She stood there. Open. Unguarded. Undone. Simply being there in the middle of the world swirling the winds of uncertainty. She knew that her heart can get hurt. But she couldn’t do it any other way.

She dismantled the walls, the safety of her shadow that kept her safe since the days of the great fragmentation. A long forgotten season of her life, until life brought her back to her knees.

She was broken open once more. The initiation of her heart began once again. And the restoration of her soul called her to dig deeper this time. But not in the same places she dug before. Those sites are closed. She returned the sacred bones to the grave site and with reverence she covered them with the soil of her soul.

She must dig elsewhere. New wounds emerged. Not the mother wound. Not the child wound. But this time the wound of her own doing. The wound of her own self-doubt. Fears that she is not good enough. That she has nothing of value to give.

She, a Giver by nature, doubting her offers.

Doubting the gift given to her.

After all the work she’s done on herself she finds herself back to her sacred site. She is exhausted. She feels broken. Fragmented.

Ashamed that the gods can see inside her heart and know the truth of her untruth.

And yet, all she desires is to be true to what she feels. She doesn’t want it masked, covered by the spiritual dogma as dangerous as the pills a doctor would push on her.

She wants to be real. Even in her pain. Even in her disappointment with the world. With those she called “friends”. She sits with the philosophical, the psychological, the spiritual, the social perspectives on “letting go.” On forgiving and moving on. This is the time of deep excavation. A longing to restore. To reclaim. To recover the truth. Her truth.

No one is obligated to understand her truth. And no one is required to. She looks into her Self and knows that hearts can be broken. And hearts can be restored. No matter what. No matter who let her down.

And please, don’t tell her that she is not entitled to her perspective. Do not try to take away her right to see the world through the lens of her own life. Her own archetypes. Her own enneagram.

And how to begin the restoration of her truth?

By remembering who she is.

Start again slowly. Dismiss what is not sacred to you. Write about your values. Write about what makes you angry. Write about what makes you sad. Write about what you have mastered.

In my own restoration, I allow the memories of past lives to flow into my heart. And I feel my heart beating in my chest. This chest that nurtured babies in lives remembered. But not in this one. The fear that there is no one to remember her after she’s gone is real. What will happen to her ashes? This year brought her even closer to her mortality. A constant in the life of all mortals. And she is no different.

She goes back and forth between speaking of herself and the selves of others. Aren’t all the same? Is my breaking the breaking of all my sisters?

What have we learned in the past few years? In my restoration, in my remembrance I see myself buried in a corner of the dwelling where I used to live in the beginning of my existence. I have been around the sun many times. I am a Seer. I see in people’s hearts. I feel people’s feelings.

I am dragged out of my self by strings of hope. I am humbled once again by my unknowing. Those that say that know don’t know. Those that speak as they know my heart they don’t know.

She, the Soul Deep Woman is waking up.

Spiritual bypassing is a side of her that is just as hurt as any part of her that hangs on to some illusive truth that might save her from feeling lonely.

As she remembers past lives, she moves with compassion, self-compassion, into holding close to her heart those dear to her in this realm of existence.

She mothers herself in a way that she was never mothered.

Not judging her mother. Her father. But seeing the truth of them living their truth. And it’s ok to see the truth and not cover it up with the cloak of positivity.

To make changes, to stand in our power, to stand in our truth we are called to disrobe ourselves of false teachings. She is now aware that what some call “spiritual” is false teaching that keeps her from her own truth.

And what is to be done after remembrance?

Restoration calls her to revive the belief that she is worthy. She is allowed to feel. She is allowed to fail and make mistakes. She no longer makes excuses for others. She knows right from wrong.

What once boxed her, what once shackled her is now the story that she must tell. Everything that happened to her, happened for her. And she knows it.

Nothing was lost. No tear was in vain. She takes it all in. And she is better for it. For now she knows that she can’t wait for others to speak her message. To share her truth.

She is the messenger and the message. Her truth is her story. She is the story and the storyteller. Not the story of pain. But the new story emerging from under layers of betrayal, despair, abandonment and loneliness.

And she is now in restoration. The soil of her soul is tilled.

This is holy time. This is sacred unearthing…

………………………………..

Call to Action Essay by Archaeology for the Woman’s Soul

Corina Luna Dea

Photo: Metamorphosis by Margery Gurnett