What is the condition of my relationship to the Instinctual Self?

I am learning.  It is not a process of re-learning.  I am learning for the very first time.  How to be myself.  Who I might actually be.  I have a set basis for the ethics and morals with which I live, whether the rest of society agrees with me or not.  Society is irrelevant.  My soul is the only relevant thing.  My soul is my salvation.  I am not whole, but I am working towards that goal.

I listen more every day, some days better than others, to the tales my heart has to tell me.

For too long I have tried to be that quiet little thing that stayed in the background.  The perfect wife.  The sensible girlfriend.  The virgin whore that all men claim to want.  I tried to be the worker bee, taking care of my family, when the only children I had were dogs.

I gave birth to my children.  Even as I accepted the yoke of responsibility that comes with motherhood, I gained an amazing sense of freedom.  I saw myself, yoked by society, held down, pinioned, unworthy of the gift that my children brought to me.  I set about putting things in my life to right.

It is a long hard journey.  There is always so much to learn.  So much I didn’t know, didn’t realize, pieces I keep putting together as we go along.

At least I am trying.  At least I am working towards my goal.  At least I have stopped fighting.  I am trying to re-piece my soul, gathering all the lost shards, knitting them all together.  I want to be whole, even though I know not what that means.  I am not certain where I am going.  All I can say for sure is I am not stopping.  I may hesitate, but I do the best I can.

I listen to that swelling still voice, calling to me, showing me the way, guiding me along my path.  I rely more upon my instincts, day after day, to save my very soul from the endless pit I see sprawling before me that Man continues to call Society and Progress.

What Has Happened To My Soul Voice?

What happened to my soul voice?  What did happen to my soul voice?  Did my soul ever have a real voice in this lifetime?

Where did I learn to swallow my voice, to keep it inside, to allow myself no genuine expression?  When did I not only stop talking to others, but also to myself?

I know as a child I was to be seen and not heard, or terrible consequences would follow.  Terrible things often happened when I was neither seen nor heard, but that is another matter all together.

As a child among my peers, I may have been the joking laughing one, but it was mainly out of fear.  No one ever really heard the real me.  Or if they did, they didn’t listen.  Not to the real me.

I have spent my life, it seems, teaching people to reach into themselves, to honor themselves, to speak their own truths, but what have I done for me?

It took me too many years, too many men, bad relationships, well fine, two extremely horrible relationships that encompassed more of my entire life than I care to admit.

It took having children, not one but two, to rip my voice from my throat in defense of them.  Yet that was not my true soul voice.  That was the protective mama bear voice, defending her cubs from danger and harm.

I had to endure years of hatred and anger, not only at others, but at myself as well.  I had to battle my way through, fighting myself more than any other, blaming myself when I should have stood up to others.  I cried my way through the pain and the hurt and everything else.  I wallowed in fear.  It swept me up and over and swallowed me whole.  I had to learn to let go, let go, let go.  Trust in the Universe until I could trust in myself.

I am just now coming to that point where I am becoming able to have faith in myself, to believe in myself, to actually trust myself, my gut, my intuition, for myself.

It takes many years, or at least it has for me, to find that lost soul voice.  Having gone on unused for so many years, the only thing I can do now is slowly build up my voice again, until I can sing out loud, belt out a melody and bellow across the stars.

I am working my way there, one day at a time.  That’s all I can tell you for sure.

What Are Buried In These Bones?

What are buried in the bones of my life?

Happiness.  Joy.  Pure bliss.

It seems such a shame I have to burn and crack open these old bones in order to find that which I have hidden inside for so very long.

Inside these bones lies the heart of a true artist, one who writes and paints and sculpts and beads and welds and pours and presses.

Inside these bones lies the body of a dancer, a Yogini, a belly dancer.

Inside these bones lies a wicked story teller, gifted with the gift of tongue as only a Celt could be.

Insider these bones lies a songstress and a hunter and an athlete.

Inside these bones lies a woman of unique perspective, with a wild heart, a manic laughter, and the happiest of songs in her heart.

Inside these bones lies a solid teacher, a confident mother, a green thumbed herbalist, an ambitious lover.

Inside these bones lies the beginnings of a life left unlived, but only now starting to send out the microscopic tendrils and threads that will become the roots and the foundation of much greater things to come.

Opening The Door To That Bigger House

I am tired of not dreaming big enough.  I didn’t realize I was dreaming small.  All I know now is I want I must dream BIGGER.  And that begins right now right this minute.

What I really want is a big kitchen.  With a double sided sink, a garbage disposal, a sprayer.  Big double sinks, not small ones.  Something I can set the pans in to soak and the pans fit.  Lots of countertop space.  Lots of cabinet space.  A hanging rack for pots and pans.   Room for a butcher block.  Room for a big kitchen table.

A breakfast nook would be good, just somewhere for the family to meet and to be together.  A dining room would be nice, but is not necessary.  So long as there is space for the family dining table, I am good.   If we have room for a hutch or china cabinet or two, that would make it even better.

I want an actual separate laundry room.  It can be in the basement or whatever, but I don’t want to have to look at my washer and dryer or have them be part of my kitchen experience ever again.

I want to have a working fireplace.

I want a big bathroom, for the master bath.  A huge claw foot tub.  Something I can lie all the way down in and stretch out.  Something where the ceiling is taller than I am, so I can stretch and turn while I am under the spray.  I want there to be enough room in the shower for at least six or eight people.  Not that I ever want to have that many people in the shower with me; I merely want the space so I can dance or stretch or do yoga under the shower’s spray.  Or anything else that comes to mind.

It would be nice to have at least two bathrooms, what with all the kids running around.

I want tall ceilings.  I want plenty of headspace.  Vaulted ceilings more like the living room in the house in FS.  I want tons of windows in every room.  I want lots of natural light.

I want at least four bedrooms.  I want a full basement.  I want more than enough room for an office.  I want space for the exercise equipment.  I want space for my art studio.  I want plenty of storage space for all the yarn and fabric and other supplies I tend to collect.

I want big closets all over the house for everyone.  I want everyone to have plenty of space to grow and evolve and be themselves.

I want a big family room.  I want a decent living room.  I want lots of space for books and movies and anything else we need to have lots of room in the house.

I want an actual garage, a two car garage at that.  I want a patio in the back, all wooden and with a screen overhead, with plenty of room for a table and chairs.  I want a covered, maybe even screened in, front porch too.  It would be awesome if we could have a sun room somewhere too.

I want a big fenced in yard for the dogs and the kids.  If we could have a swing set or fort or something for the kids built in the back, which would be incredible.  I want the yard landscaped and wonderful.

I do not care for carpeting.  I want hardwood floors In every room except the kitchen and bathrooms.  There I would prefer tile or slate of something stone-like.

Peeling The Onion

As I read Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clariss Pinkola Estes, I have been having a great deal of ’stuff’ come up.  I haven’t been certain until today exactly where to post some of the ’stuff’.

Since every step is drawing me deeper into myself and making me more aware of what I want and need in my life, I am going to classify it as “Home Work”, so I will be storing it here, along with the rest of the things I lay at Hestia’s Feet.

My search through my self is also my search for my Hearth.

These are some very rudimentary sketches I did before writing the next few pieces I will be posting.