WHY I CAN’T SAY NO

I had my fourth “Depth Hypnosis” session today and, Holy Shit.

We began with “Why I Can’t Say No.”

I laid down on the table with a lavender eye pillow while the practitioner burned some sage and beat her drum. There may have also been a rattle. Not entirely sure.

After she had set the stage, I began to describe what I felt and saw.

I felt like there was a machine on my right side. A tank like structure, a meat grinder, “A shame machine!” I blurted out. As we talked to the machine, which was like a pet, she asked my guide if we could see when this machine came into my life. Was it this life, a past life, or something else?  With my eyes closed, I saw myself split in two, to my left was the Sahara desert and to my right was me at 10 years old when my mother accused me of trying to seduce her husband.

The practitioner asked me where I wanted to go first.

I chose the Sahara Desert.

There I was, in a Bedouin camp, a  young girl of 13, being banished from her tribe, for saying no, for not wanting to be married to some gross old guy and not wanting to have sex with him. So I had to leave. I saw myself walking away from the tents and the only family I have ever known into the vast, unforgiving desert.

Alone. Again.

I died in that desert, alone. I know this for a fact.

I could see my body, wasted, covered in death and sand until an Angel came and held me in her arms, giving me water, and a soft place to lay my head.

My whole life I have believed that I am quickly forgotten, that nobody cares about me, that I am always rejected, abandoned, and alone. No one, not even my own mother, followed me into the darkness. This was the birth of that narrative. That was evident to me.

As well as the realization of why I hate the fucking desert. No wonder I never want to go to Joshua Tree. Fuck that place. I have never felt safe there. And people love it. Not me. Now I know why.

The practitioner asked my guide to go back to the camp and see what actually happened. That was when I witnessed something gruesome and grizzly. My father slit my mother’s throat because she fought to leave and find me. They stole her voice and hid it in a jeweled box. My mother’s ghost was so angry she became a wraith haunting them and would not leave, even after my guide stealthily went in and stole the box back and brought it to me, the little girl with the angel. I held the box in my hands and waited for my mom to come to me. It took a huddle of women spirit guides to lure her away. We reunited, and I felt her presence in my body distinctly. I felt strong and whole. Angry rageful and resilient. But then my mother did not want to leave my side. I had to tell her it was okay. It was time to go. I had to live my own life. Use my own voice. Then she left my body, I felt her being cleaved from me and warm air rushed in to fill the void. I was whole again.

Then our session was over.

I know it will take some time to process all of this. But my first thought was, I want to tell my ex-husband EXACTLY what I think of him. Fuck being nice, light, and polite.

I want to rage.

“Rage against the dying of the light.”

I have been quiet for too long.

I think I am beginning to find my voice.

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