Month: January 2024

I’m Having a Soulful Time

by 8hummingbirdway

My husband went away for 5 days to ride bikes and play miniature golf, etc. – and eat fish in Florida with his son.

I have the house to myself and I am doing as I please.

I can practice the fiddle at 3am. I can sleep strange hours. I can play podcasts and French lessons and my astrology class and music out loud all day long if I want. I don’t, because I enjoy the quiet too.

I can eat my favorite food and have meals at random times if I please. I can (and must) do some final preparation for my trip to Africa. I get on an airplane in 7 days.

[The 3 cats are mad at me even though I’m petting them, talking to them, scooping their litter, providing clean water and giving them their prescribed treats and snacks. They seem to think I’m responsible for their favorite person being gone and are keeping their distance. I’m slightly miffed, but can’t say I’m overly impacted by the cats. Petunia (my favorite) has been in the basement for 2 days, but this morning she came up and decided I could pet her, scratch her head and sit by her for a few minutes. Now she’s gone again. She is a persnickety one.]

I do have to water plants, feed birds, etc., but otherwise I am as free as a bird.

Yesterday I had a chiropractor appointment to make sure I’m in good form for my trip.

I also had a bodywork appointment with Gretchen Cosgrove, who is a blessing in my life. I credit her with returning me from a bicycle accident I had that almost killed me (handle bar to trachea) nearly 3 years ago …back to LIFE! I feel 100% myself again, which is amazing. I am extremely grateful for the deep and varied aspects of healing that she has brought to me. I highly recommend Gretchen for massage, energy work, anything she offers. She is a soul and body healer of outstanding ability and presence and love.

I will be adding a link to her website (currently under revision) to my info bar at the bottom of each page.

I asked Gretchen for overall balancing and work on my heart chakra because Sri Pune said it would benefit my connection to my son. I have been trying to “allow a frequency adjustment in my heart that will assist me to develop a new pathway of my heart” as advised. Allowing is sometimes hard for me – it’s so vague. But I do have a sense of when I’m successful. There was definitely a shift today in my heart.

Shortly after Gretchen attended to my heart, her hand hovering steadily over the chakra, I started to see waves of color. A couple minutes later I started to feel sadness, which increased and solidified. I remembered something my husband said to me a couple months ago that was impactful and unsettling. I had buried it, but now it has surfaced again and is looking for light. While he is away is a perfect time to unearth it and see what needs to be done to allow it to be put to rest.

My husband and my marriage are blessings to me, but marriage is not always easy to navigate. There are times when we feel hurt, whether or not the hurt is intended.

I am extremely grateful for this time, just for me.

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Time Brings Change

by 8hummingbirdway

When I visited my closest friend just after she gave birth, there was an incident in which her baby ejected projectile diarrhea on a wall 5 feet away. It was nothing I’d ever seen before – amazing! 100 years ago it would have been in bad taste to tell anyone about this, and I don’t think my grandmother would have appreciated it 50 years ago. In those days we had to be protected from this aspect of life. (Shameful bodily functions such as defecating!) And it wasn’t a normal baby poop event, hence …additionally shameful?

Bodily functions were definitely not discussed by my grandmother. I’m sure she contended with baby poop regularly, but it was the woman’s domain and my grandfather was protected from it. And yes, shame was part of this package of secrecy.

Over time it has become standard for both parents to contend with diaper changes. This familiarity and comfort helps to diffuse the impact of shame significantly.

You get the idea. Defecation and feces has been normalized over time. Today, you might not enjoy visualizing the event I described, but most people don’t give it another thought.

I’m hoping that in another 50 or 100 years we humans will be more comfortable with our bodies – maybe enough to discuss sex with ease. I know the younger generations have made strides forward in this arena.

Sexual abuse, other forms of abuse, and human trafficking also need to be brought into the light of awareness. Associated shame needs to be healed. Hopefully there will be no place for these harmful realities in our world in the next century.

I also hope we will be more knowledgeable about what is now called mental illness and addiction. The move to consider them not the fault of the person, and the recognition of heredity are positive movements toward the eradication of shame. I predict we will eventually be able to discuss all of these matters without shame coming into play within ourselves – or in the reactions of others. It will be as appropriate as poop.

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.

Becoming a Woman

by 8hummingbirdway

Last night I had a dream that the daughter of an old friend of mine, had taken a course on what it is to be a woman. My friend Willa and I were young mothers again and our daughters were around 10. After taking the class, there was a noticeable difference in Stephanie. She walked taller. She was more serene, Others in her family recognized her place and honored her. She had confidence and a certainty in who she was. She had become integral in her family and helped with her younger siblings and what we think of as “feminine” chores. Her parents were also involved in the course to some extent, but mostly it was a teaching for her. The entire family had changed, though.

Instead of becoming more removed from the family and rebellious, as teenagers do, she had learned to honor herself and understood the best of what it is to be female, feminine in a strong and gentle way and intuitive way.

Others of us in the community learned of the course and started to send our daughters. Even though some of them were a bit older, they and their families benefited from it.

Part of the requirements of the course (for the daughter) was to write about it. I remember reading what Stephanie wrote and the contents blew me away. It was clearly a sacred experience for her, helping her to explore and know more about her individual path ahead, removing fears and uncertainties.

It seemed to be a sacred path.

[As I write about it now, I have a niggling doubt. Would serenity at the age of 10 be a positive outcome? Don’t our daughters (and sons?) need to rebel, to pull away from their families? Were they being programmed in some way in this course I dreamed of? Then I thought of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and the way that these stories and others of their time depict girls and women more like Stephanie in my dream – having clear steps to walk to align with their mothers. They didn’t have to rebel, because life did not present the discrepancies and disharmonies that we know today. In the dream there was no feeling that the girls were repressed – just a more mature, self-aware, and balanced movement toward adulthood.]

The course in my dream was definitely a sacred offering. Many of the daughters in our community started to take the course. There was a course for boys too – but my son and Stephanie’s brothers were too young at the time for me to know much about it in the dream. There was a shift in the community and a rejoicing to be turning to sacred ways that honor us individually.

I feel blessed to have received the dream. It speaks to me of hope.

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.

Last Night I had the Strangest Dream

by 8hummingbirdway

I did had a powerful dream last night and I’m going to tell about it soon.

As I started writing, I found myself typing the words in this title. They are the words of a song dear to my heart. I used to sing it to my children often at bedtime.

Maybe you know the song. It was written by American folk singer-songwriter Ed McCurdy in 1950. I believe I heard it from Pete Seeger.

Here are the words, and I posted the tune below if you want to learn it.

Last night I had the strangest dream I ever dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed to put an end to war

I dreamed I saw a mighty room filled with women and men*

And the papers they were writing said they’d never fight again

And when the papers all were signed and a million copies made

They all joined hands and bowed their heads and grateful prayers were prayed

And the people in the the streets below were dancing round and round

And guns and swords and uniforms were scattered on the the ground

Last night I had the strangest dream I ever dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed to put an end to war

*(I changed “men” to “women and men” for my children).

Here’s a version by Pete Seeger. He goes on to sing more songs, so you’ll have to end the recording.

Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream (youtube.com)

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Hello Fear

by 8hummingbirdway

Early this morning I woke up early (2:30am – not unusual for me). I used the bathroom and returned to bed, still groggy, hoping I would be able to return to sleep. A bit later I heard the sound of my cell phone notifying me of a message. For some reason, fear struck my belly at this sound. I didn’t get up to check the phone, which I usually turn off before bed; I knew that if there was an emergency I’d get a call.

But the fear didn’t go away. After an hour or so I got up.

The fear is in the pit of my stomach. It took it’s place in an instant. I don’t know why it occurred in this way, but I do know what it’s about. In 2 weeks I will be boarding an airplane that will take me to Africa, into the unknown. My son will arrive a few hours before me and meet my plane, and just yesterday I asked him how to proceed if something held him up and he wasn’t there. He sent me a map for the air bnb. He made sure the contact person had my name as well as his, and that I had her phone number. He arranged for a driver to meet me if there was some flight delay on his journey. I’m grateful and I have released that specific concern.

For the most part, I have been avoiding sharing my fears with my son. He has traveled extensively since the age of 13. First with his dad, then on his own, and that kind of fear is not in him.

My fears are vague and general. Very long flights with stopovers of 4-6 hours. Worry about getting sleep, having food, my final packing process with limited weight and size of carry-on’s allowed by the 5 different airlines. There are so many details. (What if I end up having to check something and its lost? We will not be staying in one place for the duration.)

It took me a good part of 2 days to figure out flights. I think that was where the anxiousness arose at first.

And then – what if I don’t have the right clothes? I learned that women in the villages we would visit wear long skirts. And I would want to wear certain colors; not black and blue – my favorites – which attract tsetse flies, which can cause African sleeping sickness. And we will be going on a Gorilla Trek – which is exciting and unsettling – and requires specific gear and knowledge and could be an 8 hour hike. And I needed a yellow fever immunization to enter Congo. Not an easy thing to find. And my primary health insurance carrier does not cover out of the country and I had to figure that out. So there has been a flurry of activity and I learn more daily. And fresh worries arise daily.

I’m grateful that my son has handled the visas and the accommodations and hiring drivers and the flight between Uganda and Rwanda. He is sometimes short on information, but he assured me yesterday that we can buy anything I forget or can’t fit.

My husband is nervous about my safety, and my son has said twice that it’s been years since an American was murdered or kidnapped. (I’m not sure how reassuring that would be if this was my concern.) In all honesty this is not where my fears lie. I trust this trip. I trust my life path and I’m not afraid of death. (I don’t think my path is to spend the rest of my days in a Congo prison, but if it is, I will navigate it and learn from it and exemplify kindness and wisdom to the best of my ability. I have lived a good life and my kids are grown up.)

Nothing could stop me from going on this trip with my son.

I am at ease with people of all cultures here on this soil. And I’m excited about experiencing being white in a black culture. And simply being there!

I’ve let go of all my food preferences and restrictions and am not worried about what I’ll eat.

It’s going to be hot and humid, not my favorite but I don’t fear it. I will bring long underwear in case of freezing air conditioning or lack of blankets.

It’s something about the “unknown-ness” of this looming trip and the passage of time.

I am not a world traveler. I love road trips and have traveled around the US a fair amount. I truly can’t say why this is so different for me.

I do not enjoy flying, mostly because of lack of personal space. I have had moments of uneasiness on airplanes, but I know it’s safer than a car. I don’t fear flying if I have to – not much, at least.

I am generally not a fearful person.

Initially I was not afraid. But as time has pulled me closer to my departure date, I have experienced anxiety and agitation …and now outright fear. I learned a few days ago that connecting to the Earth helps me to release anxiety and agitation, and I’m guessing that it will help me if I go out and stand on the ground. I’m going to go do that now, in the safety of the quiet dark morning in my back yard.

It does help to know that it’s the same Earth in Africa as it is here in upstate NY.

I can’t wait to meet this part of the planet and her people!

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About my recent story of Jerry

by 8hummingbirdway

The story of trauma I told in my last post is a story of deep harm and tragedy. My friend was taught to carry shame. However, I’m guessing that nobody has a problem with me telling this story. The greater public does not react with discomfort about me sharing this story. Yes horror. Yes sadness. Hopefully compassion. Perhaps judgement toward the father or towards gun-owners or toward hunters. But no personal shame exists fundamentally in this story. And I am not expected to keep silent.

I am, however, expected to keep silent about other, more sensitive topics that touch upon what we perceive to be shameful. Our culture treats abuse (especially sexual abuse), mental illness, and addiction as shameful topics. Shame for the “victim.” The perpetrator is often protected by the secrecy that results from the abused person’s shame, and the family is protected by their own silence (resulting from shame) regarding mental illness and addiction.

I’m certain there are other categories that carry this kind of shame and secrecy. Sex workers and homelessness come to mind – and there is overlap in all of these categories. But the circumstances of abuse, mental illness and addiction are the circumstances I am personally familiar with.

In telling about my friend’s birthday party or the birth of her son, I am not crossing the line of what is appropriate to share. If I tell about the accident she had or the time her house was broken into I am not crossing the line. If she is murdered I am not crossing the line. But if she is raped or tortured by her husband …it’s private and I am crossing the line of shame to mention it. If she takes a medication that causes a reaction, that’s ok to share, but not a mental reaction, or an addiction, because I am now calling shame upon her.

Are you starting to see what I mean by dirty little secrets and about my feeling concern about our silence – to keep everyone comfortable, and to sustain the status quo?

What is wrong with our sense of right and wrong?

The reality is that people are being hurt by their “loved ones” – both sexually and in other ways. People are diagnosed with mental illness or discover themselves (or their children/mates) to be addicts. And we are expected to keep it to ourselves – secret, hidden.

Would people think it was wrong of me to tell this story if Jerry was about my brother? They might. Some would worry about the impact on him and perhaps on my father, the hunter. The thought and belief is that I should be more protective about family members.

These same concerns exist if stories are told about family members who may have experienced addiction, family members who have been challenged with mental illness, or family members who perpetrated or experienced sexual abuse.

I do not agree with this keeping of dirty little secrets because we are family or because abuse, mental illness or addiction are shameful.

They aren’t shameful; they are conditions of harm. Those who suffer these versions of harm are many. These multitudes who walk among us every day need healing and compassion. However, the healing is not available when we keep these matters in the dark. And compassion does not result if silence is the order of the day.

I do understand about privacy. But the people I have been writing about do not share my last name, nor do they live in my community. I have not exposed them personally. But I am sharing the deep impact that their harm, hurt, and injury has had on me, on my soul, and on my life path.

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.

Jerry and Alex – story of a childhood friend

by 8hummingbirdway

I’m going to tell a story about my childhood friend. I am not using actual names.

One day Bob took his son – 4 year old Jerry (my best friend) – out to the woods to learn about shooting. Two year old Alex came along as well. Bob showed Jerry about the pistol and they picked out a tree to aim for. Jerry took aim and fired. He missed the tree just as Alex stepped out from behind it. The bullet hit Alex. The 2 year old was still breathing. Bob picked him up, ran to the car, and brought Alex to the hospital, leaving his 4 year old son in the woods for hours.

Alex died from the injury and Jerry was found and brought home.

I cannot imagine and it was never discussed – Jerry’s time in the woods. But that was the day life fell apart for Jerry, Bob, and his wife Betty. The divorce was underway within a year. I was a child and was not privy to any of what went on between them. I can guess. I hurt for them all.

Jerry and I lost touch to a large extent when our families both moved to different towns. We stopped visiting as much. Plus he was a boy and I a girl.

I do know that Jerry was an outcast in elementary school. The story traveled and parents told their children. I never understood why Jerry was shunned and shamed in school. I can only think it was the fear of others being associated with something so horrendous. Or having their child befriend such a child. An unlucky child? A “bad” child? It seems like something adults would be responsible for, this shunning.

Or did children ask and talk about it and Jerry reacted in a way that caused them to distance from him? I truly have no idea. So they moved again, to another town – where the same dynamics and patterns were repeated. Jerry went to private school out of state in middle school and high school. And started to have normal relationships.

I could say more about this. Jerry carried a huge burden and he tried to kill himself around the age of 10. This whole story is something I have a lot of sadness about when I think of it – which is not often. Jerry and I lost touch and I deeply regret that. He has a common last name; I have searched every which way for him and he is not to be found. I saw him once at a college that my friend was attending and I did not perceive that I could lose him. But his mom died and our mothers were our link. 

Once Jerry showed up in a journey – as an ally. I have a sense that we are still mutually aligned in some way.

I hope I see him after I die.

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Deception

by 8hummingbirdway

Keeping Secrets makes us comfortable with deception.

It is a very short step from keeping secrets about abuse, mental illness or addiction … to lying.  

Often, others are afraid of association with someone who has these experiences, which supports keeping one’s silence. Or one feels judgement by others.

I was in my early 30’s before I realized that I could make a different choice. I was a liar. I lied in my childhood, my adolescence, and my early adulthood. When I had a memory of sexual abuse at the age of 34, a counselor advised me to believe myself and to speak my truth, not be silenced. There is a great deal more to this story, and probably mine are the stories I should be telling. For now I will say that one thing I learned pretty quickly is that lying existed in my family and I had picked up that pattern.

Most of us tend to follow the ways that have been shown to us in childhood.

The truth became a big deal to me. Once I embraced truth, I saw my children telling the truth more. I chose my friends by their honesty.

Without truth, one has no way to navigate one’s situation.

Without the truth, a person is missing pieces of the puzzle, and it is very difficult to be successful in one’s goals, or even to discern what those goals might be.

I chose to leave my first marriage because the truth had little meaning to my husband at the time, and eventually I developed the clarity and courage to choose a separate path.

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.

Dirty Little Secrets

by 8hummingbirdway

I have been feeling paralyzed about sharing my family experience – which neccessarily includes my family members. Perhaps I am describing the individuals or what happened too thoroughly, or perhaps I should say “I know someone whose sister …,” or perhaps it is my presentation of being outside the trauma and looking in from a removed position.

Talking about my sister who is closest in age and was institutionalized, diagnosed, and has lived a life of challenge since then is telling an injury of my soul. Is it also compromising her privacy – even though nobody knows my maiden name or her first name or how to find her? She might not like it if I told her story publicly. I did not call and ask. My faraway sister in fact told me not to write about her and my response was that I get to tell about my life and she’s in it.

I have come to understand that keeping family secrets is a culturally approved choice.

Perhaps I am causing discomfort within others that are not even in the story by disrupting the status quo.

I feel strongly that keeping everything quiet is not a positive thing for people who have been traumatized, which includes most of us. Ok – that’s your opinion a voice within me says. Is it fair that you decide this for others?

The work I do involves healing of patterns and dynamics for those who have experienced trauma. I don’t think it would surprise very many people to know that most trauma is perpetrated by those closest to us: Mother, Father, Sibling, Husband, Wife and even Child. We are so afraid of the Stranger in this world, but the real harm, the deepest harm and betrayal generally comes from those we engage with regularly.

I am not making any statements about the intention of the injuring person. My focus here is on the person who is harmed.

Intentional trauma can be betrayal or untruth or physical harm. That pretty much covers it – but the range and variation of these themes are vast. Betrayal includes sexual use of a child by any mature (or maturing) individual. Untruth includes the pretense of kindness when one manipulates another. Physical harm can be “accidental,” perpetual, occasional, and of different degrees and types – to the point of regularly executed torture or sleep deprivation. These things go on in families. Between people who “love” each other.

Keeping the dirty little secrets of family is what we are expected to do. But it causes shame within. “This happened to me and I can’t ever talk about it because it’s shameful.” It’s a very small step from that place to carrying shame about oneself. People try to bury it, but it lingers. It steals your well-being, your self-love, your self-respect, your ability to speak up. It steals your ability to stand in your true self and apply your god-given wisdom and knowledge to your own life.

Keeping secrets also makes us comfortable with deception. It’s a very short step from not telling to lying. In fact, it’s not a step at all. Not telling about something that is pivotal to your wellbeing is lying. And we quickly learn not to tell. If we are not explicitly threatened with harm or the harm of someone else we love, the response of others teaches us quickly to keep it to ourselves. Most people truly do not want to hear about what happened to you. You are avoided or directly chastised as a liar or ridiculed and treated as less. That’s how the large majority of people respond. Because they are afraid of association with someone who has had these experiences.

Keeping secrets of this sort – secrets of harm done to you as a child or as a lover – are practices in our culture that have been established over time. These practices protect the perpetrator of those who hurt others weaker than them, even though those harmed would be justified in hoping/expecting to have the protection of the person who instead, is harming them.

Am I harming the people I love by telling the stories I am sharing?

I have more thinking to do.

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Welcome news

by 8hummingbirdway

One thing new to share is that I have recieved guidance from Sri Pune that finding a way to renew connection and trust with my far away sister is a path of my soul.

This is welcome news.

And I’m afraid of the path – and that I won’t get it right.

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.