I’ve always had a thing for taking photos of my feet wherever I go. My daughter doesn’t get it. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I have quite a collection now of ‘feet’ photos – from Rome to Uluru to this particular one in Chapel St, South Yarra, Melbourne. It may just look like someone with their feet up having some frozen yoghurt. And yes I suppose it it!
my happy place, Frozen @ Chapel St, South Yarra, Melbourne
This particular evening though was a marker of transition. A sign to myself that I will be okay on my own. Twice a year for the past 8 years I have travelled back to my home town of Melbourne and soaked up the city – from eating at numerous cafes, to shopping along Chapel St, to soaking up art at the National Gallery, to taking in a show at the Regent Theatre, to watching ‘the Tiges’ win at the MCG – and always with my daughter.
I was on my own though on this particular cold and winters evening. It made everything even more delicious. Whilst the arctic winds blew down the streets, the trams rattled along breaking the evening stillness and everyone was rushing in doors to get warm, I was out eating frozen yoghurt at 9.30pm. Why because I could. No one was there to tell me I couldn’t.
It was my last night in this city and I had just returned from a country drive. I was out one more time to soak it all in. My last little shopping trip saw me purchase my first ever pair of Vans canvas sneakers – in blue – my favourite colour. Even to this day I treasure those Vans, quite symbolic – new adventure, new shoes. Vans were always something my kids wore, they couldn’t believe I treated myself to my own pair. You would’ve thought the world had ended with their reaction.
So with my new shoes and warm jacket on I walked Chapel St one last time on this cold evening. There is something magical about the crisp fresh air hitting your cheeks to make you feel alive. I love it. The cafes never seem to close so I headed to one of my favourite cafes and treated myself once more to a healthy dessert, mango frozen yogurt topped with pomegranate seeds and coconut slivers. And to cap it all off I actually took a photo of that moment, not quite a selfie, but hey its a start.
My ancestral search quest began back in 1995 not long after my first child was born. Yet it wasn’t until 20 years later that it was really given space and time. Recently divorced, I was longing for connection. All of my relationships were altering, I was lost and felt completely disconnected. The searching process of my ancestors gave me a connection. A point from which I realised I am one within many. Whilst I felt alone, I too have come from somewhere and in that slowly redefined what true connection is.
One curious element sprang forth in amongst hours and hours and hours of ancestry research. Why was it that certain family members, many two or three generations back seemed so familiar? How is that they literally jump out from ancestry.com into my life with such a force that I became almost obsesses with them and their life journey? Where did the tears come from within me as I read their personal challenges? Why do some have this huge red flag waving at me whilst others are simply names on a page, foreign and always will be? No heart pull, simply silence. Why did some places from lands far away feel like home? What was the pull I felt to travel to the other side of the Planet? Intriguing.
The deeper into my generational research, the further back in time I travelled themes of life experiences began to emerge. I began to put together the pieces of my puzzle.
I was most intrigued about the repetition of personal challenges and how these similarities connected one generation to the next. One after the other my grandmothers, great grand mothers, great-great grandmothers and even three generations back revealed their stories of loss and pain.
my maternal nan, Frances Ivy
The one common thread was their experience of having to start life anew following the deep personal loss of their husband (or other significant male) either through death or divorce.
In reading their stories I felt a kinship a connection. I felt my own. What was it I could learn from them in overcoming my own personal challenge? How did they go on? What did they do? What qualities did they engender that I could access in the here and now? I realised I wasn’t alone in my grief, the women before could show me a way. No longer were many of them names on pages but real women demonstrating courage and resilience.
I also became curious from a soul perspective about the repetition of patterns, the imprints of the past and the potential for transgenerational healing being presented for me. Transgenerational trauma, the awareness of it, in of itself, is ripe with potential for personal insight, healing and transformation. I will write more on this later.
My experience of being compelled to visit place, strong connection to particular ancestors and my introduction into the field of transgenerational imprints and trauma have added another element to Enlightened Traveller.
By visiting place and being open to what was revealed, could I play some part in healing imprints of the past? Would this heal the wounds and enable a new path to be created?
The document gazing back at me from my laptop oozed a strong sense of service and purpose. Regal and authoritative it indoctrinated all those who put their name to it a commitment to Country, to King, to God “So help me, God”.
He had put his name to it on the 7th July 1915. His signature gave no indication of how he would’ve been feeling. Strong, large cursive dominating letters signed on the line ‘R V Kinna’. With that one signature Reuben was now enlisted at ‘His Majesty Service’ in the Australian Imperial Force. The oath dictated he would “well and truly serve … the Australian Imperial Force until the end of the war”. That wasn’t needed. In just over a year he would be dead. Killed “in the Field” on the battlefields in France.
He would’ve had no idea what was to come. Would he have wanted to? Did any of these innocent, brave young men?
That signature sentenced him to death, along with over 6,800 other young men. The statistics still to this day shock. During the seven weeks of fighting at Pozieres, France over 6,800 men were killed or died from their wounds. Three Australian divisions suffered 23,000 casualties. More than what was experienced in Gallipoli.
His death notice in ‘The Ballarat Courier’ on 23rd September 1916 simply stated “he was noted for his kindly disposition”.
Small comfort for his family.
Sources:
Australian WWI Service Records, 1914-1920 for Reuben Victor Kinna
It was during my first trip to ‘the Kimberley’s’ that I fell in love with them. Dominating the rugged and dry landscape, the boab trees commanded my attention. There was something about their bulbous shape that just made me want to hug them. This I did, more then once and with their wide girth my hands never fully surrounded the trunk. Adding to my joy and never ending sense of wonder was the uniqueness of each boab, never did two ever look the same.
Whilst the boab trees scattered the land, it was an incredibly rare sight to see a boab flower. The pods that encase and protect the seed have a soft velvet cover. They hang delicately from the branches in stark contrast to the solidness and security that the round trunk provides. Whilst I had seen images of the flowers in books and read of their healing potential and indigenous connection it was not until my next trip a few years later that I would witness a boab flower in full bloom.
During this second trip, I was moving through an incredibly difficult period with my marriage ending only a few months prior. I headed to this region as I knew the land would be very healing. It was a true gift for me to witness a boab in full bloom, it felt like an offering from the Gods. I resonated with the flower and reflected upon her process of blooming. What an incredibly amount of tension and force would be required for her to break free from the protective shell, a shell that once protected and kept her safe yet now it was limiting. As a seed within the pod, she hung unwavering throughout the rains, scorching sun, humidity and winds. Clinging to her one substance, the tree. Yet she knew she was more then the seed. Patiently she waited until it was her time to push through the shell and break free. She was still part of the tree, yet she was expressing her uniqueness and shone for those with eyes to see.
The reflection given to me was clear. I too needed to break free from the shell, to become who I could be, to bloom beyond what I knew was possible. It would take incredible effort and force; tension would be present through the breaking down of old ways. Yet it was a process already underway and one that could not be stopped.
My love and connection with the boab tree went to a whole new level throughout that trip. She is a healer for me. Some pods had dropped to the ground and opened revealing the innerness. Soft and velvet the petals still wrapped upon themselves, frozen in time. Yet those that bloom are exquisite to behold, the large fragrant flower with its fleshy white to cream petals commands your attention. Its numerous stamens shoot upwards towards the sky.
It’s a powerful healer as a flower essence as it can assist in the breaking of strong, deeply ingrained negative family patterns. Resulting in deep personal transformation, it is a profound healer working initially on the spiritual level, and then working its way down through the emotional and mental bodies.
If you are finding it difficult to break free from limiting and/or repetitive patterns, behaviours and mental mindsets perhaps consider the boab essence?
The Doctrine of Signatures is interesting in so much that you will often seen groups or clusters of boab trees. Like a family quite often becoming enmeshed in one another, the boab essence addresses this restriction.
Personally the boab flower essence is the one constant on my bedside table. Its incredibly powerful and supportive through the personal transformation processes. Sometimes ‘the ties that bind’ also restrict and prevent your growth.
The boab provides the strength needed to release the old way and enable more of your true spirit self to anchor.
It was through reading Ian White’s ‘Bush Flower Healing’ that I became aware of the connection the Indigenous communities have with the boab. The traditional birthing practice in these local communities involved the use of the boab flowers. If they were in season, the woman would dig a hole and line it with boab flowers. The woman in labour would then squat over the hole and deliver the baby into the cradle of flowers. As the baby was birthed its first contact was with the boab flower, a cleansing of family patterns. Truly wonderful.
I do have a love affair/obsession with boab trees, even to this day 7 years on from my first encounter images of them adorn my study. I make no excuses for this strong connection with this tree that I feel.
A true gift that when prepared as an essence enables us to step fully into who we can become.
The truest sense of safety come from a place so deep in you it is
out of sight. Yet it is filled with the richest of love, the purest of
insight and the warmest compassion. Once activated its brilliance
can flood light on even the darkest, coldest and scariest of places within you.
As a child my safe space was with my nan. Every school
holidays I longed to be with her, in her home surrounded by her love and embraced
by her presence. It was here where I felt accepted for who I
was. There was no fear of reprimand, abuse or isolation. Her house was
tiny, run down and in need of restoration. Did I care? No. Did I
see this? No. That tiny single fronted weatherboard house in Richmond was
a beacon of love. A refuge for a child who craved acceptance and a space
to be who she was.
As I grew this home continued to be a place of nurturance.
Eventually spreading its love to my children who quickly realised the depth of
love their great nan radiated and held for them too. Looking back love
was the only thing she had to give. She wasn’t a financially abundant
woman. Born during the Depression she grew up in an inner city suburb of
Melbourne which was heavily hit throughout this period of time. Times
were tough. She married young, supported a husband and raised 2 young
sons, lived through World War 2 and once her sons were married looked
after their children (me being one of them) through their formative
years. Family was her life, her centre and everything gravitated around
it.
It was a natural evolution for me to see family in this way
too. A product of my environment. “Blood is thicker than
water” I would hear many a time. Referring to the importance of family
and blood ties. This conditioning of your biological family being
the single and prime point of focus and safety would prove to provide me
with a constant source of reflection and reviewing opportunities as I moved
through extreme periods of loss and grief. I still come up against an
internal conflict in many moments of what is my primal importance? Where
does my biological fit in the scheme of my existence, where do I as spirit fit
in this mould? What is my centre and what do I orbit around?
I sense it is a natural necessity that a child relates with their
family as their centre and primal provider of safety. As an infant
and then a young child we have no other family as a reference point. We
experience what we have and take it as the way. We realise quickly what
we need to do to be loved, to receive care (in whatever form we can) and to
survive.
So my family, albeit not perfect was my centre. I gravitated
around my family, with my nan at the core.
As we begin to gravitate around someone else we move away from our own centre. Our reference point is no longer authentic. We can lose our ability to know who we are and make our own choices. in the incessant need to orbit around another we can unconsciously seek to be like them, live like them and perhaps become them.
In my craving for the sense of safety, security and love my nan
provided I began to mould myself. I looked to her. Like a sponge
soaking up water, I began to soak up ‘her’. I took on her perspectives,
her stories, her parameters, her way and in every single adaptation I lost more
of myself and my ability to know who I was and how to ultimately stand on my
own.
Somewhere within me I must’ve thought that if I could create the
life she had that this would make me feel safe. That the experience she
gave me could be recreated by giving myself a life she had. It seemed a
simplistic life model, one that many used to seek. Get married, have
children, support your husband (who will in return support you), run a
household, provide a home for the family, grow old together and look after
grand kids. This to me was my sign of safety. It was based around another
and the environment one live in.
As I moved through my life I rarely queried the parameters I had
put around it, around myself. I rarely looked around or stepped back far
enough to look at this model, this family through a different window. I
was in one room of a house and never ventured out. Later in life I was able to
see my nan’s life in a different light. I saw her struggles, her fears of
a husband that drank, spent many hours at the pub and in moments was
abusive. I witnessed her attempts to keep us safe in a way that she most
likely longed for. She was giving to us what she crave for herself.
I became aware of the lack of financial security that existed, yet also a
mother who gave to her sons what she could financially to ensure they had a
good life. I began to feel a woman who never allowed herself to
dream, to never ask herself what she wanted. Her life existed purely for
another. How suffocating that must’ve been. Yet I sense she never
realised she could consider something else. It wasn’t what you did
then. You took your lot in life and got on with it. She left school
at 14, worked in a shoe factory, married young. She spent her whole life
in one house, only moving out when her health deteriorated to such a point she
needed 24/7 care. As I grew and began to see her life more clearly I
realised it was her and her love that made me feel safe, not her life or the
environment.
So as I grew I fell in love with a young man who became my
husband. We married young, travelled overseas and had steady careers.
We built a home, had 3 children, went on family holidays, moved
interstate a few times. Our life together was mutually supportive and the
foundation was steady. We shared dreams and our 3rd space our
relationship, our family, our life was precious. I gave myself to it in
such a way that on reflection was unhealthy. I was doing what I thought was
necessary. I too wanted to create a family life that provided me and my
children with a sense of safety. I invested my life in my family.
Craving security from it, getting my identity through it and handing myself
over to something outside of me. I had found my new centre to gravitate.
My safe space was in my family.
When my marriage ended, it felt like I ended. My world
imploded. I had no centre. Nothing to gravitate around. I was
completely devastated and utterly lost. I had no reference point to be my
own centre, to find within myself what I needed to give myself, I had no
ability to feel safe within me for me. I had never experienced myself
like this before, I was freaking out because I didn’t know who this person was
inhabiting me. I felt like a complete foreigner. Yet for all that I
screamed no one heard, no one saw and I couldn’t get out. I was in this
experiencing in this life and I didn’t want it.
Throughout those initial despair ridden months i was surrounded by
few people.
My children by necessity were in my space. How confronting
it must’ve been for them to watch a mother crumble. A woman who
previously held a family and home together, who was efficient, functional and
always present. A woman who know could barely move, cried continuously
and was engulfed in grief that looked like it would completely swallow her
up. It wasn’t for them to save me, yet I know they tried. I had to
protect them from my experience. It was a continuous dance of feeling my
way through without impacting them too much, yet also being in the space as
they moved through their own feelings and allowing them to do so with as much
love, support and respect for them I could muster. It was tricky and
messy. I knew I needed help and it wasn’t for me as a mother to lean on
my kids for it.
We were all going through this family breakdown individually yet
also as a whole.
My external family were on the other side of the country, and
whilst my mum came over for the first week , after that we were all on our
own. I knew my kids had their friends who would provide support as
needed.
My prime support system consisted entirely of one person –
my counsellor. One sole being who stuck close by me and gave me
what I needed until I reached a point where I could start to give to
myself. Sometimes this is the way. Temporarily we may need
support from another and that is okay. I was guided to find my way
through this fog. Time and time again I was encouraged to go within
myself, deeper and deeper, feeling by feeling to discover my own answers and
truth.
She was my sounding board, my reflector, my compass, my
beacon. It was not a place of dependency, it was a space of confront
through truth, it was a place I could be messy. I felt
cocooned, embraced, championed and supported. Where every
thought, feeling, word, action, reaction, response I brought in was okay.
Everything was validated and in allowing this – I began to realise that
one of the first steps is to allow yourself to be exactly as you are. For
as long as I tried to ignore what I was really feeling and hear it and feel it
and see it and touch it – i was being untruthful to myself.
I was pushing away huge parts of myself that i didn’t want to
own. Once I was shown and encouraged to lean into myself, true healing
commended. I discovered how to hold a space for myself wherein I could be
okay with whatever was going on – I learned to listen to me, to see me. I
dove right in.
It was a space where:
the words
could just come out
the
emotions could be expressed
congruency
was beginning to establish between my inner and outer worlds
the
connection with self as a human spiritual being was strengthened
untruths i
had told myself for years were lovingly confronted
time and
time again I was encouraged to go beyond my experience and look for the gift
I would
continue to look for where my choice is in what i am experiencing
I would
rise above by going to the depths of my existence
I could
heal through compassion, nurturance and integrity
Nothing was ever skimmed over, being thorough all the way in,
nothing was left unturned.
Transformation through acceptance.
This was the space I was held in and ultimately I learnt to give
to myself.
This is the safe space.
That I have co-created and continue to nurture and respect.
In this safe space.
I am okay.
And therein began the process of creating my own safe space, a
place that already existed and in doing so began the process of finding me.
“I don’t know why you do this to yourself!” His words penetrated sharply into my heart. The awkward silence between us had been shattered. Feeling his frustration toward me shook my core. My husband always been my lighthouse, my rock, my safe shore. Ever dependable he was my steadier. Never had a harsh word been said. Until now.
This outburst of exasperation had rocked me. Leaving me vulnerable. My lighthouse had turned his light off.
It had been a long, hot, exhausting and challenging day. Today had been the beginning of our trek into one of the remotest regions of Western Australia.
We had done what we could to
prepare for the journey. The back of the
4WD was full of food, water and other necessities. Where we were heading there was no phone
coverage, no internet or shops. Whilst
we had travelled to Central Australia many times this journey would be
different, we knew that and were aware of the need to take this trek
seriously. Remote outback Australia it
not to be taken lightly. The land
commands respect. She is both rugged and
harsh whilst being breathtakingly beautiful.
My response was lightening quick. The words flowing like water from a damn that had just been burst. “I do this to myself because it helps me to grow. I love this country deeply and passionately and I want to experience it, and experience me in it. I need to get out and explore more of what I think I am.” I too was feeling frustrated. From the moment we hit the track I was engulfed with fear. I was scared and uncomfortable. The voices in my head already ripping into me far more than his words could. How stupid I had been to think that this trip could be done?
Silence once more permeated the air between us. Our outbursts releasing pent up emotions. Ilooked at him, searching his face for some resemblance of the gentle and caring husband, I had known for close to 20 years. Nothing. He had gone. The man with his hands on the steering wheel had his eyes fixed diligently on the 4wd track in front of us. Concentration taking its toll.
Months of planning and preparation
had gone into pulling this ‘holiday’ together for just us. Our first time away for many years without
our children. I thought it would be a
great opportunity for us to connect more deeply and get to know one another
once more.
I didn’t see this coming though. How was it that with every kilometre that we
drove deeper and deeper into Country the more further away from one another we
seemed? How was it that the more
remote we travelled, the more suffocated and claustrophobic I felt? The silence so deafening, I wanted to
scream. I needed to run back. Back to the safety of the life I had
known. Keeping all in order. It was too late though. We had begun.
The journey commenced.
Unconscious and out of sight we had agreed to undertake this
experience.
There is only one road in and out to El Questro. What was becoming increasingly clear was that who I was going in would not be who I was coming out. Already on day 1, I was unravelling. We were both challenged.
This was not a trip of coming together but of journeying deeper into ourselves. Two souls. Once we turned onto Gibbs Rd, it felt as if we had entered a completely different time paradigm. Nothing we knew would be the same again. What we felt we needed, we didn’t. What you think you want, you don’t. There was only one road in and out. No where to run or hide.
Whilst I have battled around in loss, grief in all its glory has also
given to me.
Grief is a very powerful force. It’s
intensity governed by how great your capacity has been to love another and to
be loved by another. The depths of grief is often in direct correlation
to love. This force can be destructive and will wipe you out like never
experienced before, yet it is also a creative force unlike any other.
When my marriage ended grief was my faithful companion for a couple of
years, and even now there is residue of this loss. Fighting against this
force though intensified my experience. When I allowed myself to succumb to it
and rides it waves, my experience began to change. I worked with this
creative force, through its destructive nature.
Grief reveals you. Never before had I felt
so vulnerable and exposed. I felt I was naked to all who saw me including
myself. The defences were down, I crumbled in front of my own eyes and I
had to own aspects of myself that I had spent years trying to hide. Grief
is messy, it has no timeline or structure. It doesn’t care who you are,
what you’ve done and what you have. This can be scary. Embracing
the revelation of who you actually are is a gift she gives you.
Grief is a reservoir. When I was battling
my ‘divorce grief’, I found myself feeling this loss within previous loss
experiences. My brothers death, my parents divorce, family breakdowns,
my nan’s battle with dementia it was all there within as if waiting for the
light to be shone on it. Anything that I had not previously felt and
healed was stirred up. The ‘sludge at the bottom of the pond’ is what it
felt like. Grief is like that, classic Freud – its repressed, out of
sight, unable to be dealt with until this force pushes back on itself enough so
it is brought to light.
If you are battling with grief I encourage you to get the support you
need.
For those in emergency crisis please contact Lifeline www.lifeline.org.au
or call 13 11 14.
