Author: 8hummingbirdway

I'm Annie Breglia and I'm on a mission to help heal the planet one soul at a time. The ancient way. The way of the shaman.

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.

About my last post …and about me

by 8hummingbirdway

I reread my last post and it feels unbalanced. I’m not sure it’s expressing what I want to express. It took me a very long time to write and perhaps that should have been a clue.

Also – I have been told by a friend that the post before – that I wrote about my closest sister in age – was less than of the highest integrity. This friend always speaks his truth. We do not always agree on what truth exactly is, but I do take note of his words.

I made a small adjustment, but I’m not sure that it is enough. More review ahead.

I now see that I have not painted my far away sister in a kind light. And that I actually painted her in an unkind light. (I have removed this post.)

And I woke this morning with the fear that I am using this particular story, and possibly writing other posts, in a self-aggrandizing way.

Yesterday I discussed this with my kind and wise youngest sister, who mentioned the negative aspect of memoirs, which I tend to stay away from myself.

These family posts – are they not memoirs? Although there is a soul searching aspect to memoirs that I do appreciate. But one has to get it right. I don’t think I have gotten it right.

I have been attmepting to show myself. My imperfect and challenged self. But my family members cannot be used as fodder for this goal.

I have removed the post about my far away sister. I will have to look at all of my posts about family members more closely and take the appropriate action.

It’s not that I have a huge following. I don’t. But what am I doing here?

This blogging aspect came with my website. And I love to write. And if I claim to help others, it seems I should share myself in some way.

It’s my intent to share the contents of my soul.

My life, my past, the way it has formed me – are surely of my soul. But …there are sevral things at play here. I clearly have to sort them out.

It is and has been my intention to write with humility.

The first email that showed up when I got online this morning had this title Ego Death: Restore Your True Self-Identity. Ha ha thank you very much Creator, Universe, Source, Spirit, God/Goddess. I signed up for the class.

And thank you to my friend who holds truth. And to my youngest sister. I am extremely blessed to have people around me who call me out when I go astray.

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Personal Expansion and Movement

by 8hummingbirdway

I know the reason things have improved in my relationship with my son. It’s because I recognized, trusted, and acted on the guidance that showed up for me.

It was initially the love from another mother/child bond that I observed – and actually felt – that reminded me I need to support my son, my adult child.

I then shared that experience and my personal challenges/feelings with a particular friend and she had another offering for me. She suggested that I write a few sentences daily – bringing my positive relationship with my son forth …by envisioning and expressing it as an extension of my support for him. My task was to feel the  bond, the love – as I wrote a few sentences – and finding deep gratitude for the change before it even occurred.

The warm and connected response from my son was discernible almost immediately.

He called more often. 

There was ease between us.

The synchronicity of this physical dimension is real.

The answers show up for all of us.

We CAN open ourselves to the information around us – and respond as guided.

Even if it feels strange. Even if we carry doubt or uncertainty.

This is how I’ve come to live my life, to simply accept and follow the wisdom that is evident in each moment of need or uncertainty. And to give thanks.

I feel a little like a crazy person writing this, but my life truly unfolds in this way. Infinitely more so if I allow the available wisdom to guide me.

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Shamanic Healing of Schizophrenia?

by 8hummingbirdway

My sister, my beloved sweet sister who was born 2+1/2 years after me, was diagnosed as schizophrenic in her early teens – after some experimentation with psychedelic drugs. We had moved the summer before she entered 9th grade, and she fell in with the “wrong” crowd. I remember her acting a bit strange the following year, just before I took off for college. But I missed most of the trauma around all this.

Things I remember being told:

  • She asked our younger brother to cut her belly open and put a lamp inside her to help someone or something.
  • She was brought to the “best” institution in a nearby city when she became unmanageable. (There were 3 younger children in the family.)
  • I know she was medicated and raped while whe was at this place.

I’m not sure how long she was institutionalized. I believe it was months, not years.

I remember her having a job at a supermarket a few years later. She had returned home for a while, but then our parents had kicked her out. After a while she tried to kill herself by jumping off a 2nd story porch. She broke her leg.

At some point she became unwilling to take medication.

She spoke of having flashbacks when I spoke with her. I was scared of her and her condition. I missed my sister. I didn’t know what to say to this person. It was like my sister had vanished. My loss of her is one of the deepest losses I have experienced in this lifetime.

She was the one who saved birds and other small critters when we were young. She never hurt a soul.

Later she had a child who I ended up adopting. Story here.

After that my sister lived under bridges; I was told she sold her blood for food. She witnessed a person pushing her friend off a subway platform into the path of an ongoing train. She experienced a lot that I never want to experience. My father managed to stay in touch with her because she called him for financial assistance from time to time. He managed to get her a PO Box, then later, an apartment – with the help of social services.

She stayed away from family for a long long time, but Dad would send a letter to her PO Box and travel from the East Coast to the Phoenix, AZ – where she lived. He told her where and when to meet him, promising a meal, a swim in the hotel pool, a stay overnight if she wanted. He would plan a meeting at a certain place and time. Sometimes she showed up and sometimes she didn’t. This went on for years and years. Eventually she let him know where she lived and he was able to go there annually and pick her up for meals and some time together.

Eventually my youngest sister moved to Colorado. She visited our challenged sister sometimes. Eventually my challenged sister told my compassionate youngest sister that she’d like to be closer to family. This was after our parents had died. My youngest sister arranged for housing and brought her to live nearby. She is present in her life at least weekly.

I have seen my “mentally ill” sister several times since then – at her apartment, at our sister’s home, back East at my brother’s home and at my home. She has seen her daughter/my daughter maybe 4 years ago on her most recent trip East. She met her 2 grandsons once or twice when they were small (they were busy being teenagers and missed our last gathering).

At some point I learned that schizophrenia usually becomes evident in adulthood, not in the teen years.

During my shamanic training I learned that schizophrenia can be a result of being stuck in non-ordinary reality (like on a journey) after the use of LSD – and not knowing how to get back to ordinary reality. That made sense to me. It may have been an LSD experience that never ended.

I mentioned this to my sister, but she isn’t interested in exploring alternatives to the medication she has come to rely on. (The meds have improved over the years.) She has come to live a connected and reliable existence and she is sticking with it.

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Africa!

by 8hummingbirdway

I am so excited! I’m going to Africa in February with my son! 

This trip is the result of shifting to a supportive alignment with him over the past month. I realized that it would be supportive to come on this journey with him and experience all that he has created and impacted in this part of the world. He opened the door to Africa to in 2014, and only one member of our family, my grandson, has taken him up on his invitations to accompany him on a visit.

I became aware that I finally have the resources and the time in my retirement to make the journey. Why wasn’t I going, even after asking him if family members still could come? I had to overcome some fear and discomfort – but if I don’t go now …I have no idea when he’s going again. Or what next year holds for me. I’m 68.

I had to ask myself – was I genuine in my support for him? In my love for my fellow humans that he was helping? Why on earth would I not support him in this way? 

It’s time to get over myself and my fears. 

I have my ticket and my backpack is waiting.

My son has been working in Africa in a helping capacity for over 15 years. When he was in college he spent part of a summer in Uganda under the auspices of “Soccer Without Borders.” His mission was to bring soccer to the village of Ndejje. The village, especially the children, took hold of his heart …AND he saw the absence of books. He learned that each student was required to hand-copy a large textbook in order to access the knowledge contained there. After his return to SUNY New Paltz, he learned how to create a non-profit organization, and The Literate Earth Project (LEP) was born. https://www.theliterateearthproject.org/

Within a couple of years, a library stood on the school grounds in Ndejje, and LEP had partnered with an organization called “Books for Africa,” which filled it with children’s books, encyclopedias, and more.

The first few libraries were largely funded from my son’s own financial donations. Today there are 16 libraries in Uganda, all within or near schools. The funding is largely external, and my son, the founder, still serves on the Advisory Board of LEP. The organization is now run by a dedicated team of full-time staff in Uganda, volunteers, committee members, and board members – with the support and gratitude of the Ugandan government.

Am I proud? Words cannot convey the depth of feeling within me – that my son had the vision, personal generosity, devotion and ability to bring LEP to life. I so love the video of opening that first library. It still makes me cry. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywdRqyM-Sb4

Here is a later video about books being made available to children at the Imvepi Refugee Camp in Northern Uganda by a nonprofit that LEP partnered with.. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXsBIGcdCAU

Over the years, my son has expanded his knowledge of the need in Africa and globally, as well as his commitment to be a helping force. He is currently the CEO of another organization that profides training and funds for other nonprofit groups globally.

My son serves on the boards of other helping organizations as well. And he has a paying job. He is truly an outstanding human. He is a force to reckon with, both globally and in our family. He has been a huge personal support to his 2 nephews, my grandsons, who have walked without a father for many years. He is also a regular human being; he’s fun, funny, forceful, and can be a “know it-all” – a trait he learned (from me) as a child.

Our trip in February will include visits to a handful of libraries in Uganda, as well as visiting the sites of organizations that “funded graduates” from the new organization that operate in Uganda and in the Democratic Repubidc of Congo. I’m learning about the individuals and the missions now!

I’m going to have the blessing of being with my son in the world he has engaged with so profoundly. I get to learn and even work with the children who benefit from his work while I’m there! My delight at this prospect is boundless.

I admit I’m a little nervous to step outside my comfort zone. I don’t love sitting in a cramped seat on an airplane for many hours, and I never had much of a desire to cross the ocean – something my son embraces as a result of having a musician for a father, who took him to Germany at the age of 13.

My grandson tells me to always know where we are staying – he almost got lost in Kampala … and to carry toilet paper, as the facilities in the villages are generally a hole in the ground.

I have no idea what I will confront, discover, and encounter in Africa!

Perhaps I’ll return with some things to share.

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