Is your voice a hidden mystery to you?

I remember when my mother asked me what I wanted from Father Christmas, I said I wanted a really big poetry book.

Christmas morning it arrived on the end of my bed. It was quite big, considering I was only about four or five at the time.

It’s a little worse for wear now and some what coffee stained, but it still has a pride of place on my book shelf.

photo

 

And inspired by this book, I began to write my own poetry. Some of it very simple and then writing words that turned into teenage ramblings and pubescent dramas.

Poetry and prose, ramblings and stories flowed and children were born and mothering took over and then one rainy day I stopped awhile…… and began to write my own autobiography.

The poetry of course had to weave its way between the pages and it all fitted so well, finding its own wings then into the world of novels, non-fiction, people’s lives and the story books of life. Screen shot 2012-11-12 at 10.44.36poster ms g Seeing my first book, Ms’Guided Angel, on a shelf in Waterstones was a very proud moment for me.

Reclaimed Innocence followed and the book I had always wanted to write since childhood, my very own poetry book took its place next to The Golden Treasury, my own golden treasure, ‘SHE has a Voice’ that I had carried for 50 odd years.she has a voice, book cover

 

Reclaiming our Soul, really is reclaiming our innocence and being who we truly are in the world, without judgement or criticism and any thought of having to do some one else’s way!

My mother’s song for me was a Frank Sinatra version of  ‘I did it my way’  Where she used to sing to me  ‘She did it her way’. She used to laugh about it even though she still tried to get me to do things the way the school wanted!

 

I do now love auto correct on my iPad that Ben bought me for my birthday last year. I could never spell very well and grammar, at least grammar as is ‘meant’ to be as in the Queens English kind of grammar, was not my fortay. I much prefered my own tapestry of grammar and wordsmith kind of ways, as it fitted so much better with the way I spoke and the way I thought and saw life in general.

Now I am muddling my way through the fourth book, editing out what it really does not need and trying very hard to spot the spelling and grammar mistakes, because if I don’t the publishers wont be too happy and the books may never get the wings I would like them to have. I want them to fly, into the world, to touch hearts and to encourage others to find their own voices, to tell their stories and above all find the potential they were born with to simply be themselves!

In my occasional writing groups, I so love to hear the voices of others, find their own territory and learning to leave behind the schooled ways of society, even if just for a moment, to play with their words. To invite those sentences to dance on pages and find their own merry way of forming into a paragraph, poetically or otherwise.

Our own real voices can often remain a mystery to us, until we take the courage to step out, or sing out, with own uniqueness and wonderment at the soul who exists beneath the covers of the heavy duvet, made from the materials of conforming to another persons standards.

Trying to hang onto my own way, yet allow my to work to be understood as best as is possible, I continue to write, to observe the words and play with the possibilities of letting ‘my’ voice out, in what ever way it wants to flow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sharing Voices – One Step At A Time

Words written convey the sounds of our own thoughts mingled with those of the sharer of poetry. As words are listened to, we hear the soul, the heart and the essence of the one who speaks…

   One Step At A Time 

she has a voice, book cover

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Mother wisdom, Mother wit…………

Today’s blog, a piece from my next book. This summer I will sit and write and re-write and make good. Letting words flow through the river of my heart. Hopefully by the end of the summer my next book will be ready to go to print. I must work hard!

To share my words is a blessing and something I love to do. What for? I’ve no idea…..it is simply a love of the art… and today I asked myself…….

What exactly is Mother Wit?

Natural ability to cope with everyday matters; common sense. Innate intelligence

Ah yes the Mother one who knows, the Wit of her essence………

miriam and owl

*

And circle becomes the feminine mother intuitive,

the nurturing part of myself and the dreamer who speaks softly inside me.

My dear family in all directions,

how does she make it right for others?

How much does she give, how much is she responsible for?

Does she assume they cannot look after their own needs?

Mother one, who knows.

Mother, one who knows.

Mother who has so many roles she forgets herself many times over.

Mother moon, looking down towards the earth.

Towards the children in the darkness, I see you.

There are no needs that do not need acknowledgement, 

no needs that are not real and worthy of love and tenderness.

Even those needs we would dishonour through fear of judgement.

Connecting back down to earth, to memory in the bones,

I see you again, earth bound mystery.

Mother, feminine, loss, betrayal, speak the love you once knew

and let not the tides wash away too soon the possibility

of deep growth that try’s to force its way through the cracks

made open in the stretching mind of the body.

Mother mystery, so much unknown

and yet so much held in the voices unspoken,

learning to trust, mother learns to trust and speak,

for only she is the one who knows deeply the turmoil in her own belly.

Learning to give freely from this turmoil

to see what was unable to be set free and protecting the one,

she unravels the bloody yell back to where it came from.

Whore, witch, mistress, enchantress, dark mother writhes in unseemly passion, 

what many of us could not possibly know or take a second glance towards,

incase it touches one finger tip to poison our minds

against what is now settled and confirmed.

That sweet confirmation of victim,

lost to the story.

Dare we take another look into a realisation

that all is not lost and thrashing out that one last spell,

we are victim no more.

Cc July '14

My world is changing both inside myself and all around me. I notice how the body shifts itself into a new gear, one that is preparing for a whole new level of being with woman hood. It is inevitable, it must change as the age draws nearer and bleeding ceases, I am not the ‘productive’ beast any more, the child bearer and big bellied mother. A grandmother now and happy for it to be this way. My body changes inside as the small womb shape becomes that hardened walnut and shrinks its size. So too does my world around me and I find the nest of my home far more appealing. I want to curl up under softness and find the dark corners of my mind for contemplation. To burrow into the dream time and watch the colors changing to their subtle more undefined shades.

My small workspace mirrored around me, reminds me of that walnut and I keep drawing on my own medicine woman from the shell of its existence. There is no need for the big immense gathering any more, I simply do my work as much for myself as with anything else that needs it. Unraveling years of hard work now done, now completed as all things must be.

And the change happens, I become the elder, the grandmother, the wise women holding wisdom beyond her years. My years that started before I was ready and so they must continue.

In my own circle I am aware of so many changes, as women it can be a challenging time to go through the change that menopause brings, but I had learnt the only way was in the deepest surrender, to allow my body to do what it needed and though some times uncomfortable, letting it have its way, going through as much as it needed to. Menopause has been happening forever and here is yet another way for women to try and control what is one of the most natural of process’. Just like our first menses and our childbearing, we have been too quick to try to control it, make it less uncomfortable and avoid it if at all possible. I am welcoming these changes, I know it can be a rough ride but just as in birthing my babies, I have had to surrender to nature, to allow its forces to pass through me. I noticed so many changes and at first they took me by surprise. So suddenly they seemed to happen. Well I knew it was due, so no real surprise, but the rapidity at which things changed could throw me off my centre. Still I noticed a stronger sense of myself, more confidence and a deeper knowing of who I was. The skin may be changing but it was simply another cover for a worn out ego that did not serve any more. Like my own snake shedding her skin it was time to take on a gentler and more mature outer layer and a softer sense of being a woman. My circle began to show new forms, animals that could offer me a different sort of companionship, different textures that matched the walls and the linings of the cauldron. A darker presence that spoke to me in a different language and yet I understood every word.

I am growing, older, the medicine woman

that has been digging in the dirt of existence.

Unraveling, un-weaving the threads as I lay bare the souls membrane.

Relaxing into a dance that takes me ever further into a mysterious universe.

Yet when the body aches as I expand the dancer,

to dance the way she once knew,

then I tap into the frustration that says “no can do.”

It is then that I meet with the curse of the witch gone sour.

So my circle becomes stronger the older I become and the wisdom comes more from the inside then the outside. I haven’t read a book for a few years. I pick the odd one up and browse a chapter, sometimes really wanting to know all of its contents. I find that I just want to write and pour out all my thoughts and poetry, my dreams and what inspires me into my own journals. I could gather information from others work, I could study and research for hours days or months at a time. But I realise that my story, my words, have to be from my own journey and my own inner sense of who I am and what I have experienced. I cannot speak for anyone else and I do not want other writings to influence what I am here to share.

My dance has taken on a new meaning as it becomes much stiller and I am listening. I want to know every movement and be quite sure that the breath is connected and that the patterns of my movement matches with the murmuring heart beat and the in and out breath of each expression.

I continue to hold a space for others. I watch and listen, slowing down my own body and breath, even my heart beat so I can listen with an intensity. I do not listen much to the words, of course I pay attention to them and get to know the story, but I am listening to the vibration of their body or bodies, allowing my own vibrational body to match it.

From this place I begin to know what needs to be done, I become aware of the energy that is fixed or stuck in limbo, I resonate with it in my own body. My muscles and cells are listening. I become completely present to what is happening and without any plan or idea of what has to happen, I simply follow the energy of my own body and find its release. My circle must be strong for me to do this work. It contains my feminine and my masculine and the two must work together and unite together to follow through with what is arising.

Slowing slowing slowing, down to the present moment,

nothing to do but listen and feel the vibrations.

I listened to intermittent sounds and voices, images came to me and my heart was moved. Birds interrupt the sentences with their calling, but the words are strong and cause me to open my heart even more, to take in the vibrations that I noticed in my own body.

My hands expand with the essence of my heart, exploring the emotions and the changes that want to be expressed. Softly they nurture each other into being – listening to the stories that each one unfolds – honest communication, finger tips listening to finger tips as they touch each one after the other. They know their time is not forever, so for sure they must meet with every breath and every story before their time is done with this body, to speak every story and touch every tangible experience before they are no more. And their dance unfolds, the bones and the muscles follow one after the other, like the snake as it carries itself along the earth, rippling its movement continuously, wave after wave into the shore, where the lapping waves of the lake in my mind, gently massage the edges and push outwards to create wider boundaries, expanding that depth of heart to meet more and more of the world. To stretch those boundaries and circles to reach out to the parts of life not yet shared with.

The lake becomes wider and fuller, its depths become deeper and the reflections it creates show me more of myself. Reflections that mirror a wider universe, a multi textured and vibrant mirage of so much understood and so much that is misunderstood. So the questions keep presenting themselves and I ask the dancer to show me more clarity for through the dance I can trust a deepening process, a voice that never lies as shapes emerge and melt away leaving only a trace of knowledge, quickly gathered up to be remembered in the unfolding pages of my life.

The memories filter through as does the wisdom of each breath, the muscle knows and clears a space as the dancer reaches out once more, to find a deeper meaning and acknowledges its own intelligence, for the dancer has its own intelligence, it does all it can to reach into that world, with each spark of inspiration and every enthusiastic leap of faith trusting in the greater scheme of things, that it will be received, because why on earth wouldn’t it be? Only some old remnant of refusal or rejection lies in the palm of these hands and that now can quite simply be brushed away.

 

Caroline Carey,

from ‘Circle, Fire & Phoenix’

 

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Hollow Bones

 

bones

The old story lingers,
finding its way through broken circles,
And every now and again forms into a painful experience of ‘not belonging’
Fitting into that same territory of not knowing
where my place is and what is needed of me,

An outsider looking in and feeling the pain
in her heart
It keeps her in a perpetual cycle of one foot in
and one foot out

Bringing these feet together
in one dance
one way of being
She cuts the story clean from her heart
Never to wander that lonely shore of indecision

Taking her place she stands stronger, clearer,
spine connected,
 all the bones and muscles back
into their right position

The old story is laid to rest floating down stream away from its anchor
released to the elements,
Where did it come from?

The need to run away, away from the pain of humiliation
away from the sensations of what has been denied
Not wanting to bring that story, my story into the homes of others,
Into the home of what is important to me
Keeping it at bay behind closed doors
Yet to free myself the door will open
and stepping out into the container of humility and un-brokenness
the dancer songs her song for all to hear
and takes her place in the center of the drum beat.
Calling in her allies as the dagger cuts open the pain in her chest
 and the deep hollow bone is filled with her own wisdom and knowing.

Taking a new and rightful place that comes with ease and understanding
of the path traveled and crawled upon, the broken knees and bloodied finger tips,
reaching out, reaching out.

To never walk that path again
But to stand strong in her own presence
And where she is meant to be!

Caroline Carey

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Shame & her Faithful Habits

Sometimes I have feared spending too long with an old pattern of behaviour, commonly called a ‘habit’ and how it found it’s way into so many different areas of my life? If it had only affected one small part of it, the one part that was obvious, it would be well cleared, well known and now completely ineffective, but it didn’t stop there, it began there of course but the pattern and the habit were strong, so it found its way to weave itself amongst my work and my friendships, it wove a web around my finances and even how I supported my children or even received support for us all. I saw it unraveling within organization and knew I needed to break this pattern in a really kind way.

I had given myself away. It began at the root, as these things often do. Much of our life’s experiences is connected to our sexuality, to our root chakra, to our pubity and how we first met with the genitals and our orgasmic states. As we age if we look at how we are sexually, we will be able to see similar patterns being played out. I don’t want to give the idea that shame is all to do with sex! Its not at all, but the language of our bodies can often give us clues to its role in our lives.Quotation-Marilyn-J-Sorensen-shame-guilt-Meetville-Quotes-146021

Partly due to my own abuse, I learned to give myself away, but then as I grew older I began to see how I gave myself away within my work for example. Doing things for nothing, not taking care of my own needs, working myself to the bone, with no boundaries and no possible way of saying ‘no!’

This however would lead to finding myself in deep service to others. So there is light as well as shadow. This showed what the ‘actor’ in me was able to transform the wound into. So as well as it being a dysfunction I carried, it was also a great teaching.

And knowing the possibility of shame does not need to diminish me, making me feel small. I know that shame exists in many of us, me included. We feel guilt over something we have done and we feel shame because we feel ourselves to be wrong. I believe that difficult they both might be to deal with, they are great teachers in the art of humility and being humble. They are both extraordinary pathways into feeling deep into the core of ourselves and the teachings that come from that. They can take us out of body too easily, cause dysfunctions and addictions, but ‘spoken’ to with care and tenderness will show us deeply who we are, offering many gifts in the form of love and compassion for ourselves and others.

This work lead me through the Phoenix process, which is part of the Movement Medicine world and I write much more on this in the third part of my book.

This time it took my shame on a further dance of exploration within ceremony. I did not expect to, it just happened when a wall of shame suddenly appeared before me. Someone had said something. I knew it had come from a good place, but it had still struck a cord in me. I sat with pain and discomfort within my body, feeling into the silence and the deep emptiness of what was beneath my emotion.

For awhile I slipped out of my body to take a look from the outside, witnessing what had just happened from a distance. This was a more comfortable place to be and I knew the part of me that had spent many years in ‘soul school’ knew how to gather good information from this place. I drifted for awhile, no movement and with very still breath, not daring to breath too deeply. Still it was necessary to be in my body and I knew that movement would have to happen, but for now it was not coming and I would not push it, for here was very valuable information being gathered. I had slipped into an altered state, one that I knew and one that changed many perspectives on things. Gradually I began to find the movement of this pain body, very slowly, no rushing anything. It needed its time. Still so still, I could barely move but energy was moving on the inside, I was doing what I needed to do.

*

I am faced with the gateway of shame. It leads to a deep dark pit that has no bottom, no end, it goes on and on for ever. I am looking into it knowing I cannot fully emerge myself in it because there would be no end to its journey and for sure if I jumped into its depths I would be lost for ever. So I move around the entrance and rather carefully, taste the essence of what it means, I smell its putrid and agonized suffering as one lick at a time, gently run my fingers around its rim. Better to move very slowly with this. I know from the depths of my soul I must move slowly with tenderness and stay in my altered state, I must be alone with my darkness and not connect for now with another. I’m aware of this journey and how to now be alone with it. For sure to explore it with another might be beneficial but no, for me this is a solo journey that I need to take responsibility for, no one can know the shame I feel, no one can dare visit that well with me without either completely misunderstanding, or being dragged into their own deep well and where their weight would simply pull me further in? Who could really be this gentle, who could hold this moment with such care that their own agenda would not interfere? As I search into the tapestry of my mind, I discover the stories that have been with me a life time and the patterns of behavior that have sculpted part who I am now. the lone wolf, the isolated dreamer, the one who would go it alone and in some cases the pioneer. Better to stay that way than face the trauma of being pushed to the edge of that pit by any one, I realised at some stage I must have decide to do things a different way to others, because if I did things ‘my way’ then no one could tell me I was wrong and no one could shame me! What a clever plan, my childlike brain must have thought! And so that unconscious part of my mind cleverly sculpted life in order to control and create in my own fashion. What I had not realized at that tender age, was that actually I was likely to become very very lonely, because there was no possible way of collaboration with others, no way of joining in with others, because it would have to be on my terms. Suited to my clever ways of doing things, that actually I didn’t want anyone else to do in any case, I preferred it that I was the only one, why change anything? But lonely I would become and when there came the possibility of collaboration, would I know how to join in? Would I have to then face a level of shame, a certain amount of shame when I got things wrong and had to be corrected? Would the shame be too difficult to bare? Too deep, too traumatic? For sure there would be some of that. I would need to strengthen myself in order to face this if I was not to be so alone any more. It would be yet another journey needed to crawl around that deep pit just to get a taste of this sourness. In time it would pass and I would find my way with a better sense of self-esteem and love of myself; of all of myself. And in turn now I would have learned how important it would be to honor others and the deep shame that they might feel. How to be gentle when approaching those issues in others, never fully knowing just how deep that shame might go and how it might be for them. Collaboration takes tenderness, care and awareness of vulnerability and historical wounding. Shame or no shame, we have to move on. Sometimes carrying it with us as it is gently unfolded or slapped in our faces sending ripples of pain through our hearts. How do we react to it and become friends with our shame? Feeling, breathing and gently unfolding. Paying attention to the old stories and changing what they mean to us if possible.

*

I am a determined woman, determined to make a difference, beginning with myself and extending that to others. Yes I can screw up plenty, I can make a fool of myself, I can cringe sometimes at my dysfunctional habits and the way I can push myself into discomfort! But I will not stay small. I will recover from shame and humiliation, I will Screen shot 2014-06-19 at 12.15.55accustom myself to others remarks and criticism’s. I will get over all of this and more, groaning with disbelief sometimes when I just wont let something rest and I keep going back for more, asking one more question, making that one more statement, reaching in and saying ‘are you sure its that way?’ Just to be certain in my own mind, but knowing some where actually I know there is more to be said. My shame and guilt are manageable, they have crafted me as much as any other deeply felt emotional challenge. But they will not keep me small, humble yes, but humble does not need to be small.

*

I’m tired, the rain is falling and I sink into the dreamer, letting those darkened shadows surround and engulf me in their warmth. There is nothing to do, just allow that shroud to begin to show me the visions and pictures that emerge. Tiredness comes as a welcome friend, I let it in as it slows me down, making me stop and reflect on my life, my world, the one that lives inside me and so close to my skin. I see the mists forming and know there is a new wisdom, a new teaching that wants to present itself to me. I wrap myself in my own circle, it is there to support me and guide me. Two small wings unfold and speak to me of freedom; freedom to follow my own path. I wonder what it means just for a moment, but soon I know too well, simply from the sensations in my body. The kinesthetic part of me knows what I need to let go off. I have gathered in many fruits for this path, now I must return to the being I once was, before all of this started. I know this from the way my eyes look at the ways of human kind, I know this by the way my dissatisfaction shows me that there is nothing in that world I need or want. To find simplicity in a chaotic world draws me ever closer to the core of myself. I have gathered my tools well, for all is in place and sits within the cauldron of my own making.

*

I wonder did yet another pattern cause me to not step out alone and make something of my life? Did it keep me stubbornly connected to one path, to support a body of work that was not my own making. A time when my own fire was not quite strong enough? This valley runs very deep and hides itself in the caverns of my mind and underneath my skins own bed-linen of shame and confusion. Turning over the covers I begin to see some of what may have been lost, the possibilities that never came to fruition and it hurts to think how much I may have prevented, unknowingly, because I was too busy following a worn out habit that I feared was going nowhere.

But it was going somewhere, I knew in my heart and the hearts of others, that it was and was always a necessary part of the journey.

If we imagine standing at the edge of a forest, and we want to reach the other side, would we walk a straight line through it? Or, might the path we take meander in many different directions, around rocks and boulders, trees and streams, feeding deer and rabbits, conversing with owls and woodland folk, we may take every direction possible in order to fully experience the forest. Same too with life if we really want to live and experience fully.

*

Maybe the threads woven had created a vast expansive carpet

of new possibility that had yet to be trodden upon.

Maybe it was stronger than anything I could have imagined

or created anyway,

but until I had uncovered those different colors

and pulled out some of those broken threads that did not serve

or belong there,

I knew there could never be any completion.

from ‘Circle, Fire & Phoenix’ soon to be published

    www.alchemyinmovement.com

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Community at home

We have landed ourselves in  a little cottage in Devon, next to the moors and rural landscapes. Everyday I feel an immense gratitude for being here, for being blessed in this way. Tears of joy and an opening of my heart emerges continually as I relax more and more deeply into being here. I haven’t cried in this way for quite awhile!

It is a very small cottage and I am liking it! I had to have big houses for most of my adult life, because that’s what my six children needed, although there were times when we crammed ourselves into very small homes out of necessity for awhile, like tents, caravans, benders, a converted bus and such like. But of course what came with a big house and six children was a lot of housework! Cleaning, tidying, moving things around and all the IMG_4335rigmarole of keeping it together and moving on to the next day, to do it all again.

Here now in this little cottage our focus can be more on our work but also the very simple care needed to keep this little place looked after. It is my very first experience of living as a couple without the responsibility of a baby or children, since I was 16 years old.
Yes the life of just the two of us has begun!
And we are living so simply, with our basic needs, no need for more space to take up, we have our yurt to dance in and a place to nurture ourselves when we are not traveling and IMG_4340working.

And then there is the garden. I am taking some time to get to know the trees and plants here, add a few of my own and purchase a few new ones for where there’s an empty gap.
I’ve been carrying my plants around with me for many years now. Some are quite large like my very tall Mimosa who has come from Ireland, she was first given to me as a teeny shoot about 17 years ago and now every time we move she manages to get a broken branch or two, she was even broken in half as a little one by my too friendly cat at the time, who tried to climb on her, but she bounces back to health every time as soon as she knows where she is and settles in with her other potted friends around her.

We have quite a special relationship, Mimosa IMG_4330and I! Sharing a few moments together, she feels like a special friend who has partaken on many journeys with me as we have traveled and settled, uprooting ourselves time and time again. She looks a lot like one of my altars, carrying various hearts and dangling objects. The arrows that I broke on my throat during a couple of ceremonies, sit in her soil as well as an old piece of wood that my maternal grandfather found on one of his walks on the beach. It is the shape of an otter and he added to it bead blue eyes. It sits there beneath Mimosa as I am reminded of my Grandfathers love for gathering odd and strange objects and transforming them into something new and exciting! There are little gifts hanging there from others I have been at rituals with and there are some little pieces of art that my children have made as well as some old bones that lie amongst the stones in the pot.
In the evening Mimosa through her sensitivity closes up her leaves and goes to sleep, drawing herself in until the morning light again when she opens up in her full beauty embracing the sunshine and warmth of the day.IMG_4338

And all the other plants in the house, each one with a different personality and need, have their place and position in the house-hold, friends to myself and each other. Yes I may be seen as one of those crazy old ladies who talks to plants and animals but it has come as second nature to me, recognizing the spirit in each one and treating them thus.

So now getting to know this new garden, I am curious as to who the spirits are that dwell here?
Each shrub and tree, each corner of weeds and the little flowers amidst the grass, the ferns and long grasses, the sounds they make in the wind and in those quiet moments when only a whisper is heard, I am listening to the tiniest bird sound, the bumble of the bee and the IMG_4343fluttering wings that take flight as soon as we approach. We are getting to know this land of spirit, for nature is the manifestation of IMG_4337spirit, as is all things.

‘Nature is the visible face of spirit.’

It is a very small garden, it will not take a huge amount of work, but it is surrounded by a vast open moorland and hilltops to explore and many walks through woodlands that draw me in. The ‘micro’ for me is in the IMG_4341taking care of the small details of this little garden, knowing where I am living and most importantly who I am living with. For this is my most immediate community, the inner and outer of the natural field in my life. Those now closest to me, the responsibility I now have for each of these beings, their watering, their food, ensuring the conditions suit them and what other needs they might have.

Mostly it is about love for the natural world, for my own world and the responsibility I have to take care of the small IMG_4344things, thus enforcing the bigger wider love of being in the world, of manifesting care for our planet.
How are your plant friends today?

 

 

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The Embodied Shamanic Journey

Recently I was asked to write an article for the Sesame Journal about the Shamanic Journey.

I called it ‘The Embodied Shamanic Journey’ as for me the most profound journeys happen when I am dancing! Thus they include my body, my heart, my mind, soul and spirit. Nothing is left out. It is what I share with others and when studied deeply and profoundly, the journey is heightened to new levels of consciousness rarely experienced in other ways, at least not by myself!

In this article I have covered the use of different brain waves and why it is so important to understand the use of brain patterns and the beats of music that create repetitive movement.  I have also included some of my own personal experience of dance and its healing power. For me it is part of my own Movement Medicine practice and what I combine in my own teachings of this work, as always sharing from my own experience.

If you are interested in shamanism and its use ecstatically with dance, turn to page 15 in this article. I’d be happy to hear your comments.

Page 15 on …..

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More info http://www.alchemyinmovement.com

 

Screen shot 2014-06-07 at 22.58.57

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She-Wolf

she-wolf

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She wolf
Alpha being
No need for others approval
She is
Who she is
No need for affirmations
No need for the right to be
 
She leads the hunt
Walks through the gate first
Fiercely independent
A seer for all
She knows herself fully
Inside and out
Limitations and fears
There are few
 
She licks her own wounds
As they bleed on the ground
 
Feeds herself first and takes care of her needs
The balancing act
Of those at her tit
She’s the mother and lover
Aloof when it suits her
Dismissing the needs of a victim in tow
Indifferent when it pleases her so
 
She knows when she’s needed
For survival of all
And what really matters
To strengthen them all
 
Contained in self wisdom
Pride in her howl
The voice of authority
Prepared to endow
Rarely speaks out
But stands strong in herself
 
She sees through the mask
Of endulgence and lies
Ready to fight for the needs of her clan
For no shadow escapes
from those predator eyes
she listens she waits
awakened to life
 
Wild in her nature
she is the lone wolf,
the female,
the wild the primal
historic
Quietly standing
aside of it all
yet knowing the landscape
sure-footed and tall
Awaiting the moment
That time will tell
Integral and patient
Aligning her self
With nature

With love
With the right to be free!
Caroline Carey from The Phoenix Retreat 2014        Photo.. Ben Cole

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Close to the edge of loss

Then came a ceremony. The grandmother teacher I had begun a very transformative journey with some years previously. I was with a small group of friends and we each spoke our intentions and prayers. My intention was to ask for help. To ask for help about my son, but not about him, about me. What did I need to do for myself, to understand what it was about in my life, what healing I needed to do for myself. Because for sure it affected me deeply and that effect could be manifesting in ways I had no idea about.
I spoke my intention to Grandmother, reminding myself of the trust needed and to relax into her arms. To be held for a few hours as the medicine worked its way through my cells and memory fields.
For awhile all I could feel was my tiredness, a song or two and a heaviness that permeated through me. I felt this ceremony was to be some what uneventful, but I rested and allowed myself to sink deeply into the meditations of the sounds and voices. I had moments of seeing water, floods of water rising and ebbing, covering roads and fields. I lay down in my tiredness.
As I lay down a particular song began to be heard in the atmosphere. As I listened it began to have an affect on me. I recognised the voice, it was my teacher Kajuyali, singing a particular icaro, a medicine song that I had heard him sing many times before, that had enabled me to move a deep and sorrowful time of my life and bring about awareness and healing.
As he sang I felt my body go into deep trance. The prayers moved me and my visual mind began to expand and take in what needed to be seen.
I had asked to be shown something of the connection my son and I had. What was affecting me and what did I need to do for myself.

As the song was sung I began to feel the body of my little baby, 34 years ago. I felt his pain within his body, I tried to clamp up my stomach, I felt the medicine reaching into places I have not felt for many years.
I was taken back to the memory of all those years ago. He was unwell, in terrible pain at only 5 months old. His bowels had stopped working and he vomited continually, bleeding constant diarrhoea. I tried taking him to a doctor who just gave us a bottle of medicine and sent us away. I took him to a hospital, where the nurses suggested I spoon fed him water as he seemed a bit dehydrated. I took him home wishing I had taken the bloody nappy with me, just so I could convince them that this teenage mum was not imagining her baby was unwell, but that this was really serious and we needed help! I was just newly twenty years old, a second teenage pregnancy, doing my best to be mum to my little ones and wife to my diabetic partially sighted husband.
My memory held me in the little home we had, a top floor flat, not so bad but isolated and lonely for me, with little stimulus for a toddler.

Eventually a doctor was brought to the house, a woman doctor who took one look at my baby and knew action was needed. Immediately!
A taxi was called, ‘no time for an ambulance’ she said. We rushed into the hospital,  an hour later we were in a small room full of white coats and nurses. He lay on the bed as they looked over him. He projectile vomited green bile all over the nurse. ‘Now they will take me seriously’ I thought.
And then life became a blur, I stood there watching them wheel him out and down the corridor. I was left alone, I sat on a chair looking at the bed. What happened then, I have no idea. All I could remember was the moment they brought him back and he was alive, full of needles and on a drip, a huge scar on his flesh with stitches holding his little tummy together. I kissed him I am sure as it was explained to me what had happened. An Intussusception, that blocks the intestines and if not treated quickly causes death.
He had survived and at the young age I was, all I could feel was relief without any idea of any further consequences of this event.

But no I was to go a little deeper into that story. I found myself in that same body of the young mother, sitting in that room alone. And the spirit led me, walking down that corridor in the hospital, following the nurses and the doctors and I walked into the operating theatre with them. I stood there as they stooped over my baby, with all manner of implements.
He was asleep and I saw them begin to cut into his tummy, his fragile little skin.
And then I saw something that made me sit upright and my attention changed.
He was completely out of his body, some way off he looked down on the scene, in fear and pain. What was happening to his body, he looked down at the nurses, the doctors and he looked for his mother, but he couldn’t see her! Where was she, he needed her?
He saw terrible things happening to him, and scary images moved around him, dark shapes and shadowy images. And I told him, ‘it’s ok I am here, it’s ok to come back.’
I became aware of the split, the confusion, the disembodied soul. The near death, the so close to death and I saw them bringing him back and I called to him, ‘come back my sweetheart, come back into your body, it will be ok, I promise you’.

And we were back in the ward, and I sobbed over his little body, crying, feeling all the shock as I lay by his side and cuddled up to him. My own body in the deepest shock, releasing that trauma together as we felt each other’s pain at this awful and terribly frightening moment of nearly losing each other.
And we went home back to our little flat and for a few days, we struggled together to get his little insides working properly again. It took some time and some persistence as he could not feed very well. Eventually things began to be ok and a doctor came around to take out his stitches, he asked me how we were doing and I said we were doing very well. He left.
It would have been nice if I had had a friend to help me, a visit from a nurse to reassure me, but no, even his father was his usual absent self. But we got through it, him and me and his big brother.
When it looked like all was working well and he slept and ate as he always had done, I began to relax. There was a bottle of red wine in the kitchen. I can’t remember where it may have come from as we were not drinkers, but I took that bottle of wine and I drank it. I relaxed deeply and fell asleep. I slept a whole night and he did too, we all did for the first time; we were ok. That bottle of wine had been forgotten about, I had not remembered it till this moment. Why had I reached for it and what did it teach my little one in  that moment of letting go, of drinking away any pain? Could it have been ?

But now I recognise that aloneness, the struggle I had as a young mother to keep it all together for her family. I can forgive those shortcomings and lack of awareness about how to be a good mum but just to keep doing what I could under the circumstances. For sure I adored my little boys and would have done anything for them.

Grandmother took me to a dark place in myself once again. One that had held onto trauma and shock for so many years. Shock that had been relived many times over around my son. And only her gentle way and unfolding of the layers had managed to show me what needed to be felt and healed.
I lay there sobbing, holding my baby in my arms, imagining his sweet breath, his soft skin, his wispy blonde hair. He was such a pretty baby, every one commented on how beautiful he was. I told him how sorry I was that he had had to go through such pain and how I would always be there for him when he really needed me.
I understood how he had left his body at such a tiny age, the affect that would have had on him and the split personality that it created. He always had that far away look in his eye, a deep thinker with a connection to something dark that could not yet be seen fully till later years.

I knew nothing quite like this medicine for answering the intention I set out with and getting right to the root of the challenge presented to me. Grandmother Aya was and is my soul teacher and guide, my friend and healer. When I combine the dance and my body, and allow her caring spirit to journey within me, I know magic will happen.
Screen shot 2014-05-13 at 08.03.01
This would now help me to understand a little bit more about what was going on and the clear need for soul retrieval. Both in myself and in my son. But I could only do it for myself. His journey was his journey. I called in the part of me that had left during this time. The soul loss that had happened as I experienced the trauma of nearly losing my baby.
Had I gone with him at that time? Would I now return without him? I prayed and trusted that some how he would follow, that something would happen to awaken that part of him and call in what was missing. Or at least ask for the help to do so.
I knew it took one to believe in such things for this to happen.

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The Oracle Of Repetition

Its raining heavily and I am sitting here in our motor home, that we call Jpy, (spoken as Jippy, its the reg number) writing a few words on the things that come to mind. I’ve been writing articles for magazines and meeting deadlines which I am happy to have made, so now I give some attention to my little blog once more.

What to write? Well the sounds of the rain drops are the first thing that come to mind. I am wondering if they are dripping in anywhere, but once I realise all is well I can relax and focus on my writing. Still the sounds are calling to me and I find myself moving a little with them. I am listening to the repetition each sound is creating.

Rain

There is one particular sound of a drop that is continually hitting the water barrel outside, then the steady merging of metal roof and continuous ebbing and flowing of the rains meeting with it. There is a sound on the window just as the rain turns direction for a moment and then a fast flow as the heavens open with bucket loads, washing across the side of Jpy spraying a torrent across the windows.

I can hear a sweet sound of bird song amidst it all, a sweet melody reminding me how all is well and nature is just doing its thing, and just like any emotion it will pass by.
The birds sit in the tree tops, sheltering a little I guess and singing away to pass the time instead of flying through the wet skies seeking nourishment for now. They repeat the same songs over and over creating a melody to go with the music of the rain.

I have a total fascination for repetition, in sounds, in movement, in life. Here I have another opportunity to listen and to explore.

When we danced with lyrical in our 5 rhythms practice some years ago, I used to get a real buzz from the transition between chaos and lyrical. Something moved me from deep within,  it sometimes reminded me of the happy innocent child as well as my ballet dancer that I had been as a young girl.

What it also gave me was  a deep sense of ancestry and of something very ancient that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I remember Gabrielle Roth, the founder of 5 Rhythms beginning to talk to us about repetition and it was at this point I knew something was waking up in me.
Since that time and now in the present, I have been integrating what I have been learning from my life experience into my ‘Movement Medicine’ work, I have been able to explore more fully what this means to me. It has taken awhile to fully integrate what I was experiencing. And as with any body of work we have to ‘live it’ and ‘know’ it in order to share it with others.

I have a somewhat interesting relationship with chaos, having to become good friends with it and my own levels of chaos through my life. I have recognised the necessity of chaos in order for creativity to be experienced, and the manifestation of possibility to be born through it. It’s not always an easy ride but a very necessary one. It is within chaos that patterns begin to be formed and made clearer. As these patterns come to the surface and find their own dance, then whatever is unexpressed within them can be freed up. This is the magic of connection to the Oracle.

Life and its many patterns offer us the possibility of learning from what keeps repeating, over and over again. Giving this to the dancer awakens our own Oracle of wisdom and knowledge, one that connects us to a much wider web of information, a consciousness beyond our every day thinking mind.
This is what I like to call ‘The Oracle Of Repetition’ a journey that helps us to explore the repetitions in our lives and awaken the true and authentic free dancer, to show itself fully, as it unveils the immense potential, found within the patterns that come from our histories and living experiences. These patterns connect us more fully to life, our environment, our spiritual natures and the collective magic beyond, they open up the potential for in-depth clearing of old and unresolved issues that prevent us from moving on, remaining stuck in the roles of victim, persecutors and judges.

Thank you to the rain today, for creating its patterns of sound on the roof top, for reminding me of the stillness inside the chaos and the melodies that are never too far away from it all.

We just need to dance with our own repetition and unlock our full potential!

Trance Dance

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Meta-Magic, The Oracle Of Repetition’ for more info please visit this page. http://www.alchemyinmovement.com/index.php/meta-magic/

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