Sensuality of Pain

I am feeling my brokenness in such a new way. I don’t know how to explain it except that it just is. The story behind it all doesn’t matter anymore. And there is a deep feeling of sensuality in my body each time I go to the pain of how broken I am. It is true, I am deeply wounded; many of us are. Many do not want to know or accept this pain. I have not wanted to.

I realize that I am still very angry, that I still have rage. It sits in me as a state of being, but it is not me. I have seen the demon Rage and I know it intimately and it knows me. But it is not me. It is a decapitated head and pile of guts and exists only as this thing that wants to wrap itself around me. Its head is like the head of the Medusa. It writhes. Since it has no body, it has only the tentacles which come from its head (mind) with which to hook me and attack me. It truly is a demon and this is what it looks like. Very scary stuff. It wants me to believe that it has me. The truth is it has never left me, but it is not me. It’s just that now I know It. I see It for what It is. It is the thing that has me say NO! to the Aniums. It is the thing that has me reject Him or project the bad man onto Him.

Death of Pathology

I am young woman. I am walking along a wooded path. It is dark out and there are people walking with me. I am barefooted and wearing some kind of light weight wrap. We come to a clearing and I see a woman (30’s) standing over a fire. There are other people around perhaps in a circle around the clearing. I think some people must be holding torches. I feel fear coming into my body. The woman has some unleavened bread and some kind of thick porridge. I know I am supposed to go to her. I walk over and stand across from her. She gestures to the bread and I take a piece and dip it in the sauce. I am feeling very scared now. The random thought comes into my head, “I will be like the pigs we eat and they will find this food still in my throat after I am dead.” Other people are there, but they don’t matter. I am only with her now. I tell her that I am scared. I feel tears coming to my eyes. She says, “I know”. She takes a small piece of bread and dips it in the sauce. She says, “Take small bites like this.” The random thought comes into my head, “I took too big of a bite before. I am not doing this right.” Then she pulls out a knife, as I knew she would and she pushes it toward my heart. I say, “No”, but stay facing her. I feel like there is no other choice. I feel so scared. She pushes the knife and I feel it pierce my chest. I feel a deep pain in my heart and a heaviness.
Ever since this dream with the Anima, I have been very aware of my heart. I am aware of its physical presence in my body in a way I never have been. I feel the pain of the knife in my heart more than I do not. It is like it is living there right now. I feel the heaviness of it.

In some way it is connected to my mind too, because it is the knowledge of my alignment with the pathology that brings the pain to my heart. The knowledge of how I have turned away so totally from the Father. How I have lived under the tyranny of a closed heart. An open heart can feel this pain. I never wanted it. I never understood how the avoidance of the pain created the suffering I thought I needed to avoid.

My whole life has been built around this total rejection of the Father, the Uranian Father, God. Rejection of men, self will run riot, rebellion, independence, pride, shame. There is no one who will help me, but me! No matter what you do, you can’t hurt me; a pathologically prideful place of turning away, closing my heart. And underneath it all has seethed the rage and hopelessness that fueled the maintenance of these contracts. It was a trick. An awful, horrible trick.

Of course, I couldn’t have known. Because we don’t know until we know.