Trauma – A Doorway to Divinity

Trauma has been like a close friend of mine since I entered this incarnation. I am no stranger to suffering at the grips of her merciless hands, or to feeling claustrophobic within the self-imposed mental prisons I lock myself behind to seek solace from her infliction. My mind often becomes the dark labyrinth that I must somehow learn to escape without a compass to lead me back to the light. I rely heavily on internal astral navigation to guide me. However, at times I find myself shipwrecked, lost on the shore of the tiny peninsula floating somewhere between the right and left hemispheres of my brain, struggling to make logical sense of my emotions. Mission impossible, if you will. I find myself there today.

Today makes 6 days since I was both physically and mentally battered, and held hostage in my own home by a man who claimed to care about me. You would think under these circumstances that my mental filmstrip would resemble scenes from a Lifetime movie, but all I can think about in this moment is how our entire universe supposedly was created in only 6 days. SIX DAYS! I think perhaps creation and destruction live out the same life span because for me the entire world stopped spinning 6 days ago.

My sun has grown dark and ominous, the sky cries every tear my eyes have yet to shed and it wails in agony, howling like the whipping winds that attempted to uproot me. My majestic moon has lost her glow and even the tides now cease to ebb and flow. I find myself trapped in a state of suspended animation where everything moves around me but my body feels like its hibernating through a frigid winter. And though all my sensory receptors are at their peak, I feel completely dead inside, numb, as if the weight of my own limbs is almost too heavy a load to bear. I have become completely cumbersome.

I find myself weighing my trauma on an unbalanced scale, as if one event is more or less impactful than another. I think of all the possible ways I could have handled this situation differently. I have listened to all the “should’ve, could’ve, would’ve” rants from those who would never even try on my shoes, much less walk in them. I have analyzed the scenario repeatedly from every perspective possible only to conclude that I need to just accept the fact that I handled things the best way I could have. I must also realize that hindsight is 20/20 and while people talk a good game, survival wears a different guise before innocent eyes. Through this experience I am learning that my reaction to external events is not typical, but that is okay. My atypical response to trauma is the very reason I am still here to speak of such an atrocity, and I did not become another statistic.

While my life certainly feels like it is in shambles right now, at least I am still here. I am still fighting to make a positive impact on this wretched world. I am still breathing, and I am still standing on my own two feet trying to pick up my broken pieces and put them back together. My descent is not my demise. I am merely resting, gathering my strength and spiritual arsenal to defeat the demons who dare to test my will. I am truly a Goddess (as I was reminded by my best friend); I don’t just call myself that. I have a divine purpose here. I was given this life to live because I am strong enough to withstand the storms that shower over my soul. So to you most high, beloved Pachamama, I say, let it rain! Come and cleanse me of this pain. Blessed be.
-Dena M. Daigle

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The Path of the Wounded Healer

The path of the Healer isn’t for the faint of heart, especially when you’re still learning to heal yourself. I find myself often wondering who heals the healer? Sure, faith makes a fine pillow, but there isn’t much rest here for a weary soul. I understand why many healers never embrace their calling; because they’re so bogged down by their own mental health.

I speak of my personal struggles openly because so many of us struggle in similar ways, but do so in silence with no one to turn to because we try so hard to blend in and appear “normal.” I want anyone walking this path who feels the way I do to know they are not alone. As a Wounded Healer, it is important to take time for your own mental health as well. You can give of yourself and share your heart but setting boundaries is vital to the sanctity of your gifts.

I’ve always been quiet about my gifts, and with good reason. Society is straight up savage! Come out talking about being a Healer and watch the adversity you’re faced with. You will be mocked, ridiculed, tested and even laughed at most of the time. Stand in your authenticity anyway!

Suppressing your gifts only creates more anxiety and additional stress. Healing gifts are a constant FLOW, and when not used properly, the energy of these gifts can backfire and create all kinds of trouble. And remember, the ones who need your guidance will gravitate toward you anyway while the others will simply fall back because they cannot tune in to your higher frequency.

Transmutation of suffering into healing is the Wounded Healer’s most precious gift of all and that healing helps the entire world evolve in consciousness. It starts with you!

-Dena M. Daigle  ❤ 🙏

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

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

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.”

– 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

Iris – The Sacred Meeting Place Between Science and Spirituality

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.

map2

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

From Junkie to Juggernaut

So, let me just tell you a little something about that “Junkie” you sit back and judge from that saddle you ride so high. That “Junkie” is someone’s child, someone’s sibling, someone’s parent, someone’s lover; that “Junkie” is SOMEONE WHO MATTERS! That word “Junkie” churns the very pits of my soul.

When I hear that term I can literally feel, all over again, the emotions I felt the first time I was called that disgusting word. Shamed, degraded, dirty, discarded, abandoned, unloved…all felt simultaneously, but I guess those are the feelings that were intentionally invoked by calling me that vile word. And perhaps what cut the deepest was hearing that word slip so loosely from the lips of the person I admired most. You see, at that point in my life, I was at my very lowest. Broken, beaten, hopeless, alone… completely shattered!  And when you’re already in fetal position with your face buried in shame behind your palms, the last thing you need is to be kicked while you’re down.

People will look at you and see the monster you have become, but never do they stop to question, “why?” “Why did you turn to drugs? What happened to you?” I have been sober for 14 years now, and to this day no one has EVER asked me those questions. Frankly, I’m not sure that anyone cared to know. Hell, they probably still don’t. But you know what? I DO! I care because I want to heal. I care because I know that in recognizing those triggers within myself, I can assure that I never make the same mistake again. I care because I’m tired of watching those I love become statistics. I care because I want to help others who are lost on that lonely road just as I once was.  I care because I live and love from my heart, in all of its purity! I care because I LOVE those misunderstood souls that this twisted, self-righteous, judgmental world calls “Junkies” because I see myself in them. And do you know what else? For once in my life I finally love ME! I have worked very hard to overcome many obstacles in my life. I have grown from a weak-minded “Junkie” to a fucking Juggernaut, and I dare anyone to try to stop my shine!

Within the process of self-healing, I have learned the importance of allowing ourselves the time needed to reflect on our personal growth and progress. Take time to appreciate your victories, for in those moments, you may find additional healing in ways least expected. Learn to appreciate the small steps you have taken equally as much as you admire your greatest leaps and bounds. Understand that there is absolutely nothing wrong with self-love and being proud of your accomplishments. SELF-LOVE DOES NOT EQUAL SELFISH, and taking the necessary time to reflect within will allow you to learn your strengths and weaknesses in order to see where you still need to focus on improvement.

If you want to know what you are really made of, stand beneath the light in front of a mirror, and rather than looking at the image portrayed before you, stare into the shadow instead. What do you see behind the mask you wear? I will tell you that it is within that very darkness that you will find the key to unlocking the chains that imprison your soul, but you must first have the courage to face the demons of your past. You must be braver than your fears in order to free yourself from the attachments that hold you hostage. Self-reflection allows you to grow, to find solace, love, acceptance and healing, for your purpose is often found within your pain.  Your journey is yours and yours alone! Although soul work is not easy, it is detrimental to our well-being.

It has taken me a very long time to realize that. I have had to do a lot of soul-searching to come to the understanding that the only way to truly heal is to own my life experiences. So own your truth! We have all been through something traumatic at some point in our lives that changed us. But being victimized does not make you unworthy of love, nor does it mean you have to BE a victim forever. Thinking of yourself in that manner is more harmful than helpful to your personal growth and mindset.  That weakened state of mind is what led me to making some of the most horrible decisions I have ever made in my life.  But, we ALL make mistakes, and those who say they have not, well, I say they haven’t done much living. Sure, some of us make bigger mistakes than others, but it does not mean we have to live the rest of our lives hiding in embarrassment of our choices. Accepting who I really am has taught me that the only person I need to impress is ME, and I am extremely proud of myself! Stand proud in your truth and the lessons you have learned along your journey. Do not be afraid to share your story because you never know who you may be helping by doing so. No one is perfect, but we are perfect in every imperfection.

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