There are words on the page, but I can’t actually read any of them. My legs tremble and I sway softly in the rocking chair, attempting to soothe myself. My tiny hands are moist with fear, gripping the edges of the book.
A thunder clap breaks the silence, the smell of desert rain flooding my bedroom as a storm comes in. I don’t even flinch because my nervous system is already activated beyond its capacity. Fight-flight has become a state of being. The chair rocks and I slip away, into the shadows. I grow small, taking up almost no space at all. Finally, peace. I have willed myself into non-existence once again. I am seven years old and this is what it’s like to visit my father’s home.
Tomorrow at breakfast, it will be as if nothing happened. We will eat toaster waffles and talk as if everything is normal, despite the ripples of rage still fresh and dripping from the walls and windows. The detritus of last night’s maelstrom, the broken glass and echoed screams, are already in the garbage, hidden from view.
As many who experience trauma at a young age, I repressed my fear and disassociated from my body to survive. And I have spent the majority of my adult life retrieving the pieces of myself, reclaiming them and calling them home, holding space, compassion, and grace for my inner child. Reclaiming myself has been a long journey, not linear nor simple. Just when I think I have uncovered the deepest chasm and shone a gentle light into it, another layer reveals itself. And so into the cauldron I plunge once again to see what remnants of myself need collecting, smoothing over, and integrating back into the whole.
In 1999 I co-founded a ritual theatre performance troupe called The Cabiri and began creating acrobatic theatre productions based on folklore and mythology. Stepping into darkness on my own terms and embodying stories like Inanna’s descent to the underworld where she encounters Ereshkigal, Queen of the Great Below, was empowering and gave context to the struggles of my childhood.
In the past two decades, I have walked in the sandals of Ereshkigal and Inanna in performance. I have felt, embodied, and expressed the fear, the longing, the hunger, the hopelessness, and the transformation and renewal of these ancient goddesses. Through the container of sacred time and sacred space created onstage and within The Cabiri, the parts of me that hid in shadow for so long started to feel seen, heard, felt, and safe to emerge and integrate into the wholeness of my being. I have learned how to claim my Place in my life, standing on the perimeter of the Circle gazing outward as guardian.
In my vulnerability lies my power. In my purity and clarity of purpose may I shine the most brightly, and in the darkest shadows have I obtained the greatest wisdom. Each time I have faced grief, loss, and trauma in my adult life, I have returned to the shadows where the most profound wisdom resides – into the arms of the Dark Mother.
She who stirs the cauldron of the Universe,
She through whose womb we die and are reborn,
She who holds the keys to facing our darkest fears,
She who unlocks the torchlit passages we will tread when we die,
She who holds the medicine that holds the power to heal or harm,
She who presides over the crossroads,
She who ushers us fearlessly into the night,
She into whose arms we fall when we draw our last breath.
I am the darkest, roughest threads in the tapestry. I am the gilded, delicate threads that glimmer in the sunlight. I am the entirety of my story. For, in the words of Andrew Chumbley, “one who is illuminated by the darkest shadow will shine with the brightest light.”
myth.and.the.muse 