking up for them; when they have been so brave
for opening their mouths in the first place.’
Suppression of dissent occurs when an individual or group
which is more powerful than another tries to directly or indirectly
censor, persecute or oppress the other party, rather than engage with
and constructively respond to, or accommodate the other party’s
arguments or viewpoint. When dissent is perceived as a threat, action
may be taken to prevent it from continuing. Government or industry
may often act in this way. I read that ‘this month courts charged five
activists with treason, a crime punishable by death, whose laws took
lives of journalists and anyone who spoke out against their policies.’
Where does it come from? What is the original story? This is
obviously a world issue and part of the shadow of the very big family.
But arguments, woundings, abuse and suchlike are happening in the
very small micro families and if they are not addressed they can, if
given the power and energy, increase disproportionately and seep
into the whole community; having a huge impact on the lives of
many. Where one disagreement happens between a husband and his
wife and it is not dealt with, it can filter into their relative work places
where projections and transferences can occur with their colleagues.
This then leads into the conference room and subsequently out into
the world on a much larger scale; into politics and governments.
It can become part of a child’s upbringing to be dealing with their
parents arguments and so the story filters out into the school class
room and play ground, into college and on into university and the
careers of our children.
And so I begin with myself. I write my experiences and I keep
looking into the eye of opportunity. I take those opportunities to grow
from and explore their meanings in depth. I share with my partner so
that the ‘story’ has an opportunity to end here, with myself.

from ‘Reclaimed Innocence’  available on Amazon soon

In our creative writing and movement session this morning, we ran out of time at the end, so whereas we all usually share some of what we write, I did not.

So I decided to share my ‘story’ on my blog. It is written from a memory of a recurring dream which was reminded to me by one of the other participants in our group, as she spoke about the medieval times. As I danced I tapped into that dark mother energy that I am exploring through my own ‘change’, a few feelings triggered by another participant as we greeted and spoke of our menopause’s; ‘ah the skin and bones and blasted irritations’.  And then as I wove these memories and experiences together I felt into the energy of Samhain and the mystery of the thinning veils and my connections to my ancestry….. and so I wrote my own blending of these stories;

My own mystery, my own darkness, my own hidden reoccurring dream that takes me further and further across the scenes of that old play, some where in the past. Some old history; a being that knew a time and a place that does not fit quite into the reality of my modern day fixtures. Looking up at that same tower I can see myself both in it and outside of it. I wander the tracks that lead there. Muddied boots and horse hair layers, leaving my skin itchy and uncomfortable, yet able to find warmth and to be free to roam unseen within this dark mystery.
There is no hurry, yet a curiosity that must be acknowledged, my hands begin to reach out to stone walls as I search for the edges and possibilities of open door ways and steep steps to climb. Winding around turrets as I explore the towers within my mind.
Those places that meet with the sky and the stars, where the wise one sits and ponders the meaning of life.
The dream awakens yet the journey continues as it infiltrates through my existence. The story unfolds but without the dream it is easy to misinterpret its true meaning – lost so often in the every day happenings of modern day life times.
The muddied boots remind me of the dark mother who roams through the shadows and takes her medicine ways through the granite stone of castles and turrets, the rain softening the journey so it cannot be hurried, taking a pause to warm by the internal fires, she is invited into the warmer places of the castle walls.
The tower still existing high above, the dark mother knowing the spiral staircase must be climbed, she wraps herself within the horse hair and follows into the night sky and court yards full of voices; the cobbled stones that she steps over one after the other, those muddied boots of earth and fallen leaves. The wind sweeping the hood from her face revealing the trusses of grey as they cascade over her shoulders, opening her face to the elements. She curses for a moment, yet as the moon shines a little more brightly and lights up her eyes, she sees more clearly into the darkness as different beings fall momentarily away, not daring to look incase that curse should become part of their own journey.
Material whips around a granite corner and disappears into yet another corridor, hooded once more, there is simply a sound of horse hair and boots brushing along cobbled floors, seeking out its destination, knowing the shamed story, the one that is created by hiding and grows ever deeper as its murky depths, just like the muddied boots try to find their way through the earths hardest core.
The dark shadows and the highest tower become one story and the dark mother, as she begins to climb, finds that connection between the two and as the hooded veil thins itself and the grey trusses settle, finding their own connection to body, the tower is entered into, where the darkened place has both light and shadow in its midsts.
The daughter lightens, drinking in the medicine, finds her dance and dreams with the moon her awakening. Nothing is lost as it resides in the untold stories. The medicine works its magic and what was once buried, becomes the truth of many other lives.