Passing the liminal threshold of Easter, overnight initiations by the goddess Eostre.
Happy Easter dear ones….
(or should I say Happy Eostre!)
Happy first EVER Myrrhmaid newsletter/blogpost
I am hoping that this message finds you well and that you are enjoying some peace & joy-filled days this Eostre holiday.
Things have been a bit quiet on the Myrrhmaid project recently.
The birthing of this project (alongside the challenges of this embodiment!) has required some intense edge-dwelling…. & edge dwelling as a lone mama with 2 teens in tow, feels to me like some sort of boot camp for spiritual awakening!
So, I’m delighted to announce that after 3 years years of vaulting a number of intimidating obstacles that lay in my way, I finally sold my lovely flat, to pay off some of the eye-watering personal spending alongside a small mountain of debt that it has taken to bring this project to life.
What a journey… but these are wild times on planet earth, and it seems to me that ninja’ing is the thing that is being asked of us ….
As I read recently, ‘Nobody is coming to save us’, so we all have some personal responsibility and the Myrrhmaid project is the fruit of my personal enquiry around what taking personal responsibility looks like.
The personal and transpersonal transition of the sale of my flat, signals a jubilant end to an entrenched chapter of scarcity, that is rooted in some intense metaphysical swampiness… so it is a wondrous thing indeed to be able to move on from it.
I loved my HOME. I LOVED it truly, madly, deeply… It was the dominant, multi-faceted holographic love affair with place, that dominated the last 12 years of my life. My relationship with this place, had many layers & levels, both subtle and manifest… It also had its deep shadows and, quite literally, it’s swampy basements. (Cliff hanger - You will have to wait for a future posting to read how a top floor flat with expansive views can also have a swampy basement!)
One day I would like to write a book about it….. it is that many layers deep.
I love my old HOME still now, even as I let go, We set each other free in ways that for now, only we see. We hold each others secrets.
And the LOVE that I have for that place is now released to be a true and selfless love, the kind of love that needs boundaries and distance. Letting go is tender, as we adapt to a new life chapter without each other.
Bless you beloved HOME you held us as a family, a 3 and a 6 year old, who knew the scent of those corridors to be that ultimate scent of HOME ,narrow scruffy corridors that once held the battered 2nd hand buggy, that would be variously hauled up 3 cramped flights of stairs to our front door or dumped unceremoniously, at the ground floor in the entrance way. Grimy with the mess of toddlerhood, that smelly old buggy that held the 2 little tots, that are now beautiful young women.
HOME with the broken front door under blocked guttering that threatened to dump sheets of icy water on us during the winter rain storms. How funny to reminisce about something that was so irritating at the time, but these rituals and patterns were familiar, it was you HOME with a capital H, and it felt so familiar, so safe, so sleepily cosy for so many years.
HOME with its sunny wide open views over the Dart river, it’s shabby but affordable quiet town centre location and the ENORMOUS horse chestnut (or was it a beech?) that presided over the view, beaming its midsummer tree-free-love far and wide to the tune of woodpidgeons coo-cooing and fluttering amorously on the 3rd floor window ledges.
HOME that we bought ‘as an investment’, as we attempted to heal after the devastation of losing our much longed for 2nd boy child, who died just hours before he was born’.
HOME that we bought ‘just in case’ we realised, that running away to New Zealand, might not be the best idea after all.
HOME that brought me back from the abyss, shattered and broken open, as we made that return from Aukland, clutching onto our edges, as I sought a container to allow the death of the family unit & marriage, and my previous sense of self, to happen.
Precious HOME that delivered the healing of soul wounds that I didn’t think could ever heal.
HOME in all your shabby shonkiness. We belonged to you, and you belonged to us. And we LOVED each other deeply, and yes, in some ways co dependently.
But my love of the easeful familiarity of you beloved HOME, kept me suspended. I could only grow so much in that place of deep connection to place and my place of belonging with you.
And as with other treasured (and at times tortured) relationships, we learned and gained what we had to gain from each other and, one day we realised that we had outgrown each other.
Beloved HOME, I cried long and bitterly the last night that I slept in you, as we said our goodbyes. And as I let go, I had to give you the cold shoulder, I even pimped you out on airbnb, (under the rationale of stiking out for financial independence) to dissociate from the grief of letting go.
.
And now beloved HOME, it is done and the chord is cut.
I felt nothing but sadness in the first day post completion. But today, some 3 weeks in, there is only peace and gratitude.
I grieved and I let go, and the reward for that is a bright new chapter, one released of debts, both financial and karmic.
Oh boy,
And here I was, thinking that I was going to be writing about the goddess Eostre, but in the end what was needed was to share intimacies about my release from grief and debts…! Ha!
….and perhaps this is the perfect segue to the themes of Easter and Eostre, the anglo Saxon goddess who gives Easter, originally called ‘Eosturmonad’, its name.
She is the goddess of the radiant dawn, of the up-springing light…
So just as I have let go of, and grieved for, my old self, my old life, my old HOME in order to allow the new growth of the new life chapters that await, this is a mirroring of the themes of Easter and Eostre.
Before allowing in the light and brilliance of the energies of resurrection, I have to first let go of the energies of the old that kept me shackled, (which could be compared to a death or a crucifixion..) This is mirrored by the Christian Easter mythos of Christs crucifixion and resurrection.
I like to think that it is Eostre herself who keeps me writing into the early hours Easter Saturday morning…urging me to speak her name on HER festival. SHE who is a distant relation of other Proto-Indo-European dawn goddesses apparently, the ‘reluctant bringers of the light for which she is punished’ keeping me up, quite literally until dawn (its past 5 am in the morning) to insist that her story is at the very least, signposted.
How timely… of course… even in my sleep deprived state I can see the perfection of her geometry.
If you want to know more on Eostre, then do look her up, as it will be another year to hear my thoughts on her, as I need some beauty sleep!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ēostre
Wishing you all a very beautiful Easter/Eostre weekend!
With love,
Karin