Marumo Fatshe- No More Fighting

I am starting this post with some reflection on the last one, the one covering my jive with love. My way in to this has to be an acknowledgment of the the role that writing has played in my life. I have in fact discovered that each time I write, and tell my stories, a resultant shift in my perspective on whatever it is I write about occurs, broadening my understanding.

One way I have given form to this love of writing is through journaling, which I started in high school in the early ’80’s. Journaling has been my constant, unconditional witness and companion.  Also my passage. It always delights me to note how each time I go back to read my journal entries, my heart softens somewhat, self disapproval diminishes, and I end up loving myself just that much more, in spite of my myotonic idiosyncrasies. Writing is my tool of self inquiry, my yoga.

Writing is also my plea to be seen… An expression of a deep longing to be seen, no, in truth, to be found.

I do know where this longing to be found comes from- the first source is likely related to childhood experiences that made me play down my own needs and assume responsibility way too young, coupled with an urgent need to please and not disappoint. The second source is more eminent, and is possibly ancient, older than me even, with roots stretching long across many lifetimes, and most likely across us, humanity. It is a longing to be joined with Divinity, with Infinite Oneness, which for me expresses itself through the entirety of my human life, every day highlighting  my separation from All There Is.

This is possibly why falling in love is so compelling- It may just stir within us the experience of Oneness, possible in the dissolution of boundaries which is necessary for facilitating the process of falling in love with another person.

But for me, this longing for me is not a happy longing in the least. In fact, it is beset with excruciating, difficult to explain pain, showing up as random sadness and depression, nestled within a generalised state of disappointment. Since it is a state, it is not in any way attached to any specific life events. It simply exists as one (Irresistable) option amongst a field of many other emotional states, stubbornly refusing to give way to contentment when happy events occur. Instead, this generalised disappointment gets me to feel empty, fail to appreciate the simple beauty of life, leading me to doubt whether God exists for me.

This emptiness was countered, as I wrote in my previous post,as I fell in love with Em. Falling in love gifted me with a precious glimpse of myself. Oh, what a relief it was to know that I exist, since look, he has fallen in love with me. I must therefore exist.

Finally, I was found! Someone had found me a worthwhile find!

Of course we know that it didn’t quite end that happily for me, but in the long run, yes, this whole experience had a beneficial result. Naturally getting to the gem did not exclude pain along the way, although I did manage to work through it.  Eventually. It is only when I had an almost repeat experience with a different man that I got plunged into the “why me?” disappointment and anger at God and myself. How could Divinity send me love, only to snatch it back even before it got delivered? I was the common denominator here, so maybe it was me.

My slightly dramatic self made meaning that it’s not these men that didn’t want me, but  God, since my original longing  was for God. In fact a few weekends ago, as I was sweeping my stoep of dead leaves in the frightful South Easter wind ( the very one that named this lovely, beloved part of South Africa The Cape of Storms), in deep desolation, I arrived at the conclusion that perhaps God doesn’t like me. You know how we all have people that we just don’t jibe with? Through no fault of their own? Well at the time, as I meekly coaxed the dead leaves out from under the table, I considered the possibility that maybe I am that person for God.

Yes I know God is not a person but more of an …___________… and so my anthropomorphic view was ridiculous, I know. But my feelings at the time were real, and the pity I gave myself may have been the only thing that propped me up. I had to give myself permission to be worthy even of that pathetic pity.

A few years ago I read a book written by a woman who relates her trance visit to the Akashic Records, where she’d had an experience that clearly told her that God not only loved her, but liked her! That line had me transfixed completely. Fast forward to me fighting with the stormy leaves in tears on my stoep a few weeks ago, and my wounded self sees herself as The problem, unliked even by God.

If Divinity does not like me, and is not coming to find me, then who is? The loneliness of this thought is unutterable.

I know in my head that I’m not lost, and that my wholeness is completely whole. More than that, I know that there’s a part of me that is expansive and limitless, that is closer to …___________ … and therefore knows that I am already Home. However, the human me is out there, pilgrimaging through the world, getting consumed by the promises of the world.

This human me-form is ravenously eating my way through people and experiences, trying to find and feed all the lost pieces of myself; pieces rejected and abandoned, hated and shamed through the pain and trauma of being human.

I do however know that I do not have to be found. In my head I know that, but the head is hardly the best place to hold learning. My Hara is the place, the one best suited for holding and integrating learning through experience. And my Hara told me that, since my Em and Other interaction, I am the one that needed to find myself, and want that self that I find, as it is. At the time though, I held this in my head only as information, doing very little to put it into, hmm, action is not the word- into form, in my being.

I have since, however, started exploring different ways of wanting myself as I am, starting with intentionally searching for all my lost and rejected parts, and making home for them in me. It is arduous, and so far I have a very bad track record. I’m good at letting myself down, and not showing up for myself. But I know that loving myself is absolutely is a doable imperative. I do feel like I have been trying to do this all my life, but clearly there are still orphaned aspects of me that long for Me to find them, and bring them Home.

I have thus decided to undertake this pilgrimage through work that I have been threatening to do forever. I have been saying I want to run retreats, and have done very little to craft processes that include other people, other than myself, mostly because of fear of disappointing clients.  Also, the doubting part of me doubts my qualifications, demanding that I enrol for some studies to ready me.

But it is time, so, yes, I see you doubting self. Now sit down. I have a contribution to make.

Right now I am putting together two women’s circles- the first one being for older women over the age of 45, a Circle of Crones, to help us step with conscious awareness eventually into the elder role; and the other, for younger women below 44-  The Maidens’ Clan. This will have me fully immersing myself in my priestess work, which makes me happy. My African Goddess divination cards are also in process, as are other individual rites of passage ceremonial work for lone pilgrims.

I am nourished by the possibilities of my work as a rites of passages companion, of journeying back to me with others, and being a companion as others journey back to themselves, all of us using love as our vehicle.

Thank you for being my companion through my writing. You indeed are helping me claim myself by being my witness.

It is time I took this work that I love so much, and that feeds me, seriously. This somehow feels like my process of growing up, and hopefully of being a grown up as I approach 52 next year.

One thing I know is that this work is not coming from me. It feels inspired somehow. So perhaps God is finding me, after all… And perhaps likes me…

Ka Lerato 🙏🏾