Today I celebrate the 4th  anniversary of my spiritual Awakening. It was an ‘awakening’ in every sense of the word as I was suddenly literally pulled out of sleep in the middle of the night giving birth to a premature stillborn baby. Apart from the shock and the obvious pain and grief of a Mother’s loss, one of the things I struggled with was having experienced not only carrying life, but also unknowingly having carried death inside of me - The dead body of my own child.  

A while back on this thread, I shared a dream about a fat unattractive girl who spoke to me as my own unloved and unwanted shadow self. I knew this dream would be significant, but I didn’t know quite how or how much. Looking back today I am stunned at the mysterious journey she has taken me on. In the last couple of days, all the pieces have suddenly been falling into place and I have been overwhelmed by the expression that has been streaming out of me that seems to have a life of its own. The recounting of these memories has been chaperoned by deep primal fears and I have been balancing on a knife-edge between the urge to stay under water and the unyielding emergence of a once drowned voice that will no longer stay silent.

The synchronistic timing of my Awakening day and the birth of this tale is what pushes me over the edge. The interconnectivity of my Awakening experience and what I have been blessed to understand today is just too rich not to share. (And I simply can’t believe the song that I chose to accompany my “fat girl” sharing all those months ago.)

This is Her story:

"I have dark hair, blue eyes and fair skin. I know because I’m looking down at myself from above. I’m a bit surprised because my shadow girl presented herself as ugly and overweight, but there is nothing unattractive about the young woman I see. On the contrary, she is well proportioned, endearingly frail, and stunningly pretty. 

I’m lying in the Moss. It’s the same place in the woods where we always meet. A small open glade between two tall, majestic, almost identical looking trees. When you lie on your back looking up towards the sky, you see their two intertwined crowns breaking the light into a thousand sparkles of gold. It’s the most exquisite scenery, enfolding the most magical secret. It still tingles in the depths of my femininity where I have let him in so many times, offering my shore for his waves to crash into.

He is handsome, blond and blue eyed. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always felt slightly distrusting of that look in my present body. As if there is some secret danger lurking behind the angel like appearance. He is older and supposedly wiser. Knows so much more about the world than I do. I can hardly take care of myself. I’m freshly sprung, playful, creative, and very naïve. I don’t know any better than to worship the ground he walks on.

He’s on top of me, but he is not making love. His hands are pushing down hard on my throat, pinning my body, my breath, and my consciousness into a suspended suffocated moment of utter confusion and horror. I don’t understand. This can’t be happening! “Why are you doing this to me?” I look into the beautiful eyes of my lover that I have been lost in so many times and I don’t recognise what I see. Where is their colour? Where is their light? All I see is the black bottomless desperation of a cornered beast with nowhere to escape. 

I had to challenge him. I could no longer bite my tongue. I threatened to tell the truth and pop the bubble on his hard earned perfect immaculate world - wife, family, reputation. A noble, dependable, highly esteemed pillar of society. The epitome of good manners and decency. One word and it could all turn to dust. His life’s work shattered by the mouth of an uncomfortable truth.

His two physical hands are squeezing my larynx, but for some reason that’s not where I feel the pain. My attention is on the third energetic hand that is stabbing me over and over in the heart, tearing it to shreds. His knives are of all shapes and sizes, but the one that cuts the deepest comes from his razor sharp tongue as he repeatedly refers to our dance as “dirty”. The same dance he once called the honour of his life. 

Unheard, the broken voice of what is to become my unloved and unwanted shadow self sorrowfully asks

“Why would you kiss me like that if you didn’t mean it?”

Our dance was never dirty to me. Foolish perhaps, but never dirty. To me it was the most beautiful truth I had ever known. A love that came from the most sacred place inside of me - that of a wide open innocent heart. A secret garden that blossomed every time I opened the gate to it.

As he slashes my garden, rose by rose, I go into a state of shock. I’m paralysed, disorientated. My soul is traumatised by the inability to comprehend the incomprehensible - being eternally silenced by the hand of my own Lover. I fall into the crack between two conflicting realities I can’t bridge. Like trying to unite the repelling ends of two magnets that just keep sliding apart.

The most beautiful melody accompanied by the ugliest of lyrics.

I pass, but I don’t pass on...

I crystallise in my own unwillingness to accept that such a decent man can perform such an indecent act.  Like the mind of an immature child protecting the illusion of the perfect parent. “It must be me. I must have done something wrong. I should have known better.”

I watch him Hyde his mess, methodically tucking me away deep in the soil of inconvenient truths. My mouth is forever shut, but my lifeless blue eyes remain wide open staring into the blank space where my soul now lingers.

I’m frozen…

Frozen in time and space, unable to move in any direction. I try to make a sound but I no longer have a voice. I try to touch him but my hands run straight through his form. I have ceased to matter. His ambition is already fixed elsewhere, but my ethereal eyes are unblinkingly fixed on this scene, unable to let it go.

I don’t notice the Angel behind me waiting with a stretched out hand...

My battered heart needs to break. I need to let it fall apart into a thousand tiny pieces that the wind can catch and plant as seeds elsewhere. But the ice creeping into the cracks holds its broken shape together and anything trapped inside will now repeatedly view the world through its tinted distorted sheet of glass.

His job is done. He corrects his temporarily twisted features, puts his eloquent charms back in place, and rewinds the tape back to his perfect life behind the perfect face - a face that gets away with murder. As he walks away from my remains, he buries me deep into his subconscious. The beast in his eyes goes back to sleep, only to be disturbed by the moaning of an occasional nightmare. Soon I will be cemented underneath another dense layer of exemplary behaviour as the loyal loving husband and the cherished charitable member of the community. Before the rooster crows at dawn, he will have disowned me more than 3 times. As if I never happened. As if I never existed...

He will not turn around to repent.

Who speaks for the ones who have lost their voice?

Who aches for the ones with unbroken hearts?

Who reminds the one who has denied and disowned herself?

I am now long forgotten, but the Moss next to my grave still remembers. What was once a soft gentle sun kissed bed for our love is now cold damp and hostile, guarding my bones under a thick grey Shadow of Shame.

The mind of a Man may suppress and deny, but the womb of our Mother never forgets. Enveloping the lifeless body of her child within Her own, She holds its painful memory in the holiest of her spaces. Keeping, loving, protecting, calling... until one day the child feels the Echo in her own sacred space and begins to cross the Lake towards her Mother’s tender voice...

Then suddenly the trees begin to whisper. The wind picks up and points the way. The bees hum a strange familiar tune and the hare guides her steps further into the darkness of the woods.  There the blackbird finally ushers her to her seat and performs its promised Song of Spring. With yielding knees she lands with her forehead in the Moss and blesses the Earth with her tears. At her own grave, a daughter bows to her Mother and with a ceremonial wreath of dandelions her Mother blesses her right back. 

A ray of sun now escapes through the thick grey cluster of clouds and she is startled by the sound of  ice suddenly cracking in her chest. It is now that she begins to learn that a true Mother never abandons Her children, but tirelessly holds the space for them, patiently brooding, until they are ready to crack their own shells open. Then She lovingly pulls them into Her lap, cradles their precious essence, and chapter by chapter honours them with their own true story..."

Rest in peace Shadow Girl

Rest safely in my loving arms

Rest assured that you were never alone, forgotten, abandoned or unworthy

I was the Angel behind you waiting to take you home…


Thank You Mother Earth  Praying Emoji

and a special thanks to Open, Scott, Apollonius, Kim, Megha, Matthew, Alex, and Thomas K, for providing me with the clues I needed. You don't know it but your help has been invaluable  Heart Slightly Smiling Heart

- Anastasia