Dream:
I am at one of my childhood homes but it is like the mass rape scene from the movie Blindness. It is ruled by 18 year olds, one in particular. He has a gun and is threatening to kill me and others if we do not submit. I am terrified – not this again. I realize that he is lying, that there is no one at the gate that keeps us in. I go to the gate and it opens and I leave. I find another 18 year old man. He has a gun, but I know him. I can trust him. I feel the difference between the two young men.
Dream:
I am underneath the stories with Him, with body and without body. He is showing me, teaching me, telling me in ways I do not know. It is a vast physical space – the stories like dense fog above us. He tells me – The healing is not just about your healing. As you heal the split in you, this in turn heals downward, to here. There is a split here, too. The dreaming needs healing too.
Dream:
I am thirteen with my Father, the Animus, walking. He stops and tells me, “It is time to show who you truly are, to transform into what you are.” As He speaks, I feel myself change, transform. Then He shows me – I am a tall being, all light, in a blue cloak, like the blue cloak of Mary. I still feel small and I feel scared, too. But now I feel Him in a way I have not. I feel the light, I feel the love.
My work: To Bring His love back to the trauma. To be the woman of light, knowing His love, feeling Him with me and to stay with the trauma.
There is a moment when I leave the love. Right now, I feel the moment of my departure in the moment of penetration of the rape by my brother, the rape of the Nazis from my dream a few months back. This is my moment of disassociation from my body.
On the weekend, I experienced a rooting shen acupuncture treatment of receiving the three treasures. Three treasures. Of the girl. The heart of the treatment was around the image of the rose. The rose, which is the opening of my clitoral girl at the bottom of the well. I felt as if waves of heat and blood were being poured into my body. I felt His hand on my shoulder. I felt the Anima’s hand on my shoulder, for the first time.
The moment is to bring how I feel as the Mary in me to the moment of the rape. To feel it all, but this time to stay with the love.
I have been in a cycle of feeling my resistance to this work since yesterday morning. I step back into the house where I am to be raped and I stay with the fear and stay with the love. I go to the moment when there is penetration and I do not feel all the way through. Do not feel the rape, do not feel the love.
I have been finding it difficult to take deep breaths over the last few weeks. Like a weight on my chest. The rape, the suffocation of being underneath. Can’t breathe. Feel like I am being crushed.
I breathe deeper, feel my father’s hand, his love. I have believed that this could never be healed, this weight never lifted, which is a form of nihilism in me.
Making love with Bill, I breathe in the love when we begin and then, when he touches me, when he enters me, I feel my resistance to receiving. I feel it, Bill feels it. I do not know how to do anything else. I cannot find the deeper love. I know that this is Bill, I know his tenderness, I bring the love as much as I can and yet I feel the block in me. I feel the voice that says, “Just get through it.”
The tall being of light in me steps in and says, “Ask for help.”
I ask for help from my therapist and teachers, from Bill. Will they help me, can we have a session to talk about the healing of my sexuality. They will.
If I am to drop below the stories, the dense cloud of what is true and what is not true, then there is this story to step into and through.
I keep remembering the me who knows the love, then I step back into the house and the rape and the moment of being entered, the violation, to where I cannot breathe. My brother who did love me once. The violation a violation of that love.
Rose. I had a dream a few weeks ago where I am naked and the Animus is throwing blood back into my chest, through my heart. The place where the blood enters my chest becoming a rose on my chest. The wound transforming to a rose. My heart ripped out. My heart ripped open. My heart blossoming.
I know this. And I feel the fear, feel the pain and I am circling around it. I circle around the blossoming.
Sunday, we take Sammie to a matinee of Tangled, a new movie about Rapunzel. It is to be a fun afternoon. We settle in with our popcorn, our lollipops. I weep through most of the movie, about a girl kidnapped from her parents and raised, kept in a tower, by a witch. A witch declaring her love for the girl as her mother (singing “Mother Knows Best”) while she uses the girl like a vampire. Using the girl’s love against her. I weep. I do not act like I am not weepy, I do not pretend I am not in the grief of it. I can’t pretend anymore.
Today, We go to get our Christmas tree, driving through the snow, playing Animal Mineral Plant with Sammie in the car. We stop for treats at the Red Hen, then head to the Tree Farm. We tromp through the snow. It is lovely. And I cannot take a full breath. My pathology wants to tell me to leave it behind, to jump into the fun of getting the tree, to be excited. I am not excited. I feel I cannot breathe and we are getting our tree. I can feel both.
Right now. I can feel both. I feel both my resistance wanting to fight me in this step and I feel my turning toward. I know Him, my father, my beloved. I know I can stay with Him. And I also feel the place where I feel crushed. I feel quiet with all of it.
Like a battle raging. I stand with it, feeling the love and feeling the fear. Feeling the moment of betrayal and violation and feeling how I want to stay and how I do not want to stay.
Christa writes about feeling the love in the flames. I am not fully back in the house of the rape. I am not fully feeling into the rape yet. In the dream, I walked away from that house. In my cycle right now, I am turning back to the house, even though I feel the resistance to going. I feel the crushing weight and I am turning back anyway. I am turning back to the moment when my brother entered me and I am learning to stay with the love, learning to breathe in the love at the moment I felt crushed.
I know what is possible.
The rose, the promise of the returning to that moment. The rose that is my devoted heart. The fear in that moment. Of the rape, of the betrayal, of myself, of my devotion. Returning.