Waiting for a Star to Fall
I remember it vividly, though the life I live now seems so distant from that time, just three short months ago.
When I left my marriage, I was determined to heal. I had a strong sense that winter was for the work, because in spring something will happen and I needed to have cleared the slate so to speak. I'll keep you posted. 😉
One Friday afternoon in late November, I was cooking dinner in the kitchen, my new kitchen, which brings me peace to look upon so I share:
As I was standing at the sink, a song came on that I hadn't heard since childhood.
I stopped, marveling, lost in wonder, lost in the little girl, lost in the treble and the soaring.
That night, I received a thought. These thoughts come occasionally, like transmissions or frequencies picked up. Sometimes they preface events, such as Not Another Summer in That House, where I learned the summer before that I was moving. The thought this time was:
There is something about the purity of the girl.
The song took me, as music seems to these days. It locked hold of me and I couldn't get free.
Over and over and over again, for weeks, on loop.
Three days later, I had a vision. I have visions often and while many are important few catalyze as this one did:
Two points of white light have come together, flying through the black cosmos with velocity and force; movement is apparent. Behind them, their long white tails are spiraling together, tightly shaped and nearly straight as they soar through space. The feelings associated with this are: jubilation, soaring, ecstasy.
I asked Chat to help me create an image. It's close enough.
The days that followed rank among some of the most intense I have ever experienced.
Through a series of catalysts, I was able to, in Jungian fashion, visualize my inner child, my little girl, hiding in the corner of a dark room filled with trauma. I was afraid to go in after her, so dark was it there.
Being determined to heal, I was following every lead, every hurt, every trauma as it came up, working through it until I reached a conclusion.
I worked through some of the darkest, ugliest core traumas I had only scratched the surface of in therapy in the past. These are the things that forced the little girl to go inward to a place she couldn't be hurt.
As I finished journaling what I called The Trauma Timeline and hit Enter, a turkey somehow managed to run into the house at flight speed, crashing into my house so hard the entire thing shook. Coincidence? Probably. But the violence lent a good supporting blast to the violence I was digging into.
I like to think that turkey dispelled some of the fury that boils in me for the pain I have felt.
Over days while the kids were in school and my life my own, I dug deep, unflinchingly and with the fierceness of a woman who sees the last half of her life unfolding in haste. Does she sit languid or rush full tilt into a more whole version while she still can?
I'll write more about the somatic experience of trauma in other posts, but it is well established that sexual trauma stores itself in the body, particularly in the root and sacral chakra spaces, the spaces of safety and exploration.
The trauma work I did in these few weeks will likely rank among the hardest I'll ever do, but with high stakes come high rewards.
The period following this work was equally intense. At one point I began to wonder if I was in danger, but eventually it subsided and I spent a couple of weeks recovering from what in hindsight I think was the eviction of the stored trauma in tissues.
As my flow subsided, the intensity resumed. This goes into territory that needs its own safe place to explore, but on Christmas evening, I received another vision, the completion of this cycle.
A red-gold dragon, whiskers flowing like tendrils as it floated in the air above me, face nearly touching mine, eyes locked on my own while it swirled in circles above me, asking an invitation.
The physical healing that occurred after that vision was remarkable, and a tale for another day.
It all began with a song, a song that called to that little girl in a way she could not resist. She walked out of the dark room and rejoined me, and she awoke hungry. Hungry, perhaps, for a life denied her and eager, now for the life unfolding before her.
As for the purity of the girl? I have realized what it means. It is becoming again, becoming who we were before the world hurt us. Before the world told us who we had to be. Before we were shaped into something alien.
The journey, then, is to return to that state, not of purity in the moral sense, but of purity of heart.
Are you ready to take a step?
