Let me share with you how my inner poetess was born.
It was unexpected. It was more than I could have imagined. It propelled me into new and unknown territory. It was being in this ancient, sacred space on the Mother land of Ireland, and so much more.
I was with my soul sisters on the last day of a powerful seven-day pilgrimage in Ireland, a pilgrimage I had taken once before just two years ago.
Our last sacred site on this day was to a womb tomb or as they are more commonly known as in the UK, a passage tomb. We had visited other similar sites throughout the week but what made this one special was that we had it all to ourselves, no tourists and it was the largest one around, with the sea in the distance and the sheep grazing around us.
Upon entering as a group, I immediately felt an overwhelming wave of uplifting energy, so much so, I was brought to tears. I felt the palpable presence of something…what it was I couldn’t put words to at the time. I had to step out for air where our leader guided me to ground myself.
We were invited to spend contemplative time inside this dark and cold cave made of megalithic stone, thousands of years old. I sat with my journal, pen in one hand, flashlight in the other hand, ready to write my thoughts. Suddenly, this poem happened, words flowing through me quickly, expressing what my mind alone could not put into words.
More of the poem came to me later while sitting inside, my bottom going numb on the cold rock, what is known as the midwifing chamber. See photo below.
Then something else entirely transpired for me inside this sacred space during our group’s closing ritual which requires another blog. But it was nothing less than a healing by these ancient ones. A healing of all the decades of repressing my emotions, of shutting myself down for the sake of others, of making myself small and invisible.
I left this mound of rock lighter; something big had shifted in me.
On the plane ride home the next day, normally utter exhaustion would mean nothing more than watching a movie and sleeping. This time I had the energy to work my poem.
At eye level with the clouds, I feel as if I’m in an alternate reality, almost like I was in the womb tomb. The final draft of the poem flowed through me. I felt the need to get this down for my own sake, for my continued healing.
Little did I know then what would come next. This Ireland trip fell in the middle of an online writing course I was taking with author of Brave Healing, Laura DiFranco. For our last class which fell the night after arriving home, we were to share whatever it was we were working on, to read it aloud to the group of ten or so women. This course had already been pushing me out of my comfort zone.
All I had was this poem. With hesitation and jet lag, I read my poem. My teacher said, “read it again”. I felt my heart quicken. I sat up. I read it this second time with more emotion, feeling as if I was back in that dark cave. The positive comments on Zoom came pouring in. Laura invited me to send a copy to her for posting on her website.
They actually liked it. No, they more than liked it! I felt amazing, lit up. Just this one little poem in this little group but it was enough. To top it off, Laura included a piece of artwork to go with it for posting. See below.
This then gave me the courage to send it to my pilgrimage leader. She was actually moved by it, leading me to feel bold enough to send it to my Ireland group.
Step by bold step, facing each fear that came up, I sent it out to more and more groups and platforms. Each step growing my wings as a poetess, growing me into a bolder person, even brave enough to put the poem here for you to read.
The fear is still there, lingering in the recesses of my mind and body, but I’m doing it anyway!
As our Ireland group gathered for our post-trip meeting my group leader would usually read a poem someone well-known had written. Instead she handed me my poem to read. How profoundly moved I was! It felt like coming full circle to where this poem began working me in that ancient stone.
After all this played out and the high’s dissipated, my inner critic showed up. Will I ever write another one like this? Did this just happen because I was in a sacred space in a special frame of mind and body? Was that just a fluke?
I told my inner critic to step aside and as my teacher, Laura advised, “just rest in the uncertainty.” Who knows if there will be another one. I’ll just enjoy what I created and the healing effects this little poem has had on me and who knows whom else.
What I do know is I’ve got my wings to fly!
Read below my first poem that made it further than my journal.
MYSTERY OF THE WOMB TOMB
by Karen Tasto
I fly across ocean to sit among ancient ones.
Seeking what was buried so long ago.
These deep mounds of rock like the depth of my soul.
The cold chill like the fear wrapped round my heart
With these wise, old spirits wrapping me in warmth,
I see the stone carvings as words on my soul’s walls.
With body and psyche now raw and more open,
I birth what links me to all women before.
With the midwife of sisters, spirit and Self,
I am reborn from ancient wisdom.
Their longings and pains so much like mine.
Their words are still speaking,
Their bodies still dancing.
Their silence cries out like a relentless caw of a rook.
Hold back no more
Speak your truth
Shed your tears
Dance your joys
Write your pains
Come to us they plead — these ancient ones.
We are never far
You are never alone.
Hear our song –
So familiar you cannot help but dance along.
Let go, they whisper, be free
From the top of the mound
Sing up to the mountains
And out to the sea
Let the winds carry your unique song
To the future ones.
Article originally posted at medium.com
Karen is an expert healer with 15 years of experience teaching Reiki, yoga and meditation. Her transformational program — Women Healing Women Through Sacred Circle — helps women awaken to who they truly are with compassionate, empowering tools and processes. Being a lifetime seeker herself, she’s able to help you dig deep into your body and soul to uncover your innate healing wisdom.