Copyright © 2009 by Larrah M. and Survivorship. All rights reserved.
You may print out one copy for use in your own healing.
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Not Just Guided Imagery! For Starrah
Larrah M.
Larrah M. is a survivor, Social Worker, and freelance writer in California. She is passionate about raising awareness of the high rate of abuse against people with disabilities and their emotional recovery needs. She urges you to learn more about both topics and disability rights in general.
Come. We have much to show you, my sister and I. Oh, don’t be frightened; the woods are not as dark as they seem, and besides, darkness has been maligned for centuries when in fact it is a twin of the light, especially in the hands of compassionate women like us who know what it is like to be afraid of the dark. We fear it far too much sometimes, imagining things that rise from our own fears. Monsters. Goblins. Banshees. Ghosts. Stereotypical witches cackling over cauldrons of some evil brew or another. But it is safe here. There is no abuse. We are both abuse survivors and the forest is full of healing. Nothing else.
Who are we, you ask? Well – she’s a real witch (a wiccan) and I’m a real witch’s sister. It is as simple, and as deep, as that. Oh, don’t run away now. We’re just warming up. She’s hasn’t got a broom or anything, see? No pointy hats or warts, though I daresay she could pull off some orange and black striped stockings if she wanted to – the legwear of many a child’s Halloween Witch costume. She’s funny and iconoclastic enough to tell you such clothing is vital. Self-mockery matters to us, especially when it breaks open stereotypes. And let’s face it, when you think of a witch, you don’t naturally think of a punk hippie woman with stars tattooed on her face, do you? No. It’s too real. It doesn’t mesh with the dark images in our heads, or the abuse we’ve seen.
She glows. See? We both carry light.
And if the forest shadows frighten you, we’ll be your guides. We’ve been here before. We’ve traveled together awhile now, talked over many hearth fires, meals, tears, and laughter. Our stories are easier when we share them, when we pour our light upon each other’s wounds and listen to the sacred in each other. And wherever we may travel, we always come back to these trees, the sacred groves where women’s wisdom has grown and flourished, despite opposition, since time began.
My sister’s name is Starrah. She is tremendously honest, compassionate, creative and wise. She believes in community, trust, solitude, and fun. She honors the sacred in all. I do, too. We share the forest with you because we believe you are trustworthy, though we must tell you that the deeper you go, the more healing the ground becomes, and it can be a bit of a shock if you are not prepared. For it is here that everything is revealed as it truly is: all connected, all one.
Are you willing to see differently than you ever have before? For here, I am a Phoenix. Brilliantly colored, capable of great ongoing transformation. And my sister? She’s an elf. Yes, an elf. We are these things outside the forest, but here the conventions are suspended and we can express our deepest selves, the selves we often hide.
Look over there. See that? The violet light ahead? Oh, pardon me, it’s indigo. We go to the light source when we need to be refilled, reminded of our power, reminded of our bond.
The light signifies the place of Starrah’s Goddess, who keeps us safe when we are afraid. Do you want to meet the Goddess? She is gentle, loving, safe, protective, and wise. Though I am not a wiccan, she has healed many wounds placed on me and on my sister. Through her, I stopped bleeding to death on a sharp, violent core of crucifixion. Sometimes, the wound will reopen, fears will rush in. I’ll denounce my new freedom. I want to return to the pain that the cross symbolizes. It is familiar and I am conflicted by it.
But Starrah is always beside me, always pouring light upon me. With her presence, she reassures me that I have seen quite enough pain. I have seen enough that the cross makes me ill. Enough to know that the theology that makes bloodshed necessary for redemption nearly killed me so many times. Altars and crosses and impossible binds shaped my view of myself, etching pain and self-sacrificial patterns into my heart and skin. My abusers nearly killed me, and then the pervasive shame flowed in and tried to drown me. Sometimes it still does, but now I come here.
Starrah brought me to the forest on a night when I was terrified, desperate to see anything but myself tied to an upside down cross splattered with red paint as part of an Easter ritual. She believed me in a way no one ever had. And for this and so many other reasons, I turn to her, and the goddess in our forest, and say ”Blessed be.”
Do you want to join us here? It takes a great deal of trust and openness, as does any journey. I never really thought I’d come, but true ritual abuse healing takes you many unexpected places. One of the most powerful of these was to my sister and our forest.
If you find you like it here, stay with us.
If you choose to leave, know that wherever you may find your healing, whatever traditions you may borrow or claim as your own, we are glad you came to visit here.
Keep healing. Blessed be.created 01/22/09 modified 05/18/2009