Dear Ones, who have bent their ears close to listen to the reverberations, murmurings, whisperings of my heart, I feel it is time to declare myself, as the silence has become loud and conspicuous to me across the ethers.
A few months ago now I was diagnosed with an autoimmune
condition, which has been affecting the skin on my chest and my yoni. I have
begun a journey to understand more clearly the patterns within me that are
causing this disruption and have begun to gain some insight into those
entrenched pathways of being that have led to this place of imbalance.
I am seeking to understand more deeply the ways in which I have
not always listened to my own deep wisdom, opting instead for the survival
mechanisms of suppressing myself and prioritizing the needs of others, this
pattern instilled on such a deep and primal level. I am coming to understand
the ways in which I have been habituated to a state of stress that I have been
blind to, but which I now seek to disengage from, changing my relationship to
myself and to the other.
I have become much more attuned to what it means to take care of
myself and have felt a deep compulsion for quiet and darkness as I learn to
listen more deeply to my body and what it is truly asking of me.
I have discovered many amazing things about my physical body, like a genetic mutation that
has created a deficiency in the body which in part accounts for decades of
depression, digestive intolerance and hormonal imbalance, and am mustering all
I have to implement the changes I need in my eating habits and how much I
choose to do in my day. I am learning a lot about myself, but am also aware
that there is much more to unearth.
I have found many caregivers who are priceless companions on this
journey and have been deeply moved by the work of Gabor Mate on attachment and
coping mechanisms, on the biology of loss and how the body says no when the
woman can not.
So as I have been seeking my own dark terrain, turning out the
light and lowering the sail, and resting in the turbulent currents of my own
underworld, I have taken the pressure off myself to be doing anything but the
bare essentials. It feels enough to be tending to my 3 beautiful children and
allowing the space for my own inner exploration, as I journey out onto that
wild frontier where my patterns are seeded and the possibility of my own
radical healing and transformation exist. The energy that I was turning out into my creativity is seeking to turn in, nourishing the beingness of my life.
I have thought about closing the blog, but feel instead to just
remain open to the mystery and forgive myself for the absence of content, there
might be some snippets that trickle through that might ask to be shared here,
or not, or there might be torrents. My feeling is that the time will come again
when the words and the images burst forth from the void, but until then I ask
for your patience, baring witness to the silence of my own tender unknown and
wild frontier.
I give deep thanks for your support.
Blessings and love,
Lucy
In the meantime, a poem......
The Fierce Frontier
Sometimes we have to sit in that excruciating place
of living into the edge of all that we are,
on the very brink of our own creation,
while the wind blows cold around us,
as we face the enormous task
of allowing ourselves to be unapologetically
as powerful as we really are,
allowing ourselves to ask unapologetically
for what we deserve.
Sometimes our fellow humans
haven't learnt yet how to fully see us,
how to truly behold us in all that we are.
So we stand alone,
courageous and afraid,
exhilarated and uncertain,
baring the fierce winds of this frontier place,
where few dare to tread.
If you look far across, on your periphery,
you will see that you are not alone,
there are others standing on that edge,
equally called to be in the absolute autonomy of their
aloneness,
as they too become so uniquely what they were born to be.
Enduring the absolute solitude
when even the people who love us,
don't have eyes with which to see
the truth of who we are.
In this place we might become wild,
driven to the brink of madness and back,
a thousand times.
When we follow our inner most authority
there is no external resource
to reassure and to placate,
just this almighty risk of one's own becoming.
That eternal journeying into the places within
where no man has journeyed before.
The wild frontier,
where hungry beasts howl in the darkness
and the insidious tricks of our shadows
and the insidious tricks of our shadows
loom and dance grotesque in the solitude.
The jeering voices deriding the innocence,
absconding creation back to the smallness of How dare
you?
and Who do you think you are?
As we rise and rise again,
journeying
back into the wilderness
of our own innate wisdom,
relentlessly scratching the ground,
blood and earth in our finger nails,
desperately seeking the taproot
of our own succulent beauty,
our plumply radiant health,
our own awesome empowerment.
A lifetime of longing to be seen,
without ever truly seeing ourselves,
a lifetime of wanting love,
traipsing through the barren biology of loss,
without ever truly gathering up that frightened, hidden,
dark one,
into our arms and loving her,
enlivening her,
filling her from our own overflowing breasts,
retrieving her from the darklands.
The wild rage of not having been seen,
and the soft question beneath
of how do we yet hide ourselves,
this deep profound potential of all that we are.
All that we have as the veils fall
and the shackles crumble
in the face of our brave standing in that ferocious wind,
is the anchor of this softly radiant and precious body
and the deep nourishment of our own beauty
as we birth ourselves upon the Earth,
and Her deep thunderous birthsong
crooning to us from the deep,
as alone we emerge,
like the brilliant wildflower births herself
through the barren crust,
or a supernova,
alive in the cosmic throb.
Lucy Pierce © 2014
