Of the Land of Our Mothers
Entry #1 - An Introduction to 'Weavings of the Wise & Embodied'
Have you ever found the experience of introducing yourself overwhelming? Maybe you’re sitting in a circle, around a table, or in a Zoom meeting, sweating while waiting for the facilitator to call your name. Then, when the moment comes you freeze - followed by the dreadful feeling of your stomach falling into your knees.
Or how about the inner turmoil that comes with random introductions in a large group? The ones where we’re invited to speak at our leisure. You know the ‘Jump in and introduce yourself’ conversation starter. Great. So, now we all freeze with our stomachs falling into our knees. Followed by the familiar haunting sound of the *awkward silence*.
At this point, the dance that then ensues within my inner world could be best described as an escapism piece of Martha Graham-esque Lamentation proportions; collaboratively constructed through the winding of my body, spirit, and mind all moving and speaking at the same time. No, I don’t want to go first! Do I go now? How about now? Oh, I’ll go after them! Oh! I’m feeling brave, I’ll go [someone else starts to speak] - next…
I’ve often said if someone was recording my inner monologue, she would offer creative material for days - although it’s likely I think I’m funnier than I actually am.
As a storyteller and theatre practitioner, I’ve always found it more easeful to introduce myself through the voices, bodies, and spirits of characters and stories. As though the glorious elements of their journeys encourage me to bravely step forward in the full expression of who I am.
Now, the spiritual counsellor in me reads (or hears) this with curiosity and wonders:
What parts of me feel safer within the stories of others, rather than resting within my own?
What parts of me feel more grounded in channelling the voices of others, rather than speaking my own?
What permission or grace do these characters or stories offer me, that I’m unable to offer myself?
Is it rooted in fear? Perhaps, the fear of being seen or heard? Is it the fear sharing my Otherworldly eye or intuitiveness? Or maybe it’s combination of it all expressed as the fear of being vulnerable?
Before sharing a story, I like open the circle with invitations of gratitude. Gratitude to the traditional spirits and keepers [past, present, and forthcoming] of the traditional land where we are gathered upon. While also offering gratitude for the ancestors of all who have come together at that moment in time; inviting those of the wise and well to sit beside us, tend to the fire, and share in the tale as well.
To know who we are and where we are going, it helps to know where we come from.
This is always part of the welcoming incantation. The setting of sacred space. It’s the story’s way of introducing herself.
As someone who finds herself dancing between the physical and spiritual realms, I wonder if our daily interactions would be less anxiety-inducing if we wove in elements of the sacred?
What if we introduced ourselves as echoes of our blood and bone ancestors?
What if we introduced ourselves alongside our beloved mothers and grandmothers within the animal and plant realms?
What if we introduced ourselves through the landscapes our beloved mothers and grandmothers of stones, waters, and hills?
What if we introduced ourselves through the voices of our beloved mothers and grandmothers of the stars and skies?
As a woman in today’s age, I am on a deeply personal journey of re-membering and reclaiming the wisdom of my body, the power of my voice, and the magic of my spirit.
Over the years, I have spent considerable time listening to what pains me; tenderly unfurling the tangled connection between trusting the magic of my spirit while also feeling safe in my body.
This is a continual process. Gently tending to and unwinding. Tending to and unwinding.
I look forward to sharing more about my personal journey and the creative process of a new sacred story coming into being; however, for this moment in time, let us circle back to our names and what’s found within the invocations of introducing ourselves.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve had the honour of being in the company of
and her recent workshop Mothers of Magic. In our first gathering, she invited us to introduce ourselves through the bodies of our mother.Not through their personal story; nor the story of our relationship.
Simply, introduce ourselves through our mothers.
My personal interpretation of this was: we were invited to consider our mothers, and the landscapes of their bodies, as our initial sacred homelands.
Our introductions were in honour of our mothers’ unique physical embodiment; the poeticism of their presence that birthed us into this world.
As I introduced myself through the being-ness of my mother, I found a profound reverence written in the words that were called forward; softly holding a quiet prayer that she would hear them across the veil.
What if we approached our day-to-day introductions this way?
What if we spoke your name as an enchanting thread woven within the tapestry of life, speaking to all of who you are and where you come from? Acknowledging the wisdom in your blood and bones; your connection to the land and sky?
Honouring all of you.
Honouring all the grandmothers and mothers, who came before you, who walk beside you now (in physical and spirit form), and those will follow after you?
Would you speak your name with pride then?
Knowing that within the words you chose to speak; there is also an introduction to corners of your home on heaven and earth.
What would you have to be afraid of then?
You are not alone. You are encircled in the company of love, compassion, and greatness.
So then, speak proudly of yourself - and them.
My mother’s feet were soft and round.
Tallest toes, perfectly curved in heart shapes.
The smallest ever slightly turned out.
My mother’s centre, core, legs, and hips
Supple, gathered, and present.
Collar bones shapely,
but not stark.
Her beautifully ovaled teeth
Cushioned by pristinely lined lips; that when she smiled
Parted like grand curtains
Revealing crystalline
Bones of art.
My mother’s hair was richly hued,
An auburn bob,
With dancing bangs.
Her eyebrows resolute; never wavering.
My mother’s eyes were hazel seas.
Her nose was present and shapely;
Arched of her French ancestry.
My mother’s hands were small but sturdy.
Astute, and dry from washing;
Her left thumb etched with the cracks of creativity,
Of a guitar player who strummed to
Free her voice and the songs of her soul.
Is mise Erica O’Reilly.
I am Erica O’Reilly.
Daughter of Donna Rousselle.
Go Raibh Mile Maith Agat for sharing your time with me. Please feel welcome to share comment or introduce yourself (how ever it resonates). Truly, I would love to hear from you!
Until we meet in circle again;
May grace and ease continue to find you.
Mo ghrá go léir,
Erica
As a sacred storyteller, spiritual counsellor, and ordained minister (through the Sacred Stream Foundation; in Berkeley, California), Erica's heart-centred work is rooted in creating spaces where souls feel seen, held, and heard. She believes deeply in the wisdom of the human body and spirit; and the powerful medicine of storytelling.
Being of Irish and French blood & bone ancestry, Erica continues to be reverently grateful to the traditional spirits and land keepers [past, present, and forth coming] of the unceded territory of the Algonquin Anishinabeg Nation, where she was born and currently resides within so-called Ottawa, Canada. Míle buíochas for the opportunity to live, create, share stories, and walk alongside you.
So beautiful and powerful, Erica. I can feel her presence. And my mother's too. I feel better and uplifted for having read this.
Thank you sincerely for reaching out and for sharing this with me.
Sending you love, Pam Dillon