Omen Day 7- Dolphins and Grief

Omen Day 7 

Omen Day 7 - Dolphins and Grief
I had a really hard night last night.
Everything was seemingly okay and then in the middle of the night I got triggered, and wooooooshhhh.
I was taken by my grief into a very deep place. A scary place. My face and hair is still wet with tears in fact. My eyes are still swollen as I write and my body is exausted from shaking, screaming and crying.
Yep. Full on trauma response.
In those moments of despair it’s as if no one understands. It’s as if I’m all alone in space and as loud as I call, there won’t be an answer of reassurance or love.
There just isn’t sometimes.
And then I feel trapped.
Trapped in the grief without a witness.
Drumming, singing, wailing and crying along with water and smoke seem to be my helpers in those moments. And Eric. He does the best he can but it's a lot to hold.
I grieved for my community last night at the altar with Isis. I grieved the loss of friendships and relationships. I grieved the loss of my own innocence. I grieved the village. Grieved the tribe. Grieved the Earth. Grieved the Galactic War of Karma. The War of Ideals. Grieved Incarnating. Regreted it even.
And there,somewhere mid panic attack as I used my voice to save my life again like always through singing, chanting, humming, and moaning, in the midst of one of the worse episodes I’ve ever had, I wrote this song.
The words go:
‘I can’t see you but I know your there
I can’t see you but I know you’re here
I know your here with me.'
I toned, and sang, and burned resins, and cried some more.
Literally thank Goddess for my altar last night. Thank Goddess for the image of the Winged Mother by candlelight there to remind me I am held.
I’ve been in attunement daily and nightly there, and I could feel the fellowship with me at the altar even though I couldn’t see them.
And my guides. And healthy ancestors.
The tone of Mahamundi.
And I could feel through the veil of my pain that laid heavy on my heart and body the love of The Mother streaming into my being, into my energy body, like a warmth that settles my nerves amidst tidal waves of tears and heartache.
Wailing and moaning into the abyss of the altar, my voice would ring so shrill sometimes that my singing bowl full of holy water would ring right back.
I’d breathe to take a listen to the tone it was singing, and this helped me return. I put my hands in the crystal cold water held inside my singing bowl and placed some on my face to mix with my tears.
The mother washed me at her altar last night. She washed my heart and witnessed my grief.
I’m coming into love and acceptance of myself. That even though I grieve, I love and accept myself.
That even though I have panic attacks, I love and accept myself. I’ll still burn lavender. And make myself a bath, and take my herbs and medicines, and use my words to advocate for my needs.
I know I am still worthy of love. Worthy of being held. Worthy of being seen and supported, even through I grieve.
I have compassion for myself. I’m still growing and evolving and doing the best I can even if at times it feels like I backtrack or end up overwhelmed again when I thought I was doing so well.
I’m human.
These feelings aren’t going to magickally go away. I’m just gonna get better and better at tending to them.
I’ll keep growing better boundaries, better environments, better relationships.
And even though sometimes I feel alone, I’m not alone. There are forces with me I cannot see. I have faith in that. It’s my only solace.
In fact I think this is why the Goddess is here on Earth as an archetypal form. To be our mother and hold us when we feel alone and scared.
When we’re seemingly too much for others to witness, she can witness us, even in the middle of the night covered in sweat and ugly tears.
She comforted me in between phases of crying and crying, and as I settled more and more I went to sleep and had a dream.
In the dream I can see my 5 year old niece Lainey and she’s just witnessed me grieving.
She’s not scared, but I realize she hasn’t yet seen a human being in that condition and she looks confused, curious even.
She hasn’t known that kind of suffering before.
I mean, I suppose she's cried and wailed like the best of em. Haha. But she'd never seen an adult do it.
She wanted to know more about it, and I didn't know how to explain it to her.
I suppose children do grieve better than adults do sometimes. Maybe why that’s also why they still have room for so much joy.
They haven’t yet closed off and numbed their hearts with sedation and control. They let themselves feel it without judgement.
And I suppose that’s also why there’s such a healing energy when we tune in with a great Mother.
Because we are her crying babies.
She holds that little grieving human child and allows for their cries without judgement because she knows it comes from a deep well of loving. She knows it's okay.
She calls to me in those moments with the softest and kindest voice. 'It's okay. I'm here. Even if you can't see me. I'm here'.
There’s so much more I wanna say. So much more I wish was safe to reveal in my heart.
But I also know some of this process isn’t meant for the middle of the town square of the internet.
I already show you my bleeding heart from beneath the tree in the middle of the village all the time.
Part of my role I suppose.
The role I embody. The dreamwork I do, the sessions I do, they’ve come as a direct result of developing spiritual tools to cope with my human as F reality.
I’m here in the weight of being incarnate like everyone else.
We all suffer.
And we’re not alone.
I am dedicated, and will be brave to utilize my spirit and voice to be authentic with myself and others.
I’ll keep going.
Keep living.
Keep studying with fervor the ways of alchemy.
To transmute the pain.
To do the real work to heal.
That’s why I value honesty so much.
It sets us free.
To be with suffering, to know it’s okay. To know it’s held with the rest of it.
Anyways,
I pulled dolphin for July.
I have no idea what that means and wish I had something deep to say about it to impress you haha.
But I don’t.
I’m just sitting under a cedar tree on my cell phone drying tears with their branches doing my best to stay balanced and keep writing about the Omens.
I don’t need to figure anything out.
I just need presence and empathy the way only the Mahamundi holds.
And I suppose that’s the medicine of Dolphin also. They’re healing because they’re so ever present.
Just looking at us, smiling.
I hear they help people give birth.
The dolphins are often there at the transition of it all.
Singing. Sending frequencies of love.
July is my birthday month.
So I suppose it does all make sense somehow.
Until tomorrow, I’ll be here at the tree.
Eating lots of adaptogens and writing up a storm.
Send reiki.
Yours,
Emily Ra
Oh, and happy Now You Are. May we all have the strength and resilience to weather all the joys and the sufferings that come with being human with grace, honesty, bravery and wisdom.
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