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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
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
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
Silly girl, look at you! How weak can you possibly be? Screaming in silence while the world dances on around you. You let them kill your light; just rolled on over and watched the darkness swallow you up without even putting up a fight. You had the entire world right there at your fingertips and were too afraid to grasp it. Far too concerned with labels – the ones sewn on your clothes and shoes, and the ones branded upon your skin; too blind to see that none of it even mattered.
Stupid girl, look at you! Parading around town, displaying your flesh upon the alters of ungodly men; worshiping them while down on your knees bathing in lustful sin. You became everything they said you were, as if you had a point to prove.
Scared girl, look at you! Still stuck on Chapter 16 of a book that your tormented soul may never get to complete; too afraid to turn the page; too fearful of your fate sealed within the epilogue. When are you going to realize that you are the one who holds the pen? Only you get to decide how your story will end.
Sulky girl, look at you! So much to be grateful for yet you dwell on the pain; afraid to smile; unsure how to hide your misty eyes without the safety of the rain. It is time to feel the warmth of the sun. Bask in its rays; let those tears nourish your roots and bloom beautiful soul! Have mercy on your heart for once sweet girl.
I know I never told you this, but I think it is time for you to know that I forgive you; and you are worth so much more than that which you failed to realize before. Baby girl it is time for you to spread those wings and soar!
Your Future Self
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.”
– 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
Have you ever met someone for the first time and felt an instant connection to them as if you have known them your entire life? Perhaps there is something familiar in their eyes, but you cannot seem to pinpoint exactly what it is. Yet you still feel like you have gazed upon those mystical orbs a million times before. I believe we feel that connective spark because our soul instantly recognized theirs the moment we looked into their eyes. Related article: “Vibe With Your Soul Tribe.”
“It has been said, for as long as I can remember, that the eyes are the windows to the soul. I wholeheartedly concur! I view the intricate patterns of the iris as a universal map leading us to the sacred meeting place of science and spirituality.”
– Dena Daigle, Phoenix Ascended
Every human being on this planet has a unique pair of eyes that contain their very own galactic microcosm known as the iris. No two are the same, much like our fingerprints. They are a beautiful blueprint to the stars, mind, body and soul alike.
Did you know? “The iris is like a map of the body – changes in certain organs are reflected in specific parts of the iris. The right iris shows the condition of the right side of the body, while the left iris reflects the left side. The exact relationship between iris and body parts can be seen from the iris chart below.” (Source: What Your Iris Says About You.) Please note, however, that the actual pattern of the iris rarely changes acutely.
The iris develops when we are in our mother’s womb and remains virtually the same our entire life. “In health, the iris is composed of densely structured fine, straight lines, radiating from the pupil to the outer rim. A close grain, similar to that of hardwood, indicates a strong inherited vitality and good recuperative powers in the case of temporary illness. If the fibers are loosely spread, as in softwood, the basic health is weak.”
It is also believed that the eyes do not change when we pass from one life into the next, allowing us to recognize our spiritual companions throughout time and space. Our souls are light-bodies that exist in higher dimensions beyond the confines of this earthly realm. However, we incarnate here in physical form for various reasons with a distinct purpose and/or mission. Our personal unconscious acts much like an internal hard drive storing vital data and information that we have encountered in past lives in order for us to evolve and grow. Even though most of us do not consciously remember our past lives, certain places, events and even people have the ability to trigger that stored energy into resurfacing. That is why we feel such an intense connection when we encounter certain people and momentarily gaze into their eyes. We are basically catching a glimpse of a past life connection. Pay attention to how you feel the next time you “meet” someone.
“Mosaic masterpieces in hues of brown, gold, green and blue. Kaleidoscopes of color containing all the beauty of far-away galaxies. These story-telling spheres speak the untold truths in moments of silence. Like tiny windows to the soul, our eyes reflect every encountered emotion. It is there that we can view each other in our purest form, raw and unfiltered.”
– Dena Daigle (2017) “Windows to the Soul,” Scattered Ashes
I have never considered myself a religious person, but rather a spiritual one. Nevertheless, I have had the pleasure of knowing angels who walk among us. They are the protectors of children, the carriers of light, and like a moth drawn to a flame, we are drawn to them. These earthbound angels offer us healing when we are suffering, patience in times of resistance, guidance when we struggle to find balance, and empathy when we feel misunderstood. They are the Matriarchs and Patriarchs of our soul family.
However, there is something truly unique about the divine feminine spirit of the Earth. I, myself come from a long line of strong females. We are fierce warrior women who have struggled to overcome conditions that most would crumble beneath. But you will never hear our battle cries, for we fight fearlessly in the valley of darkness with grace and wisdom, rod and staff defunct.
“For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are naked and open to the eyes of Him to whom we must give account” (Hebrews 4:12-13).
My maternal grandmother often spoke of God and all His glorious wisdom. But, I could never wrap my head around her beliefs; therefore I always rebelled and rejected her knowledge about life and divinity. But there was something so profound in her that I was much too blind to see… then. I have never once witnessed my grandmother angered, boastful or envious, or even perturbed. I have never witnessed her in a state of lack, even when her material resources were completely depleted. I have only witnessed her overflowing with radiance, full of joy and hope with unwavering faith. Her calmness, stillness, presence and peaceful nature can all be attributed to her belief that no matter where this life might take her, Spirit would always protect her and guide her pathway. It is such a great honor and blessing to walk this earth, following her footsteps as a guide.
I have seen my Mother endure some of the toughest hardships I have ever witnessed in my life. There have even been times that those circumstances seemed to get the best of her. Times when her spirit was drowning in depths of despair, but somehow, she always resurfaced, even if battered and bruised. She is resilient and strong in ways that I can only hope to have inherited. And even when she questions her own tenacity, I see the strength of her soul shining from beneath the rubble she feels buried under.
Perhaps one of the deepest blows my mother has suffered was the loss of my grandmother. I can still sense the tragic sadness in my Mother’s heart, her longing to see that sweet smile once more, to hear her laughter and loving encouragement, to feel the warmth of her embrace one last time. I’m not sure that anything could ever prepare us for losing the ones who gave us life itself.
My heart bleeds for her! Seeing the pain residing in her deep brown eyes has spawned a hankering in me to show her the world through the brown eyes she has gifted to me, and I will try with everything in me to do so. For I perceive this chaotic world through the rose-tinted lenses I inherited from the soul of an angel, my grandmother. And I feel I need to remind my mother that I was created from the very best parts of two of the most amazing women ever to have existed in this realm. I have never viewed my grandmother’s absence of form as a loss. How can I when I can feel her spirit in the fragmented energy that surrounds me, and in the warmth of the light that illuminates my world, and even within the very essence of all that I am? She walks with me always, Just as she does with all of the women in my family. She is our angel.
Dena M. Daigle