Tendering the Wounded Ones Within by Lucy Pierce
My art plays in my life as a therapy of sorts. It has been such a
journey with this piece, discovering paradox, the light of me and the dark
shadow. The indwelling of pen and ink, brush and paint across the surface of
the paper bringing awareness to this aspect of the deep within that seeks
revelation, so that it’s meaning is never the same at it’s conception, as at it’s
birth.
Reflections at the beginning of the drawing:
“My life has been so steeped in this aspect of the wound, my days
revolving around it’s sacred gift and also it’s treachery and tragic
life-eating qualities. To feel it’s violence, bitterness and isolation, and
also it’s sensitivity, compassion and truth seeking is to dwell within the
excruciating transmutation of the One who dwells within the wound, to She who
also moves beyond it. Opening the No into the Yes, changing the berating into
the gentle tendering.
Both of us carry our own wounds, our stories weave
together, beneath and between our days, overlaying pain with healing, rejection
with acceptance, exile with belonging…Sometimes I am very small and scared,
sometimes I am a creature wild and fierce. Sometimes I am the Mother, Her love
consuming my heart to love the small frightened one. Sometimes he is so very
close and still, and sometimes he is an ancient God remembering himself. Each
of us tending the child within, sometimes we jar and clash and the walls are
red with the blood of our battles, wrestling the mute, obstinate and
traumatized ones within. And sometimes the sublime arm of grace, reaches
through time and retrieves a part that was once lost, that may now return to
the wheel of life. Sometimes entering the wound there is a small hand that
reaches out to meet me, and hand in hand we leave the aching purgatory and with
young eyes, new born to the world, we meet the new day, a little more restored
to our primal unity.”
Reflections at it’s completion, with much journeyed in the space
between:
“I see how as a tender girl child this quality of care-taker was
validated above all others. I now seek to transmute the shadow aspects of this
archetype. How do I subsume the self to tend and validate the other? What
does it look like to expose the defensive protection of this stance? What does
it feel like to let myself be held? What tyranny of smallness is this
inheritance? There is so much more power to me than the one who tends the
wounded bird. It is my own self that I must mother, and the tender children of
my womb for whom this task is rightful. As I tend to the boundaries of self, my
daughters watch and learn what is safe and what is not in the becoming of
woman. I want to find who I might become, if I lived my life as though it had
been wholly and freely given to me, beyond this task of being less of me and
more for Other.”
Lucy Pierce © 2014
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