Here we go: Family Lore/Law and healing patterns

Hello! So huge is this that I have to divvy it up to try and make it palatable, not only for you lot reading but for me as I catalogue it all in my time - this blog is a time-stamp for me as much as it is an outlet.

 This post is just part of a thread of thought/learning pertinent to cross-generational childbirth/loss and patterns of behaviour that I am going to have to split across all three of my blogs. There is a lot of personal family information - but incredibly pertinent to my discovery (which relates directly to my own healing and understanding of the burdens of my journey) - which I want to discuss on the private blog in due course. 

There are also a number of different realms and realities associated with what I am uncovering, which are probably best suited to the Earth Healing blog (where I am, after all, trying to collaborate and consolidate what I come across, like an index of sorts). 

And, of course, there is the continuing story of me, the person, which you have come to know through this blog - and this is where I want to begin to unravel not only so I can share, but also so I can understand and get my head around this most amazing story that has been unfolding. I would be delighted if you visit all three places, to gain a more rounded insight, if you feel moved to do so! Otherwise, I'll be sharing public thoughts here. As always.

A little preface:
I am writing about this in the spirit of sharing, in case this little snippet of my ongoing discovery might cause a spark of recognition for someone reading. This is a story/awareness not unique to me. And the experience that has journeyed me through this awakening is the vehicle by which I can explain how, by healing the family patterns from generations dead and gone, a remarkable and unmistakable healing - a pardon of the past - can take place.

My story is a rather extreme version of this occurrence/possibility. I am getting used to the fact that it is this way because it serves to highlight to me, personally, where I have had opportunities to discover, uncover and learn more. Constantly shifting and lifting all the drift wood. If I did not have this hugely impacting succession of the same lessons, I would not have persevered to learning the truth about my generational patterns of abuse, neglect and loss. It has been an enormous package, so huge in fact that I am struggling to fit it all into words. I possibly never will. But I am trying to describe it because I also realise that this is not something for me, alone, to simply discover, heal and move on with. That has never been part of my social cause. I get that now.

Getting to the crux of it:
All of us have the same opportunities to heal our family patterning - after all, we are all borne of families generations in the making somehow (even when we are adopted in to families, although this creates a really intriguing sidetrack). Whether this is through dissolving redundant but, regardless, still prevalent family lore (the family stories, traditions, anecdotes, "just the way it is in our family") or discovering ways of life that have amazing similarities to those of your ancestors, even when carried out 50, 70, 100 years apart.

When I had my first pregnancy, I did not even contemplate its connection to any sort of "bigger picture". When I lost my second, third, fourth and then fifth, I didn't think I was incredibly unique. I still did not really think about my place "in all of this", my humility didn't allow it.

My sixth pregnancy produced Ellanor. With her - and this is putting it very briefly!! - I was delivered a gift of glimpsing life beyond life after she died. If you doubt, I don't blame you. And if you doubt, all I can say is..... trust and faith and a healthily skeptic open mind is what saw me through the next six years (and counting). Trust me ;) Heh. So, I spent this pregnancy devoting much time to contemplating my grandmother and her own losses - of which I believe there were at least two, possibly three or even more - in her second trimester of pregnancy. BUT this is as far as I thought my connection to her went. I thought, at this point, and for all these years since, that I truly understood the kinship I felt to her the instant she died (my grandmother and not Ella). And that this posthumous kindred spirit, for want of a better explanation of it, was what I bonded with during the months of not only conceiving but then carrying Ellanor (for Ellanor came in to my awareness some seven months before I fell pregnant with her). Little did I know that this was just an introduction to really getting to know what my Grandmother had been all about, and her mother before her. AND, the most mind-blowing part of all, that the multiple pregnancy connection that I thought was the thing we shared (and her mother before her as well, who had a total of twelve live births before dying aged 38 when 7 months pregnant) was actually a ruse. That this female energenetic connection I have with them was merely the hook, ensuring I really understand them on this level in order to get to the real crux of all the scandalous running around that really went on, starting at least as far back as turn of the last century London?

My seventh, eighth and ninth pregnancies netted no result, or so I thought, but a dashing of hopes and now numbed and incomprehensible grief and pain. Sorrow and sadness were dancing within me beside my belief, belonging and will to strive/survive. But....

At this point, I also began to develop a real sense of belonging to a greater, much larger tapestry. Me and my failed pregnancies - and, indeed, the dear soul Ella - were but a miniscule part of it. However, without us, there would have been an undeniable hole in the overall picture. So the picture not only required me and my journey with these babes, I relied on it (completely unknowingly, unconsciously until only last week) to seek my Comeback, my homecoming and my calling.

I am floored to discover, only after pregnancy 10 (which gave us our blessed relief in the form of our second girl, Lolly), and then pregnancies 11 through to 14, which I of course lost last week, that there is NOT a curse on me but a course. Through me. And through me, my paternal female genetic line has been patiently, fervently holding. Waiting for this moment in time to be discovered by me. The pregnancy last week reminded me to keep seeking answers - I had stopped, foregone that duty, as getting pregnant is not on my radar anymore and the game of chance and two lines on a wee-stick is not one I am actively playing anymore - and I received them.

Like a bolt out of the blue. Or, hey, a burst blood vessel in the leg. Whichever ;)

So now, I am going to throw it over to the Earth Healing blog where, if you are so inclined, you can go catch up with the workings/"mechanics" of healing a family pattern. Or, indeed, how to discern whether you have one to heal. Give me a few days (maybe even a week or two) for this one, as it is huge and I need to get it as 'right' as I can in my head and heart before I can post it. As well, I need to get some of the more personal jot-points down and out quickly, before I forget and lose the essence of my great-grandmother (in particular), and I want to do that behind the veil of my private blog, for the protection of my family still living more than anything.


Phew. Well, I feel a tad lighter, getting that out of my head. Thank you for lending me your eyes, if you went with me on that. I hope it wasn't too hard to follow? If anyone has any questions they'd like to ask for the sake of clarifying in their own field of awareness, please ask. It may help immensely in shaping future posts on this subject of energenetic (family pattern) healing and for that, I would be ever so grateful for the cerebral stimulation from those interested in learning more. If you catch my drift...

Cruisin' for a bruisin' and other mundane stuff

1. The bruise is looking better, day 4. No really. It is! I'm not compressing it anymore, the swelling's gone down heaps. Still getting weird stabbing pains and changed nerve sensations (feels like someone tickling me with a piece of string) all down my leg, particularly in the ankle and backside of my knee.

2. Nobody told me that once they learn how to swing, a young independent child is not going to swing out there on their own. They're going to screech for you every 30 seconds to "watch me!", "watch how high I'm going!", "look at my skirt flying!", "I'm holding onnnn!"  Dear lord, have mercy. Please. It's almost 6 o'clock. Twelve hours IS my limit, we've discussed this.

3. Just when I was standing peeling macadamia choc chip cookies off the cookie sheet, thinking about those mothers of more than one child who would no doubt look at me and secretly want to stab me for being such a wet blanket on matters of "I can't DOOOO THISSSS anymore today", I heard Lolly singing heartily....

Mama Mia
Have a go again
My, my
I don't want a sister

Oh, yeah? Well, story of my life. We did have a go again (albeit by big scary accident) and look what happened. Again. Soooo... Sing your story walking, baby. Sing it walking. Or swinging. Whatever. Just get outside and give Mummy some space (and here take a handful of biscuits with you so I don't eat them all because I love you, my sweetest most preciousest angel-features babydoll sweetheart).


Annnnnnnd.....

out.

Once.... upon a time. On Fathers Day.

A little bear came running in to her parents' room, all wide-eyed and slam-door-open-y and shouty. Luckily for her the parents, it was a smidge after 7am. And there was much rejoicing that a "sleep-in" had occurred (regardless of the fact that Mama Bear had again been awoken at ungodly hour of the wee morning and had only just fallen asleep and ended up getting a mere four hours yet again, for about the fifth time this past week..... but I digress...)

Papa Bear, after the same amount of severely sleep deprived nights, was a tad like this. And he remained that way all sodden day. And Baby Bear was a little like this. Of course, Mama Bear played peacemaker and her role was repetitively like this.

In all, a good day was had. No, really. Papa Bear received a hand painted mug and he was touchingly delighted by it. It is going to work with him as a water mug (for Papa Bear doesn't have hot drinks.... negating the need for a mug, but Baby Bear was sooooo beside herself to paint it and bake it for him that Mama Bear could not distract her from the idea).

And Papa Bear was also dutifully pleased with his family pass to a session at the MSO Kids Classical concert series. Always a fabulous day out, as The Three Bears can attest, having gone to one of the "Jay Laga'aia presents" sessions this past August (and Mama Bear heartily recommends it to any parent bears reading who happen to live in Melbourne).

Most of all, Papa Bear now cherishes a beautiful card by Baby Bear that was lovingly toiled over last night, which reads (and Mama Bear took the dictation verbatim)...

"I love you because....

I like your smell
I like your tickly beard.
I like playing golf with you.

That's it."

Mama and Papa Bear feel full tonight. And it's not just because of the lemon slices that Nanna Bear made and brought to the family gathering this afternoon, either.

Here's to all the Aussie Papa Bears. Wishing you and your cubs a happy father's day.

I can't sleep

Thar she blows! Doppler at 3:15am, Melbourne time

I am surely the only person in Melbourne who left their child's entire wardrobe "drying" on the line. When 90km/h+ winds were forecast. And no let-up until at least daylight.

The wind is so strong it has woken me at 2am. I didn't peg anything that well that it will survive a night on the sodden, gust-blown line out there.

Someone in Gippsland sure is going to love Lolly's clothes tomorrow.

Nice one, Einstein.

New posts

I have had a very intriguing and enlightened 48 hours. I am needing a lot of time and space to properly write about it, but I certainly will. Hold me to it. (No, seriously... this time, I promise I will...) This is a biggy, though, I'm talking the discovery of the need to heal and pardon past family patterns (so far, I have been presented with the connections to look at the past three generations prior to mine - and when I say "given", I mean, they've bloody well shown up and indicated exactly what I need to do! I even got smacked in the back of the head yesterday).

SO. As I said. Big, enlightening stuff. If you count being clocked over the noggin "enlightening", that is.

In the meantime, there are new posts at both my other blogs. For those interested, we are currently under the influence of ROSE energy. The information about this is on the Earth Healing blog.

I also burst a vein (am assuming it's a small, trivial thing...) last night and had to keep it iced and compressed for several hours. I think I did well to only have it swell as big/small as it did and this morning it looks like a casual minor bruise. Last night, the swelling was over an area the size of my hand and it hurt to blazers. I would like to credit not only my very limited first aid skills, but also the homoeopathic remedy I took (it was a shaky start, largely due to my fluctuating emotions I see clearly now - a wondrous thing, that hindsight - but God, how I very much humbly appreciate my homoeopath being on call, even at 8pm on a Friday night).

It actually looks quite pissy in this photo. Oh, look, and there's Bloody Cat! Right there. All the time. Just try getting a snap without her smooching like a slippery eel between my legs. After all, my legs are now her legs.

Apparently.

Waggedy-Ann

That's what she's known as in this house anyway. Or Wagger-D.

Well, that and The Little Shit, Shit-Head, Retardo Montalban, Drongo, Jazzmat (because they are the two most often-uttered words we have to yell at her - Jazz! MAT!), and just plain old uninspiring Stinky.

Waggedy-Ann. That fucking wagging tail. It's as strong as a kangaroo's with just as much kick in it *pun intended*  Poor Pep has taken to bracing and closing her eyes just in case when she's behind Jazz because, guaranteed, the old girl will get socked in the face by that menacing, unstoppable wagging lethal weapon. I have even heard Peppy wince.... before she tries to maul Jazz's ears off. She might be old but don't go mistaking old for slow.

But god, she's a gorgeous sight to behold. If, you know, you like dogs that is. I still get stopped by at least one person every single time I take her out (which is roughly two-three times a week these days).

Getting a bit tired

Look, I don't mean to harp. And I promise I'm not moping about this. But I just want to say.... nay, let me SCREAM it....

I don't care so much that I "still have plenty of time" and that, apparently, at 35 now, I am "still young". What the HELL!?!?  I have heard these same two sentiments since I was 24 and was scraping myself back together after our first miscarriage. Twenty-four! Now thirty-five. Thirteen babies conceived within that time. Still hearing it. Still hearing that I am still young!! Perhaps it's meant as a compliment, after all, I do still look like I'm a twelve year-old....

Do people honestly think these platitudes bear any weight with a woman who's just lost a baby?? If you have ever said these words, ever intend on saying these words, ever overhear these words and think it's a nice thing to say...... please have a good, hard think again.

I don't appreciate the inference. That I am somehow still good and should still be up for another 5, 7, maybe if I'm "lucky" 10, more years of this pain and torment. I never have liked it and never found comfort in knowing I still have all this time in the world to accept, graciously, more and ever more pain and sadness. This is my 11th year in this "game". It goes far beyond what I'm experiencing physically and I know it. I've stared that realisation in the face for a good seven years now. Ella taught me that.

This trite spouting of words is not helpful. The best thing that a few people have said this week to me is, "God.... that is just awful. I don't know what to say, except that I'm sorry."

The rest? All bullshit. Especially, and not only, the neighbour who replied (when seeing me hobbling around after Lolly in the front yard and learning what was happening), "Oh, geez.... well, you don't want to hear that I'm pregnant with number two, then, do you ha ha ha?"  No. No I probably didn't. But what choice do I have? You've blurted. I've heard. Ya think you could've maybe told me some other way, some other time perhaps? Considering we don't move in the same circles, it could have waited. Anyhow, congratulations.

That is all. As you were. I'm off to the chocolate shop to drown in a mug of mocha with Lolly and my dear friend and (another) neighbour. Still nursing these crippling cramps, four days post-bomb-drop.