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Personal Sharings / Healing Fragmentation

Ghash / Motherbody Memories
When We Were Goddesses
Nov. 2000

I slept in the earth for a long long time.

Then I began to feel something pulling at me from the surface, something that felt good. Sweet and warm and enticing. I moved up and felt the surface. It didn't hurt me, it didn't feel bad at all. I felt rhythms, thrummings and drummings, that stirred my soul. I came farther up and let myself listen to the sounds and rhythms. It felt good, I felt it drawing me upward, I came a little farther up. Still beneath the earth, but ... interacting somehow with the beings there. Little brown beings.

They fed me somehow, and I fed them. I don't understand this, I don't have words to say it. We were... nourished... by eachother's ... essence. The earth grew fertile for them because I breathed there. Flowers and fruits and wondrous colors and smells and sounds and birds ... I began to enjoy feeling my body and my ... essence outpouring into the world this way. It felt so ... delicious.

As time went I began to feel ... more... bigger. As if my essence was expanding. I know now that many parts of the Great Mother were drawn together then. My surfacing was drawing them to us, to this place on the earth where there was ... nurturance. We found consciousness and words and wisdom. Parts that had great experience and knowledge of the world and its ways joined us. Parts that could see great distances joined us. They filled me and together we became... more. I delighted in this, for the first time, being able to think and decide and KNOW. Perception. To be able to hold several thoughts at once, to compare and contrast and mold a thought with a feeling. To have words to describe a thing. To have words to describe a feeling. I felt as one newly born.

Some time later... there are men here now, they call themselves priests. They feel ... sharp. I don't like them, I don't want to talk to them. They convince the other beings that only they can speak to me, they stand between me and my beings. This enrages me! Make them go! Get them away!! Rage is strong with me now as it has never been in all the time I can remember. My thoughts are clear in what I want to do to them, these sharp-edged know-it-all men. I am amazed at the strength of my rage and my ability to think! I create great visions of their destruction and death, but I am afraid too, I don't want to unleash this fury and injure the beings I love.

But then the beings I love begin to change too. The surface is changing, it doesn't feel warm and nurturing, I am afraid and it hurts me to go above ground. The light hurts me, the air hurts me, the noise hurts me. I am afraid, I remember times before of aloneness and dark and cold and endless pain I could not stop. I am afraid of that happening again, the pain I feel aboveground now reminds me of then. I shiver and shake and the rage loses its power. I begin to sink down into the earth again.

But these priests are wily and cunning and clever. What do they do? How do they bind me? I can't remember. Things get fuzzy and blurry as if we've been drugged...

I am so blurry and sleepy... opening my eyes is so painful. I feel myself being bound to something, in an almost upright position. I try to lie back down. The bulk of me is hard for them to manage, I feel them scurrying around, trying to hold me up, keep me upright. It takes many of them, I laugh, they are so small and puny and I hate them.

We all begin to move and I realize in my foggy state that I am on a great wagon or cart with wheels. I realize they have secured the sides of the wagon with stakes of wood, so it feels like a cage to me. I begin to panic, I make a gurgling sound and lurch forward... one of the priests pours some brownish liquid in my mouth and I feel a fog slipping over me again.

The wagon lurches and I wake and open my eyes. The road is lined with crowds and crowds of people, shouting, jeering, laughing, cheering. The noise! The noise hurts me!! The light hurts me! It pierces my eyes and ears and skin. I am terrified by all this, the light, the noise, the fog, I don't know what's happening and I have no ability to stop it. I hold myself frozen just frozen wishing and hoping and waiting for it to be over please make it be over make it stop make it stop make it stop.

Much later...
I am lying on my side in the dark, lying on a slab of stone, weeping.
I am naked and cold, I am sure I will never recover from the ordeal of people and noise and light. The very air hurt me, I wish I could die, I wish I wasn't so alone, I wish for a shred of comfort.

I hear a noise and I open my eyes and see one of the priests. He is standing not too far from my face, but he is only as big as my thumb. I could reach out and crush him but he doesn't seem to be afraid. In fact, he is watching me with pity on his face. He makes a sound of sympathy. And then he does the most remarkable, heartrending thing.

He touches me.

He lays his hand on my cheek and feels my tears.

I cry great sobs, they break from me uncontrollably. And he stays there with me while I cry.

I have never known compassion or caring or sympathy... this man now has my whole heart and soul. I love him with all the longing and desire my untried heart has to give. Even as I know this love is hopeless and ridiculous. I am huge, I am ugly. He is small, he would love his own kind, he could never really love me, not the way my heart wants him to love me. But I long for it, this hunger now comes to my attention and I know it has been gnawing at me forever. I hunger for him. I hunger for his touch. I long to have him hold me and sway and dance. I ache to make love with him. And I scorn my own need/desire/hunger. I am so ridiculous. Pathetic.

I try to hide my love, but I can't help it leaking out. I become more docile with the priests. I don't resist their demands as much, I am willing to do anything this man asks of me. They stop drugging me, except when my rage threatens to erupt. When they want something done, they send him to ask me. He always asks politely and with respect. I feel maybe he does love me, and later in the dark alone, I savor each little drop of kindness.

I don't understand what they want most of the time. They don't want flowers or fruit like the brown beings wanted. They don't want green earth and rhythms. They want stone, and buildings. They want things moved and changed and reordered. I have to do very little except allow. They use my ... essence/energy ... to move things around. I watch it billowing out from me like a swirling cloud, I watch them pulling the cloud this way and that, using it to lift and move. It seems silly to me. But I allow it for the sake of the man.

Except sometimes, I get angry that they are using me so. I get enraged, I remember I used to live better, I get angry that maybe the man doesn't really love me, and how much I will never have that I want. When I get angry, the billowing clouds warp and distort. Sometimes they billow too much, sometimes they can't be controlled. The priests give me drugs then, to keep me from being angry or rising up too much. I hate the drugs, I hate the priests, but the brown liquid lulls me into a fog and I sleep... and when I waken I forget for a while. The man is there soothing me and I let my puppy love follow him and do his bidding.

I become aware of rumblings. The man doesn't come. Some other priests come and tell me the man is dead. The way the say it I know something is wrong. Something has happened. They are not saying the whole truth, they are hiding something, their eyes are lying. I cast about, I send part of my essence out to find the answer, something I didn't know I could do until that moment, and I see an image of the priests hiding, sneaking up behind the man, surrounding him, attacking him. I see their jealousy, their lust for power, it feels like bile, like acid or poison.

I lie underground in my cavern most of the time. I wake and sleep, I think they keep me drugged most of the time. They come and go, with their lanterns and their candles and their chanting and their rituals.

My heartbreak at losing the man has killed me. I can't find any reason to stay. Little by little my essence sinks down deep into the earth and the power they were using is hardly there. Many of them turn elsewhere, seeking some other source of power. Some doubt there ever was a Goddess here. I try to ignore the ache and loss and pain of this ... being forgotten and devalued again. I know this feeling so well. It is my true inner reality. I am garbage. Unwanted.

At some point I realize they are killing and sacrificing, that some ritual of death is being enacted in my name. I am so horrified by this, I pull my essence deeper downward into the earth. I let my body begin to turn to stone. I sink down and down and down, I try to train myself to stillness and sleep.

At first I can't do it. I feel an itching in my belly. I feel the things, moving under my skin, even when I hold very very still. It is the spiders, the worms that feed on my flesh... they are deep within my womb. In all this time I had forgotten them. I had been living and breathing and acting and loving and losing and I had not been aware of the worms and spiders. Now, in the stillness, I feel them. They wiggle, they move, they stir. It is hideous! I clench and grit and wish for them to go.

I am nearly unconscious with heartbreak and pain and horror. I am reliving the memories of darkness in the void, the image of the things burrowing into me and laying eggs keeps replaying itself before my eyes. I... tilt. I ... warp. I lose touch with myself for a while and when I come to I see my womb is gone, ripped out, torn from me. I think, what have I done? What have I done to myself? Horror, shame, self-hate, longing for death... I black out.

Consciousness leaves me. I feel Her, in my mind's eye she is one part, but I know later she fragments into many parts. She tells me I am a fool. She says if we give up and sink down, they will forget us. They have already started to forget us. She says this is not how she wants to live. She will not go down and die with me. She will go and make a place for herself in the world, away from my heaviness, away from me, stupid, heavy, self-hating moron.

At first it's terrifying to be without consciousness. I forget things, but I remember just enough to know I should be remembering something. I am like an Alzheimer's patient, I am Charlie, in Flowers for Algernon. I used to know something, but I forgot. I struggle against the forgetting for a brief time, I rage against myself for a stupid moron, I screech in terror, I remember the primordial terror of the dark/cold of space, the falling and spinning. I begin to touch the edge of madness again ...

Next... Loss of Consciousness

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