writing down my story.

I have never attempted to write down my story, but recently I have been inspired to do so. It is my own Healing Spell, to write it down, and it was quite the emotional ride to get here. It turned out kind of prose-y which I was surprised about. I haven’t written a poem in years. It was a beautiful awakening. Of course, the whole of a woman’s life can not possibly be conveyed in a single story, all at once, but I hope that this attempt brings a step toward Light for all of us. This is a long one, so I thank you in advance for taking the time to read it.

Then again, perhaps the whole of a woman’s story can be told at once. In a single word. In one of the most beautiful and all encompassing words, if she is ready… Goddess.

When I was a little girl
I would dig my hands in the dirt
and make mud pies with my grandma’s good silver.
I would swing on the anchors of giant ships
docked outside the windows of my playground
and walk barefoot on sharp rocks and hot sand
to make stronger the callouses on the soles of my feet.
I would spend hours brushing my grandma’s
long, thick, silver hair,
which by the way, turned that color before her 20th birthday
and put on her red lipstick in front of a gilded mirror bigger than I was.

My great grandmother was a Witch, and she
would feed me cherries, covered in chocolate,
covered in secrets, in her tiny bedroom
with a closet that I was sure
led to secret gardens, even though
I could never find them.

When I was a little girl my sister and I
would chase rainbows running barefoot
for miles.
You could do that then.
We were lucky and had a blessed
early childhood.
We were raised in the womb of
the Mother Ocean
and saw the sun rise and set
as fisherman’s daughters are aught to do.

When I was 5 I stood on my mother’s bed
and watched my father drive away
with tears in my eyes.
She loved him. She did. But she was young and
did not know how to be happy in that love.
He loved her.
But he did not know how to fight for her.

2 years later and there was a drunk man
in my mother’s bed who was soon to become my stepfather.
I still dug my hands in the dirt and ran around
chasing rainbows.
My parents were formed by stories of their own.
2 lost souls who were left seeking.
Searching for love when they had it all along.
Poor things.

Alcoholism is a dark shadow and we were standing in it
with feet on broken glass in too many late night stakeouts
In our pajamas. At 2am. Sunken down in the backseat of the car
outside the bar where there is no place for children.
It was a time of Lies and Deception and a sad role model for 2
young girls learning to be women.

When I was 10 I sang in the choir. I met a man named Jesus and
I liked him, I did. He was a pretty righteous dude.
My mom met him too, but I guess he was having a bad day because
her version of him did not seem to smile at me.

When I was 11 I met magic by way of a secret circle and dreams of witches.
My best friend, she and I, I and she. We were
Mystical. Magical. And Free.
We wrote poetry and burned candles. We consulted
spirits and danced in awe of the stars.

At 12 I was happy because my mother was leaving him.
But then my little sister came. I loved her, and Wow.
What magic comes from such misery.
He tried to change
but for me it was. too. late.
When she turned 2, I gave her a plastic wand
tapping her nose and wishing her Love.
My step dad broke it. And me. With harsh words at excessive volumes.

At 13 I lost the One Pure Thing that was Mine to Give.
In the worst possible way.

I cried to the Mother, WHY?!
and on my 14th birthday, the summer before high school
I waded into her waters, heart deep
head just above waves crashing
and cried.
Just. Take. Me.
But She said, NO. You are not finished yet.

My freshman year of high school brought on soul mates old and new.
Deeper insights, bare feet, drumming, Circles and flowers in my hair.
A circle to create love and feel free.
Feel the wind, touch the breeze, hug a tree.

I dug my hands in the dirt and chased rainbows.

One day I came home with a pentacle drawn on my hand
and you’d have thought the sky. had. fallen.
My mother’s Jesus panicked
And reacted with a force.
I finally felt Happy.
But she said, NO. It was the wrong way.
Words like, devil, evil, heathen, satanist and witch, spit off her tongue
like wildfire trying to catch the hem
of my flowered skirt.

So I lied.

To just have peace. However false.
Because I loved her
and wanted to be loved by her.
But there was too much magic that poured
out of me and that JOY could
not be hidden.
One day while away, I “saw” my mother in my bedroom,
finding my secrets.
She called me home
laid out my crystals, spells scrawled on parchment,
books on witchcraft, magic, the Goddess.
She made me sleep on her bedroom floor
while she, my aunt and the pastor of their church
banished the spirits of evil with holy water
and prayed over my tortured soul.
Poor things.

She took me out of school and put me in the church
where the pastor cum psychiatrist desperately tried
to convince me of the devils way
in my heart.
I tried to explain. but they would. not. listen.
So I lied.
I claimed reform.
And I got to go back to school.
But there were private eyes with baseball bats
labeled as reporting teachers and guidance counselors.
Why could they not just let me be.
I made the honor role. I didn’t do drugs.
Who was I hurting?
I left school in the middle of the day and did not go home.
Instead I went to the woods and
spent the night with the stars. It was Samhain.

When I saw my mother 2 days later
she swore I was high
but no, it was much simpler than that.
I was tired of walking in fear’s shadow.
I was reaching out and owning my Truth.
It was a Path of Purity and Light
and it was my RIGHT.
But still she would not could not see it.
I left home 3 more times
before I went to live with my dad.
He saw the poetry in my soul.
Good Goddess, thank you for that man.
But woman. Oh the woman.
What is it with the women who stand in Fear
and Judgement and Persecution.
My stepmother slapped my face
and ransacked my bedroom
claiming black magic in her house.

It didn’t work out so well there.

But still, my father came through.
We lived on the boat
and were happy for awhile
all under the guise of work.
A fisherman’s daughter I was.
But for a marriage’s sake, he let go of me
and I was on my own. I didn’t blame him.

I was 15.

I worked.
I went to school.
I slept on the beach and on rooftops and on the floors
of friends with blessings for parents.
Somehow I made it.
When I was 16 my mother and little sister moved to Colorado.
My step dad’s home state.
She let me move back into my childhood home with my older sister.
My boyfriend came with me
and one year later I was pregnant.
My dad said abort the mission.
But I could not. I could not.
He was scared. I was too.
Because her father was not a soul mate.
I tried. I did. But love cannot be grown on the
outside when there is so much turmoil within.
So he left me. It wasn’t his fault.
But he left her too.

I needed my mother.

So I gave up my Soul and the ocean’s womb
for my mother’s acceptance and warm embrace.
I went to the mountains.
I gave away my books, my crystals, and cards.
I was doing this. All the way.

I should have known the Goddess
would not let me go that easy.

Because when her skin touched my skin
and our eyes met and our hearts beat out
the incredible sound of absolute Love
oh my Child.
With her by my side I would never again question Divinity.
But still. I was young
and the Reclaiming was not done.
I found yoga and was a step closer to remembering but still
Scared. and Lonely.
Because now I was a mother
18 years old, baby at my breast
Yearning. Yearning. For something.

A man found me. Wanting.
With eyes like diamonds and a purr like a kitten
but a kitten he was not.
For an entire year of my precious daughter’s life
I was abused. Used. and in Fear.
When she turned 2, I ran away.
This time I was done hiding.
My best friend came.
My sister.
My supernova.
And we drove.
We lived and loved the open road
in a little old travel camper
called Miss Bliss.
Magic surrounded us.
Beauty fell at our feet in drops of stardust
and I remembered. Everything.
We 3 were creating our destiny.
2 soul friends and an ancient wise woman
in the guide of a toddler.
She led the way and taught us a new kind of freedom.

When the road ended,
another journey began
as is the only way.

As for me and my flower child,
we went back to the ocean
then the mountains
then the forests and rivers
the great redwoods
the volcanic islands
one side of this country to another
up down and then back again
until finally
we found ourselves at the foot
of a mountain of the sun
where the flower was born
and it was 10 years later. A decade
of wings spread.
Here now to dig deep roots
and find a different way to live.

There were more trials.
More flames to walk through.
But with my daughter. My best friend. My soul’s Purpose
and the Goddess inside me, beside me
every step of the way
and now
Settled. Happy. The Mystic. The Yogi. The Woman. The Teacher.
Believing again in Me.

And then one day I came upon a man
with magic in his eyes and feathers in his hair
and decided right then and there
I was gonna marry that man.

And I did.

2 years later. In a castle. In a circle of love
With a fire breathing dragon above our heads.
No, really.
2 gypsies that stopped long enough to find each other
and discover a new path.
One to walk together.

My flower is 16 now, My Daisy.
She takes beautiful pictures. Loves music and dinosaurs
and thinks the sun rises and sets in her little sister’s eyes.
My Leelu, who is 2.
My girls, who have and will grow up differently than I did
as I continue to nurture the Goddess inside of them
while allowing them the freedom to choose their own way.

My girls. We 3, who almost
lost our lives this summer past
when a speeding car
ran through red and crashed~
into the boundaries of
life death and the hearts
of my children.
The Goddess was with us that day
because we lived.
When every other possibility would have said otherwise.
We. Lived.
And I am So tired of only living half way

There is a saying Use it or Lose it.
And my Sisters, it is true.
We must practice the Magic.
We must show the Way.
We must walk the Path.
We must not allow Fear to block Our Truth.
The path to forgetting is not hard
and the road to Remembering is not always easy.
So we must be Strong
We must be Brave
We must Priestess our own Way.

The bliss and blessings
of marriage and motherhood
roots and responsibility
take their own toll on our lives.
We easily get swept up in taking
care of everyone else and the
functions of everyday living.
We forget that there is also the
Spirit and Magic and Mystery
that deserve our attention.

We need our Spirit to shine so
that we are our best
to Priestess ourselves
our family
our world.
We all need ~Remembering Time~

I have not traveled this far to let it go now.

And that Sisters ~ is Why
I stand among you now ~ sharing my story
which is your story which is Her story.
Hands and Hearts joined in this Circle
Of Inspiration. Of Remembrance
That we are Goddesses.
We are
Walking Magic.


2 thoughts on “writing down my story.

  1. I have missed your writing so much. I’m so glad I have found you again. Thank you so much for sharing your story with the world. It is beautiful, and full of magic and I feel honoured to read it.

    • Oh, Heather, how you just lifted me up, dear Sister! Thank you so much for your kind words. I am also honored to count you among the Sisters I share this sacred life with. Aho. ❤

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