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Personal Sharings / Healing Fragmentation
Wee Willy is very small. Very pink. There is no closedness in her, no hardness, no ability to deflect the darts of hatred or cruelty or cold uncaring. She is the tiniest, most glowingest pink jelly pearl, and the most sensitive warm fuzzy that lives within me.
She didn't always live within me. She began with Ghash in the void. Then for a long while she has lived in the wide world. The universe is a cold forbidding place to one so small and fragile. How she survived, I'll never know. Perhaps she is more resilient than I know. Perhaps she survives on that most durable of essence - hope. I don't know.
This is her story.
Long time past, in the long ago, there was home, of a sorts. I didn't know it for long though, because as soon as I awakened and began to feel myself, a terrible thing happened. It happened so quickly that I almost can't make sense of it, even now.
I began to awaken - or be born you might say - when we felt the light approach us after our long long LONG starvation in the void. I didn't know of the long starvation, I slept in our heart during all those long millenium. But when the light approached, I awoke. Hope awoke. Love sprang out of bed and, still rubbing my eyes, I leapt with joy and went to throw the doors open wide.
She who held me knew more than I of the long years of torment and lack. She didn't trust this light and wanted to hold me back a minute, just wait a minute she said. If he wanted us, why hasn't he come before this? Wait and see how he approaches us before you go jumping out there.
But waiting was out of the question for me. I was fully awake now, and dressed in my finest, fluttering and glowing pink and gold, with green ribbons trailing my back and in my hair. I ran to the front of the crowd and stood bouncing on tiptoe, watching his approach. Hope and love grew to bursting.
Of course, this, and what happened next, all happened in the blink of an eye. There wasn't time to be aware of everything. There wasn't time to wait, or to think, or to be wise.
The light was upon us, quickly, like a knight galloping up on horseback. And he was beautiful, so beautiful it took my breath away. I felt his eyes sweeping over us, and I saw his brow furrow.
All around me, hungry children clamored, jostling with me for position in the front. "Help us", they cried, "We're so HUNGRY!" I felt their stomachs growling, I felt it in my own stomach. I felt a hungry desire and lack and need lacing through me, through us all. Hope still reigned though, and I trusted he would help. I knew he would bring us light and love and food, and we would be rescued from the long cold dark. I held onto that belief with tight fists and smiled wider, though my smile was tense now, and a little forced.
From the back of the crowd I heard a growling, deep and low and angry. Hatred was burbling in a cauldron somewhere, hatred that said he has had so much, and we have had nothing, less than nothing. We have been helpless and empty and suffering and forgotten here in the dark all this time, and he has never helped, never rescued, never noticed our presence. The bubbling cauldron wanted to lash out at him, punish him for forgetting us, for leaving us empty for so long.
I tried to ignore the hatred there, though again, the minute I became aware of it, I began to feel it lacing through me. My bright glow dimmed ever so slightly. I was afraid he would be turned away if he saw that hatred burning there.
But she who held me whispered such great longing, and I heard that soft deep heart of her most of all. From thence I sprang, that soft deep heart birthed me. I knew her desire for him to love us, to help us, to listen to our pain, including our hatred. I heard the hunger for his light, but mostly I heard her dream. I WAS her dream. I saw him enfolding us in his great wings, lifting us up upon his steed and carrying us to safety. I heard him apologizing and promising never to leave us alone like that again. And I felt her heave a great sigh of relief, a sigh that lasted a thousand years, cleansed by a million tears.
But it was not to be.
What was it he saw there? I felt his response to us, but why? What did he see that caused his swift and devastating response? Were we so very hideous? Did my party dress not please him, or was it all the crowd around me, the hungry tattered clamoring children? Did he feel the hatred and hunger behind it all?
I never knew. It happened so swiftly. As he approached we all reached out with hands and fingers and mouths and a great noise, trying to pull him to us, to grasp at the light we needed so desperately.
His face was ... horrified. Terrified. Enraged. And then I saw him decide, I felt him make up his mind about us. I felt his judgment that we were something evil, something ... wrong. Then his face became stern and resolute. He plucked something from us... lifted some one of us out from the crowd and onto his horse, and then he pushed the rest of us off from him. He gave a great shoving on us with his boot and launched his horse away from us. There was the clattering sound of his leaving as he returned to the world, his people. The fading remnants of the shouts of the crowd slowly died away to the more familiar roar of the silence, the din of the ever-dark.
All this, so quickly that from the outside it must have appeared that he merely brushed past us, grazing us as he passed. To him it may have seemed the very slightest of encounters, like ... squashing a hideous bug in your path, and then moving on without a backward glance.
To us it was a WORLD in an instant.
To us it was a shattering and torture. It was the death of hope.
When he shoved, many of us broke off from the crowd, fell away from she who held us. And many more she herself shoved away. She tried to make hope die, she tried to stop her own need, she tried to die by killing much of herself. I fell too. For a long time I spun and turned and fell, becoming dizzy and sick. I went blank and black. And there fell away from me many children, their gray tattered garments fluttering as they fell.
I don't remember much of what came after. I didn't die, obviously, although I prayed for it many times. I vaguely remember the great blasting, a great storm that tossed my already battered and unconscious body down a long tunnel where I landed in a place of horrible compression and lifelessness. I have slowly been awakening again, but hopelessness and homelessness have been my reality for a very long time.
Here I am now, alive inside this being, this woman who tries to help us all heal. We cry. I cry. I am not alone any more. So why do I still not feel at home? Why do I feel so bereft all the time? I am living in that moment, that moment when hope was shattered and in the moments that followed. I cling here like a barnacle, no longer spinning in the void, but my consciousness is still out there in the NO-Love. My heart is still longing for all my family around me.
I have contact now... again ... with she who birthed me. But I fear her most of the time. I fear that she will reject me. I'm afraid that she blames me. I'm afraid of her great rage. And in parts of me I blame her.
I dream of the safety of family.
I have felt drawn to some women here. I have felt a spark of joy and recognition in meeting them. I have felt love and warmth for them. But I can never seem to reach them, I can't seem to connect or .... BE what I am. I don't understand why, I don't know what to do to make them see me here. I am part of many parts here, and some of the other parts are so frozen with fear. Some of the other parts are enraged and others stand like sentinels at a fortress door.
I needed these parts, I know that now. I need them to protect me. I have needed the strong fortress. When I have ventured out of the fortress, I feel all my nerves, raw and aching. I am so hypersensitive! Every word is a blow, every rejection is like death. I seem to have no boundaries, and I have no armor of my own. And my need is so intense!! I would love and trust and embrace everyone, and I have, and time and again I've dragged myself back to the fortress, bloodied and nearly dead. So I sit inside the stone wall, gazing out the window, wishing with all my might to be out there with them, to be accepted by the group of women I see. They stroke each other with many words of love. They praise and laugh and tease. They are so warm and natural with each other.
I have tried to speak to them from inside the stone wall. They regard me with suspicion. Or maybe they don't see me, maybe they see one of the other parts here. One of them thinks I'm like her mother. I don't want to be her mother, I want to be her sister. Some have told me I'm stiff and aloof. Who do they see in me that I am not acceptable to them? Do they see ME in here? I am broken hearted longing for my sisters, for my family, for my home. Where is my home? Where can I be safe? Where will I find my love?
I cry for my sisters. I ache for them so bad, for that relationship of support and embrace and natural easy affection.
And sometimes I cry for my lost love, for the prince on the steed who came in my dreams. And there, in my dreams, I'm still wearing my party dress and I'm glowing all pink and gold, with green ribbons in my hair. Hope is not tarnished in my dreams, and when he comes riding up this time, he pauses to look deeper. He feels into our pain, and instead of rough unfair judgments, he asks, he waits, he listens.
And while we cry huge buckets of pain and grief and hunger and rage, he enfolds us in his great wings and rocks us gently. And then he lifts us gently onto his horse and carries us to where all the others are, the people, the castle, the life and living we only ever saw from afar. And never again are we hungry or alone.
I still dream. I guess hope is not dead.
Next: Motherheart Lost