I think I'll start at the beginning. (Maybe I'll go to my Posterous (Now Tumblr) Blog - that I haven't updated in years - and grab a post or two from there, so I don't have to write it all over again. :)
So, I said I'd start at the beginning, but I'm not sure what that means. Hmm... Should go back when I was a small child and saw faeries in my bedroom at night? Not to be confused with an imaginary friend. Okay, I'll do that.
When I was five I told my mother a faerie lived in my stomach. That wasn’t exactly right. I knew he was separate from me, and yet still a part of me, and being such a small child I didn’t know how else to describe the daily meetings with the man on my belly. There was a faery in my head too, but I didn’t tell her that. Even at a young age I knew that kind of information would scare her. Turns out I couldn’t have frightened her any more than I had with the revelation that there was a creature living in my stomach that talked to me each night before I went to bed. She confessed years later that she thought about taking me to see a doctor.
I never did talk to anyone about the faerie in my head, in my stomach or otherwise. Unfortunately, My mother's solution was to tell me it wasn’t real. She meant well. She didn't want to have a crazy child. But that's when my natural connection with the Otherworld began to fade.
I don’t blame my mother. Well, that’s not entirely true. Somewhere inside me I do blame her a little, but I understand that she didn’t understand what I was going through or what I was seeing. As a Christian she wasn’t taught to perceive the universe as I did then or do now. She wasn’t raised to know about parallel dimensions to be able to teach me. Besides it’s silly to blame her for not knowing what she simply did not know.
For me the winding road of spirituality has been a long and difficult one. It’s hard to be on your own in the enormity of mysticism. It’s a dense world with thick walls of complex inner feelings, confusing dogma and charlatans.
Still, when I made my move from Christianity my mother was entirely supportive. Though a true believer she has never let Christianity or any organized principles dominate her actions or force her mind. Only once did she ask what I wasn’t getting from the religion she’d raised me with. She wanted to know how her convictions had failed me. How something she believed in so strongly didn't help me the way it had always helped her. Now that I’m older and raising children of my own I think she was probably saddened that I didn’t see what she saw in the religion. I think I would be at least a little upset to find my children practicing Christianity, Islam, Judaism or nothing. I’d probably feel like a failure. Well ... maybe.
I don’t see my mother as a failure. But because it took me so long to find my way back to the faeries I suppose it’s hard not to harbor a small bit of, resentment maybe, for her telling me they weren’t real. How could she be so wrong? Don’t mothers know everything? I knew faeries were real. Why didn’t she see them? It's only now that I understand not everyone sees the universe the way I do.
As a child I had no comparison for the visiting faerie men. Now I liken them to garden gnomes; prancing along my bed long before they were seen on lawns everywhere. And though there were two they generally looked the same and I considered them ‘the faerie’. Neither was particularly friendly. They wouldn’t help me with math even though I would ask, and they seemed to take pleasure in the fact that I was ignorant. I’ll confess I didn’t like them much. They scared me. They sometimes made me insecure. But what I didn’t know, what I couldn’t know, was how lonely I’d be when they went away. I didn’t realize how dependant on them I was for company. I think maybe even my sanity, because there is something comforting in patterns, the sameness happening everyday especially in the youngest of lives; even if a routine is of slight dread; a daily occurrence of tit for tat with an often belligerent faerie contrarily contradicting what is discussed.
Beyond that, my life felt difficult, as I suppose everyones is at that age. I didn’t have a huge family, but we lived close together and I was the only girl among more than half a dozen boys. I can’t remember that fact helping me. I don’t have memories of the proverbial protectors keeping me safe against childhood bullies that others write about so fondly. I do remember, whether due to my own personality flaws or not, feeling excluded most of the time. I remember being helpless to those older and more sophisticated if not more worldly than me. I can't remember having a complete sense of childhood joy that is discussed at holiday dinners between recollections of first kisses and proms. I felt a sense of complication at a very young age. Having the weight of other people’s actions rest largely at my back.
I think I'll stop here for today. I'll post more tomorrow. I'll get to the book bits soon, I promise! And the medicinal herbalism course!
Click on comments at the top if you have something to say that I need to hear!
Peace and Gratitude,
—River
So, I said I'd start at the beginning, but I'm not sure what that means. Hmm... Should go back when I was a small child and saw faeries in my bedroom at night? Not to be confused with an imaginary friend. Okay, I'll do that.
When I was five I told my mother a faerie lived in my stomach. That wasn’t exactly right. I knew he was separate from me, and yet still a part of me, and being such a small child I didn’t know how else to describe the daily meetings with the man on my belly. There was a faery in my head too, but I didn’t tell her that. Even at a young age I knew that kind of information would scare her. Turns out I couldn’t have frightened her any more than I had with the revelation that there was a creature living in my stomach that talked to me each night before I went to bed. She confessed years later that she thought about taking me to see a doctor.
I never did talk to anyone about the faerie in my head, in my stomach or otherwise. Unfortunately, My mother's solution was to tell me it wasn’t real. She meant well. She didn't want to have a crazy child. But that's when my natural connection with the Otherworld began to fade.
I don’t blame my mother. Well, that’s not entirely true. Somewhere inside me I do blame her a little, but I understand that she didn’t understand what I was going through or what I was seeing. As a Christian she wasn’t taught to perceive the universe as I did then or do now. She wasn’t raised to know about parallel dimensions to be able to teach me. Besides it’s silly to blame her for not knowing what she simply did not know.
For me the winding road of spirituality has been a long and difficult one. It’s hard to be on your own in the enormity of mysticism. It’s a dense world with thick walls of complex inner feelings, confusing dogma and charlatans.
Still, when I made my move from Christianity my mother was entirely supportive. Though a true believer she has never let Christianity or any organized principles dominate her actions or force her mind. Only once did she ask what I wasn’t getting from the religion she’d raised me with. She wanted to know how her convictions had failed me. How something she believed in so strongly didn't help me the way it had always helped her. Now that I’m older and raising children of my own I think she was probably saddened that I didn’t see what she saw in the religion. I think I would be at least a little upset to find my children practicing Christianity, Islam, Judaism or nothing. I’d probably feel like a failure. Well ... maybe.
I don’t see my mother as a failure. But because it took me so long to find my way back to the faeries I suppose it’s hard not to harbor a small bit of, resentment maybe, for her telling me they weren’t real. How could she be so wrong? Don’t mothers know everything? I knew faeries were real. Why didn’t she see them? It's only now that I understand not everyone sees the universe the way I do.
As a child I had no comparison for the visiting faerie men. Now I liken them to garden gnomes; prancing along my bed long before they were seen on lawns everywhere. And though there were two they generally looked the same and I considered them ‘the faerie’. Neither was particularly friendly. They wouldn’t help me with math even though I would ask, and they seemed to take pleasure in the fact that I was ignorant. I’ll confess I didn’t like them much. They scared me. They sometimes made me insecure. But what I didn’t know, what I couldn’t know, was how lonely I’d be when they went away. I didn’t realize how dependant on them I was for company. I think maybe even my sanity, because there is something comforting in patterns, the sameness happening everyday especially in the youngest of lives; even if a routine is of slight dread; a daily occurrence of tit for tat with an often belligerent faerie contrarily contradicting what is discussed.
Beyond that, my life felt difficult, as I suppose everyones is at that age. I didn’t have a huge family, but we lived close together and I was the only girl among more than half a dozen boys. I can’t remember that fact helping me. I don’t have memories of the proverbial protectors keeping me safe against childhood bullies that others write about so fondly. I do remember, whether due to my own personality flaws or not, feeling excluded most of the time. I remember being helpless to those older and more sophisticated if not more worldly than me. I can't remember having a complete sense of childhood joy that is discussed at holiday dinners between recollections of first kisses and proms. I felt a sense of complication at a very young age. Having the weight of other people’s actions rest largely at my back.
I think I'll stop here for today. I'll post more tomorrow. I'll get to the book bits soon, I promise! And the medicinal herbalism course!
Click on comments at the top if you have something to say that I need to hear!
Peace and Gratitude,
—River
RSS Feed
