big: I tried to tell her that it wasn't her fault, that her abuser was the bad one. I wanted to hold her and tell her she was ok.

little: I couldn't bear to feel that he could simply overpower me; it must be my fault. I couldn't bear to have the big one touch me.

big: I tried just putting my hand on her shoulder, then when she jumped away I tried putting my hand on the floor so my fingertips just touched the shoulder on the floor. I realized that I was slipping into saying what my mother always used to say: "It's ok" or "It's going to be ok." I switched to what I had found as an alternative when my son had medical problems, and said simply "I'm right here with you."

little: Then I could cry. I buried my face in the floor and sobbed, and then I could let the big one hold me and rock me. I put my head down on her knees. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular but just letting out the pain and shame.

After awhile I stopped crying and moved to kneel by the window. The big one was still saying "I'm right here with you." I felt the sunlight coming in, and it became God saying to me "I'm right here with you."

First I protested; I said: "It's not fair," and "Why didn't you protect me." But I kept hearing God saying "I'm right here with you," and gradually I believed it. Other inside people gathered around and touched my shoulders or reached out to me to say that they were here with me too.

big: I felt some peace, and I said a prayer to thank God. Then I started to come back to the surface, though it was a few minutes before I could face the outside world.

-----------end of trance-----------

When that was over, I felt very drained and a bit uncertain about how to hold this big event inside the rest of me. I don't know what is different and what is not.

Talking about Monday, my therapist said something about how I was moving gradually to integrate what happened by interpreting it. He is wrong, or at least interpretation is not the right word for me. What I need to do is build bridges; make what has happened real to more parts of my system. Interpretation may be how my most intellectual part makes it real, but more important are the other ways that other parts make it real. My creative part wants to make it real by painting a picture of God saying: "I'm right here with you."

My Stories:

May 3, 1997: Labyrinth Walks

I went to a workshop retreat led by Lauren Artress, who wrote a book Walking a Sacred Path about the labyrinth as a spritual tool. She gave an introduction, and then we were free for the middle part of the day to meditate and walk two labyrinths. Each was a copy of the labyrinth at the Cathedral at Chartres, 37 feet in diameter, painted on canvas laid on the floor. See Veriditas for more information on the labyrinth.

The Labyrinth, first walk:

I brought a cloak that is black on one side and black with silver sparkles on the other--a symbol for the black (protector) group of insiders. I put on the cloak, black and silver side inward, and entered the labyrinth hoping to find a way for the black group to move from their hostility.

Walking inwards, what they said was we have to keep some part of the person (some inner core of the child) safe from the evil. There has to be some place where the evil doesn't reach. In the center of the labyrinth, curled up face down on my knees, almost entirely covered by the cloak. Yes, there needs to be an inner core that the evil doesn't touch. But I don't have to protect that core, God does that.

As I left the center, I turned the cloak so the sparkly side was out, for the first time risking the black on the inside. Most of the way out, I stepped off the path when a feeling hit me, and then wasn't sure which way I had been going when I got back on the path. Eventually I found myself back in the center again, this time with the cloak silver side out. I lay on the floor curled up on my side, and gradually realized I was in the fetal position waiting to be born. I struggled with the idea of a new self waiting to be born because that seemed like a denial of the old selves. Finally I realized it was a new pattern waiting to be born, incorporating all the parts.

I didn't want to ask too much; it is still time to wait. Walking out I realized some parts (particularly Map) have already joined that pattern by making their first priority to help others inside.

Second Walk:

Wearing a pink-purple piece of sheer silk as a cloak. Quieter at first. Then my thoughts turned to my grandmother: "Why did you hurt me?" It hurts. Around-and-around again, it hurts. Kneeling then lying on the floor in the center. Why wouldn't anyone help me? And I knew no one would, both when I was a child and today because I don't know anyone here. Why wouldn't anyone help me, comfort me, be with me?