Browsing Tag

darkness

Becoming Visible, Brave, emerge, fear

Afraid of My Light

October 8, 2013

“It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.” – Marianne Williamson

towardthelightmeghangenge

My green-eyed monster reared its ugly head today. Instead of seething in a soup of jealousy, I got very still, closed my eyes, and asked it what it wanted.  It turned out that inside of my head was a small green gremlin, jumping up and down shouting, “See me too! See me too!”

When I sat with it and cuddled it and tried to understand it, it disappeared. In its place was a very small soul. Looking out at me through tangled hair, it was huddled in a dark corner. The message coming from it was very different. The message coming from it was, “It’s not safe to be seen.”

No matter how long I sat there and tried to visualise it uncurling and coming out of hiding, it wouldn’t budge. This is a very deep, very old piece – possibly even older than I am – and like approaching a frightened animal, I know I need to take it slowly. I need to move a little closer to it every day; gain its trust before it will allow me in.

I share this today because the more I get to know myself and the more time I spend with other women, the more I understand that we are desperately afraid of ourselves. We are afraid to want. Afraid to be big. Afraid to be loud. Afraid to take up space. Afraid to be seen.

We are afraid of our light.

But we want those things just as much. We want to be seen. We want to stretch out to our edges. We want to be lit up from the inside so that we can shine that light outwards.

And the world needs that light. So badly.

So I told that little soul that I would be back. Every day. And together we would figure it out  – until we both felt safe being seen. I committed to this because I know that every time one of us heals – even just a little – we shine a little brighter, and that light can help others do the same.

What will it take to shine your light?

xo

 

Stories

The Village – A Story

December 11, 2012

“Human folly does not impede the turning of the stars.” – Tom Robbins

A Storyteller with no voice is a sad state of affairs!  I had always heard that when you stepped into what you were supposed to be doing, the universe would reward you with flow.  Flow is the opposite of what November felt like!

The upside of nearly a month of no creativity is that I am full of new story ideas!  I hope you enjoy this one. It is a little longer than normal at 8 minutes, but it’s one of the stories that just about wrote itself.

From me to you, with love.

 

[box]

120 Audio Link

The Village (8:26) by Meghan Genge

[/box]

Brave, collecting emotions, grief

Talking About Grief

October 30, 2012

There are not yet words for what we are swimming through. Things are happening we cannot say or even percieve, because no one admits they are happening. This is where the limitations of human conciousness show up: we need words in order to make things real. If we don’t talk about something, it’s as though it’s not happening. And yet it is happening.”  – Christina Baldwin. Storycatcher

 

No one ever talks about how exhausted the process of bereavement makes you.  They talk about how sad they are and the stages of grief and all of that technical stuff.  They talk about baggage and processing and funerals and details.  You always know how someone died and when they died and when and where they will be ‘put to rest.’  But at a time of loss, it is not the dead that need that rest.

We have had a profound loss in our family.  That is why I am not here with the story I had hoped to give.  I haven’t had a chance to record it, but more than that, I have simply been too tired.  I have fallen asleep in three different chairs today and in the middle of three different conversations.  It’s as if the body simply can only take so much emotion and can only go so deep for so long before it decides it has had enough and shuts down.

We have talked for several days now, in that strange gap in your life that death opens.  We have used words to remember, to understand, to question, to wonder and to share memories.  It’s as if we must get it all out there; get it all said in order to cement it into our minds and our experience.  I have heard some stories three or four times already.  These tales have already begun to take on the status of family legend.  The mythology is being created around me as I sit as witness.  It is sacred and strange all at once.

But the fatigue remains,  and although proper sleep alludes us, we have begun to sit together more quietly and to turn to distractions to fill the silence of our tired selves.  Our minds turn from telling the stories to storing them.  New files are created from this unusually massive download in our cells, and we struggle to string a full sentence together.

It is a ritual and a ceremony that is so personal and yet so universal.  Birth and death are the things we all truly have in common.

But it is the stories we tell about those things and the time in between them that creates our experience.

Sending love to you and your loved ones tonight.  Hold them tight.  Tell your stories now while everyone is there to hear them.

xo