Bittersweet Endings

It’s been over 3 weeks since my world was shaken and flipped upside-down. Speaking specifically about the ending of my relationship, I am finally able to open up about it without breaking down into tears which, oddly enough, brings me comfort knowing that a deep healing is taking place. Pain is merely the catalyst.

Make no mistake, there will be no mud-slinging in this post, no bitter blame game, no destruction of character by words, etc. No, this post is about growth. This is about gaining wisdom through personal experience. This is about approaching a deeper level of understanding when it comes to love, loss and the pain that comes along with it. This post is about me reclaiming my inner peace, surrendering to the divine flow and graciously letting go of what no longer nourishes my soul. This is my declaration that the war is over.

“When you’re willing to feel it, you can heal it,” is a quote that has never resonated with me quite as deeply as it does today. You see we are taught early on to run away from pain.  We mask it with makeup, dark shades and fake smiles; we drink until we can’t remember our own names, much less why we are suffering; or we find temporary comfort in the arms of another while closing our eyes and envisioning someone else. We will literally do anything in our power to avoid it and just hope that one day it will subside. What we fail to realize, is that by doing so we are merely burying a bomb beneath the soil of our hearts and waiting for someone new to step on the pressure plate.

Personally, I have found comfort in surrounding myself with the people that I love and in doing things to keep myself busy and my mind distracted. Seems innocent enough, but it is still an effort to avoid feeling pain; a coping mechanism if you will, much like those that I mentioned above. Yet, at the end of the day when all is quiet and still, chaos of thought consumes me and I am once again faced with the very agony I tried to ignore.

So it seems the only way through this is to allow myself to feel every single emotion and to stop running from them. I thought I learned that lesson already in other aspects of my healing journey, but as the spiral of life uncoils, here I am once again back to that particular curve to learn a deeper understanding of what I thought I knew. This is the beauty of inner reflection and keeping an open dialogue with your higher self. So here I am, open and raw, fresh wounds still bleeding, welcoming every ounce of pain, recalling every beautiful memory and every transgression that led me here, just trying to stitch my heart back together.

I often hear people say, “Love hurts.” But you know something? I have to disagree with that. Attachment hurts. Unrealistic expectations hurt. Rejection hurts. Conformity for the sake of “love” hurts and resistance to reality hurts, but true love in its purest form does everything except hurt.  Love heals. Love restores. Love replenishes. The real issue is that most of us are ignorant to what love really is, so we confuse it with attachment while having zero knowledge of the difference between the two.  This relationship taught me to distinguish those differences clearly.

You see, attachment is simply a strong bond, the string that connects us to something or someone we admire. When we are merely attached to someone, we are focused upon the ways in which that person can make us happy. In this type of relationship, we become heavily dependent upon our partner to meet our emotional needs. Instead of confronting our own demons, we expect our partners to battle them for us and fix our self-esteem issues.  We expect them to fill a void within. We hold them accountable for our happiness, which places impossible expectations upon them and sets the stage for failure when they cannot meet those expectations. Attachment is self-serving and cumbersome, the complete opposite of love.

While, attachment’s root is based on the fear of being alone, love is the freedom to explore, the freedom to grow. It is limitless and selfless, knowing no boundaries. Love is flexible and ever evolving in nature. It is a partnership that stimulates growth within one another so that each of you may become the best versions of yourself that you can be. It requires transparency and vulnerability. A mutual loving relationship allows us to be our authentic selves without the fear of exposing our weaknesses and having them used against us.

Love is the fertile soil upon which seeds may blossom into something beautiful when given the proper care. However, it requires the understanding that some blooms will flourish in the warmth of Spring only to wither in the chill of Winter, while others are evergreen; yet both require the same amount of sustenance. Love simply provides without expectation.

While I am certainly no relationship expert (my track record can attest to that), I have loved and lost enough to know now that it was never love that hurt me.  And while this relationship had a bittersweet ending, I am thankful for the experience and the lessons that it taught me.

We are creatures of habit and we crave consistency while fearing change. But sometimes that change is exactly what is needed for us to be happy.  So when things change and bring us pain, just remember that there can be no rainbow without a little rain.

Dena M. Daigle (C) 2018

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I Remember

Wide-eyes in amber hues brimming with salty tears
Four years old in red ruffles and day of the week panties
Mama’s precious baby girl
Trembling, frozen with fear, cold and confused
Silenced, but I remember

Truth or dare on the trampoline
Triple dog five second French kiss or eat worms
Mama’s little daredevil
and innocent boys following the footsteps of their forefathers
Busted, I remember

Open window and moonlit shadows dancing on the wall
Thirteen and rebellious; Mama’s little wild child
“Everyone else is doing it. Don’t you love me?”
Pressured, I remember

Head down, tears flowing, pushing past the picket line
Fifteen and pregnant, Mama’s dirty whore
Cold steel forced inside me, life ripped from my womb
“MURDERER!” I remember

Strobe lights and rap music, twerking teenage dreams
Sixteen with nothing to lose, Mama’s party girl
Beer run – two guys in a Chevy truck looking for some fun
“Drink up baby girl.”
Room spinning, losing consciousness. I remember

Bright lights, bloodshot eyes and grunting,
hip bones pounding into supple flesh
Incoherent but coming to, Mama’s naive fool.
Struggling to scream and unable to move
Tossed curbside next to the trashcan, battered and used.
Damaged, I remember

Butterflies taking flight, head floating in the clouds
Young and reckless, making plans for the future
They said we’d never make it so we set out to prove them wrong
Independent and headstrong, Mama’s girl on the run.
Head over heels, I remember

Dimly lit room, cold gel smeared across my belly
fluttering of a tiny heartbeat, fear and joy intertwined
Mama’s gift from the heavens, I shall protect you with my life
I often dreamed of the day I would cradle you in my arms
My existence had a purpose, I remember

Blood dripping down trembling legs,
Blurry lights passing by in a frenzied pace
pain unimaginable as the room fades to black.
Floating between dimensions, struggling to find my way back.
Wings gifted, Mama’s little angel
Inconsolable, I remember

Silence shattered like broken glass
“Ms. Daigle, I’m afraid you may never bear children…”
A woman’s worth destroyed in thirteen syllables
Fertile soil now barren – hopeful heart destroyed and abandoned
Mama said it was for the best, I remember

Consumed by heartache, weighted by grief and despair
I sought love in the form of flying fists and rage
Black eyes and body bruises, Mama taught me well
I deserved it, I remember

Surgical steel piercing my vein
Injecting poison to numb my pain
Mama’s little junkie
There was no escape, I remember.

Body gone limp, heartbeat slowing
Discarded by a coward, left there overdosing
Silent screams as tears rolled down my cheeks
Vomit staining sweat soaked sheets
I am fading and Mama can’t save me now
but I was born a warrior, I remembered

I begged God for mercy and fought my way back to the light
Never again will I be swallowed by the darkness of the night
I am immortal, and I remember everything.

-Dena M. Daigle, 2018

 

This piece was inspired by a beautiful piece written by Rachel Finch that moved me. Her words helped me find the strength to release those that have been locked inside of me. It is a testament to her strength and resilience which we can all appreciate. Rachel’s piece is featured below. 44710536_2209525525995879_526698698571251712_n.jpg

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I Will Not Write Your Obituary

Heroin addiction is a destroyer of the human spirit, completely obliterating not only the heart of the addict, but the hearts of those who love them as well.  The harsh reality of this cyclic battle is that some souls simply cannot be saved no matter how hard you try to help them, or how much love you offer them. We can’t walk the path for anyone but ourselves, and there is no way to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. – Dena M. Daigle

This is a piece dedicated to my sister. I tried with everything in me to make this a spoken word piece, but I could barely get out 5 lines before I broke down in tears. Wherever you are sister, just know that you are loved and I hope you can find yourself one day.

 An Open Letter to My Sister 

I reached out to you with three simple words,
“How could you?”
And your response was “I need help”
But how many times are we supposed to save you when you won’t even save yourself.
You said “Fuck help. Fuck life. I give up”
Never giving another thought to the children who need you;
nor the mother and sister who would succeed you.
You told me that I would never see you again;
and I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel about that.
Is it a ploy for attention, or a cry for help?
I don’t know,
because most don’t give a warning before they kill themselves.
And you have lied so much to anyone who would listen.
They obliviously cater to your bullshit while you feed your addiction.
You leave devastation in your wake;
a winding trail of shattered hearts as long as the river Nile,
robbing piggy banks and leaving bones scattered on the shores of denial.
But you tell me “Just remember that I love you.”
As if those words could ever ease the pain of losing my sister;
my own flesh and blood
the girl I would give my own life to save.
Then you block my messages and calls and vanish without a trace.
How dare you lay down your sword at my feet as if I’m supposed to end this battle for you.
How dare you lay your burdens on my fragile heart as if I haven’t suffered too.
I will not clean up the endtrails you recklessly leave behind.
I will not hide your rotting corpse from the wolves that come to dine.
I will not place you gently into the river trying to save your soul.
And I will not write your fucking obituary before your body turns cold.
But if you reach out to me, I will answer your call.
I will sit with you in the gutter and we will write graffiti on the walls.
I will write you into poetry of painted skies and butterflies
and you will laugh at me.
You will think I have gone completely mad
unless the only hue on the palette I’ve chosen is black.
But I would do it anyway because I just want to see you crawl out of your cocoon.
I want to shed my light on your darkness and guide you to brighter days.
I want to see your babies smile and seek solace in your embrace.
I will stay at your bedside and watch over you as you sleep,
and I will help you slay your demons on the days you are too weak.
I will roll up my sleeves and grab a broom and we will clean this mess together;
but I will not let you sweep it under the rug again
nor let you decide which storms we have to weather.
I will not watch you destroy yourself any longer and tear our family apart;
and if that means you hate me,
I will just have to keep you safe in my heart.
But I will not write your obituary.
I will just love you from afar.
-Dena M. Daigle ©️ 2018

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Surviving the Void – A Tribute to the Healing of the Womb

I love every aspect of my life and those I share it with, let’s get that straight, but there is still a gut-wrenching ache in the depths of my soul and it just won’t seem to loosen its grip on me. Although every other chamber of my heart is overflowing with love, there is still a chasmic black hole in my heart that all the stars in the universe could not fill. It should be infused with light through self-love, the love reciprocated by those I care for and inner-peace and happiness, yet for some reason I cannot seem to tame the envious beast lurking within. Perhaps because, like most childless women who yearn to cradle precious life within them, I come face to face on a daily basis with subtle reminders of the one ability I lack – in every family photo taken, every school bus stop, playground, grocery store, television screen, doctor’s office and inevitably, every other conversation that seems to flow around me. I am 35 years old, unwed (but engaged) and childless (of my own womb) living in a male dominant society that propagates marriage and children before the age of 40, while subliminally implying that infertile women are somehow inferior… but I digress.

It is every woman’s sacred birthright to bear the fruit of her womb, but sometimes in life things happen that prevent us from doing so. That does not make us any less of a woman, or any less knowledgeable about how to raise children. Allow me to reiterate this to those who say “You don’t have kids, so you don’t understand.” – That does not make us any less of a woman, or any less knowledgeable about how to raise children! (Seriously people, there is nothing comparable to telling an infertile woman those words that could ever make her feel more disconnected from womanhood than she already does. So, please don’t say that.) Motherly instincts come naturally to the human species just as they do in the wild (even though we may want to argue that point after witnessing certain behaviors of some women towards their children). Certainly some of us may choose not to have children, and I’m equally supportive of those women as well, but it is a decision that they have made nonetheless. Then there are those of us childless women who have been physically coerced to forego the idea of bearing children by our bodies who have decided that fate for us. We were stripped of the right and/or ability to choose for ourselves, forcing us to swallow the toxic tincture of emotions that followed, which we then had to learn to digest somehow.

I, like many women, have endured severe sexual trauma, both pre- and post-pubescence, and it has affected me immensely in every way – mind, body and spirit. While navigating the muddy waters of self-healing, I sought shelter in connections with other females who have experienced similar hardships. Despite their experiences or reasons for not having children, there is one common factor linking us together – the wisdom gained by enduring the pain of living without that which our hearts desire most. Because of these goddesses, I now see the intrinsic value of the womb, the captivating beauty of the divine feminine spirit and the essence of all life itself.

The womb is a not just a sexual organ residing within the reproductive system of the female body. It is the sacred seat of power that links all of humanity to The Great Mother. It is the source of infinite abundance embodying the life-force energy that gives birth to the entire universe.

“When we speak of the womb, we are referring to more than a physical organ within a female body – although this sacred site is brimming with creative magic. We refer also in a greater sense to an energetic, multidimensional portal, a bridge between worlds, that lives within us whether we have a physical womb or not.

For women who have had a hysterectomy, the energetic power and blueprint of the womb remains within; for those in menopause, your energetic wise blood still flows in harmony with the cycles of the moon. Women in their crone phase are the spiritual grandmothers of the tribe, the wise wombs. Men also have a spiritual or energetic womb, which we call the hara.”

Womb of Light, Mary Rogers and Anjali Devi.

In my quest for closure, I have learned the importance of healing, not only mentally, but physically and spiritually as well. That may sound somewhat strange because well, obviously, those old wounds have healed externally, but internally there is still a mess of unhealed damage that has gone untreated for many decades which requires my attention. You see, our wombs are where the majority of our pain, including the pain that we have inherited from our ancestors, resides. We entomb that toxicity within our bodies and it grows like a cancer attacking otherwise healthy organs and causing all kinds of issues. Additionally, when we harbor that pain within by suppressing our rage and tears, we actually inhibit our growth in all facets of life. Although the process of healing past trauma can be utterly painful, it is vital to our well-being to awaken that slumbering beast, accept the lessons it has taught us, and to then permanently evict and prohibit it from returning to cause any further damage. I know that now.

“Through awakening of the womb we are able to travel back into those places that have disconnected us from our power of gnosis and grounded living. The places that are frozen through trauma of painful experiences can now begin to thaw into rivers of ancient grief. Irrigating our lives with [the] birthright of pleasure, innocent wildness, juiciness, magic and a deeper self-love than any we have ever known.

Self-love is a fertile, pregnant doorway into manifesting true love on the physical realms through relationships. Through our womb imprints we inherit our mother line gifts as well as our pain. When we are cutoff from this power center we cannot access our gifts and instead can stay in loops and replay of generational trauma.

Oh woman, how can I begin to tell you of the sweetness of our fertile nectars and how they turn barren lands into magical reality and a blossoming gentle power.”

– Anabel Vizcarra

This process is how we honor our hearts and the blossoming lotus that is the awakened womb. In learning of the power carried within the sacred space of the womb, my purpose has become abundantly clear. I now realize that, while I may not be able to bring forth life in physical form from my womb, I can bring forth life in other ways, equally as beautiful. I carry within me the spiritual strength and creative energy needed to share the life-changing tools I have discovered with my kindred sisters so that I may help them to restore the balance, vitality and essence of life within themselves. I inherited the sacred energy of The Great Mother, and I am a guardian of light protecting the innocence of the children that I love as if they were my own. So I will continue walking gracefully along the path of healing carrying within me the divine torch of light and love. – Dena M. Daigle, Phoenix Ascended

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Sources:
Photo: Pinterest, Artist Unknown.
Mary Rogers – Lotus Gypsy Soul
Anjali Devi – Anjali Devi, Psychic Medium
Anabel Vizcarra

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Christine Ray – Composition of a Woman Like no Other

We love you Christine!

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

“The world needs strong women who will lift and build others, who will love and be loved. Women who live bravely, both tender and fierce. Women of indomitable will.” – Amy Tenney

I don’t know who Amy Tenney is, have never heard of her, nor read anything other than the above quote, (that I know of), that can be traced back to her, but after reading that very quote, I think Amy Tenney may know Christine Ray.

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If the heart of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is the impressive collection of writers and their work, editors and their passion, readers and their appreciation, then surely Christine Ray has been a potent infusion of life for us all.

For the past two years, Christine Ray has been a valued, and much loved, member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective. As a writer, Christine is nothing short of impressive. As a poet…

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Sudden Denouement’s First Short Story Literary Prize – Open For Submissions Nov 1, 2018

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Since its inception in 2016, The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective has had the privilege of featuring some of today’s most fearless writers. With members that span the globe and editors who share a passion for pushing boundaries, we as a collective have enjoyed reading, promoting, and watching the success of each individual artist as they have grown in their craft and left their mark upon the literary world.

Now, as writers and readers, editors and fans, we at Sudden Denouement Literary Collective are ecstatic to open up the doors to our outstanding, award winning collective, and invite you all in to pull up a chair and tell us your stories.

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective, and Sudden Denouement Publishing, are pleased to dip our toes into the waters of great literary contests and announce our first ever short story literary prize with a call for submissions from all of you.

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Constellations

If I drew a map for you across my body, one made entirely of stars marking all of the places ever violated by human hands, my bones would be wrapped in a galaxy made of flesh.

A pink protostar would mark the spot where my innocence was once sacred and pure; and those tiny flecks of stardust due north would represent the seeds of my womb that never got to bloom. The black hole covering my mouth would portray the silent screams and pleas for help that were written all over my face, yet no one heard. And the supernova adorning my chest would depict the moment that my heart exploded into millions of pieces because no one would save me.

I’d draw the blue supergiant, Rigel, and its star cluster family to represent the bruises left across my throat by those who hoped to silence me. And if the stars didn’t paint the picture vividly enough, I would sketch a grid around my head to show you the way the fabric of time seems to fold in on itself and repeat in infinite loops of pain.

You see, this is the map leading to the little girl who lost her sense of direction once upon a time in the Milky Way. So if I showed you the way to my soul, would you love me enough to trace my constellations, or would you simply look the other way?

🖤 – Dena M. Daigle  2018

Echoes from the Belfry

Echoes from the Belfry 

For too long those temple walls
were covered in shades of crimson blood;
a palette formed by gaping wounds 
gushing open like a cathartic flood.

Echoes of pain pervaded the halls
with the sounds of screams and violence
like a library of horrors returned from the dead
in moments of preferred silence.

An empty throne sat abandoned
as the kingdom crumbled into ruin
Hope, the only offer of atonement
that remained in this state of undoing.

Then the sky cracked open with a thunderous roar
reverberating through the bell tower;
lightning shattered the stained glass windows
in a magnificent display of power.

And as the fortified ballium began to dissipate,
each brick crashing to the ground,
a slumbering goddess emerged from the rubble
and awakened to reclaim her crown.

-Dena M. Daigle,  2018

 

Bohemian Bodhisattva

I long to take my wanderlust heart on the journey of a lifetime, visiting all the sacred spaces of the ascended masters and feeling their essence within these vagabond bones. I want to surf turquoise seas and lay awake counting shooting stars, getting lost in the acid-like waves of Aurora Borealis. I want to explore foreign lands and fill the empty cups of suffering souls with love, compassion and kindness along the way. I want to share in their laughter as I stumble upon syllables in my attempt to learn their native tongue. I want to dream big and live out loud while jumping from cloud to technicolor cloud. I just want to live a life destined by divine purpose with the freedom to taste the rainbow of every culture around the world. I want to converse freely in the language of no words with the spirits of my ancestors as I let their footprints be my guide along the off-beaten path. I want to stretch my arms out towards the sapphire sky and twirl about the raindrops void of any reason as to why. And I want to savor the stimulation of every sense so intently that I never again question my soul’s purpose. I just want to be completely free, a sovereign spirit wandering the galaxy; the fearless version of the authentic me.

 

– Dena M. Daigle  2018

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