The body is awakening, happy until a wound is touched. There are invisible wounds we carry around like old guards that rise to the surface whenever someone touches us. What are these wounds that prevent real contact with life? These are patterns that drive us to keep others away so we may never feel old pains again. We hang on to our wounds, trying to protect our hearts, and our emotions seem to stay on the surface knocking on our doors but rarely growing roots into our hearts. And yet it is in our hearts where we feel the pain. Perhaps it is the pain of the heart not being met, found, and discovered.
Shame prevents seeing our wounds or admitting their existence. Thus, untreated, they go on festering under the surface. These unhealed wounds grow scabs that thicken our skin until we become so numb we can’t feel anything anymore. Pain prevents real contact and numbness disconnects us from our essence.
We feel shame for the things we started believing and disbelieving about ourselves, our purpose or lack of purpose here on Earth. Our gifts like to hide underneath this pain, pain of not being who we are. What false belief robbed us of our light, of our desire to live our purpose and shine bright and light the path for others?
The thick skin we develop to not feel pain becomes a mask. We retreat deep into ourselves and at the same time yearn for someone to break the boundaries we set. Sadly, these opposing forces reflect our inner fragmentation, our psychosis. The wound is a veil that masks our heart’s longing and yearning, stopping our journey toward intimacy and closeness in the full expression of our essence.
While closing off our emotional engagement with the world, no emotions find their way in and no emotions find their way out of the heart. It is a rigid, locked system where nothing flows spontaneously. Fears abound in the midst of wounds that shelter us from soulful living. Our spirit hides behind the broken shields of our wounds; it withers and wilts like a flower without water until some miraculous source of water is found deep within, some deep untapped reserve filling our beings with aliveness.
We can’t heal what we don’t see. Can we gently open the windows of our soul and heart and let in some air, light, and love? Can we bring light into these obscure areas of our being? Can we enter without trepidation and revisit these old scars? Sooner or later, they will invite themselves to a nice meal of our own flesh and blood. The wounds won’t stop at keeping us separate from this magical and enchanted world, they will start consuming our very bones if left unattended.
Our skin has been deprived of loving contact with the Earth for long. It would be so healing to be closer to Mother Earth, skin to skin.
May our skin regain the power to absorb and express the love, joy and energy of the world, and may our souls rise comfortably to its radiant surface as we touch each other, heart to heart.
I pray that we heal these old personal and ancestral wounds. May we be patient with each other’s hearts as we slowly and gently heal body, mind, and spirit, and become whole again.
Marjory
Bodewadmi,
“You write just like Native American spirituality writers.” What an honor, thank you from deep in my heart. May this work nourish the Earth and all our Ancestors.
Alexandra,
I hear you. May we support each other in this never ending process. Yes to more shedding!!
Thanks Dian, lovely feeling your presence here!
Ian,
what a beautiful healing journey you are on! yes to embracing it all!
Thanks Amy, glad you resonate with the writing and art!
Peta,
you’re welcome. Thank you for the reminder to listen to the healing call for deep soul searching!
Thanks Tom,
beautifully said, ah, so true that the great force of life answers when we pray for this heart opening..
May the surrender be sweet dear friend!
bohzo (Hello)
Great blog. What we put into our minds will become part of us. You write just like Native American spirituality writers.
I will get you my site when I can fix the problem right now that I am having in getting into it. I have two sites on Native American spirituality. I meet you on twitter.
I will be back to read more. Great job!
Bodewadmi
Beautiful picture and pure bliss to read your wisdom!
Learning how to go within and shedding my layers of wounds and pain, has definitely been lifechanging for me. Unfortunatly many seem to want others to heal the pain for them, instead of pausing their pursuits and go inside to their core.
I wish we all could learn how to differentiate and support this process, in order to everyone to learn how to save themselves.
Blessings,
/Alexandra
Beautiful, Marjory, just beautiful.
This is everything I have have discovered, learned, and now, understand — however fragmentarily — about hurt.
The tragedy of a wound is precisely that it prevents contact with the real world, which if we look all around is full of love, kindness, good intentions… and of course, beings in all degrees.
“We retreat deep into ourselves and at the same time yearn for someone to break the boundaries we set.” Beautifully said!
I believe all of us want to heal, and will do so naturally, if we can see that tears isn’t pain, but the release of pain. Or that trembling isn’t fear, but the release of fear. And that none of these frightening expressions last forever if we give them a chance to be excised from our being.
So poignantly beautiful & I love your artwork!
Thanks for your healing words. Yes we sometimes need to endure pain to remind us that we are alive. Much of the healing calls for deep soul searching motivated by a pure love for the best of us and believe in our potential for goodness in all ways.
Another beautiful, moving post, Marjory.
And somehow, every once in a while, the conditions become perfect for breaking through that shell around the heart – something or someone comes into our life, a joy or a catastrophe, and the dead armour is peeled away, leaving us gasping in the new world.
Whenever I pray for my heart to become more open, the great force of life answers and creates circumstances that I can’t evade. Often I don’t surrender gracefully, but sometimes…
Blessings to your beautiful heart, Marjory.