It’s the first class of my Spring Sacred Ritual session. Ladies of varying ages, enter the room. Hesitant, and curious. A few appear unsure, as if they are in the wrong place, one or two are down right impatient to get started, and a couple are silent and thoughtful as they take in the sights and sounds.
The beginning of every session fills me with awe, wonder and expectation. Awe and wonder because they have come, expectation because of all that I will receive within the sacred confines of circling together. An ova of birthing the sheer potentiality of divine feminine within each of us. And as close to authentic hands on mothering as I will experience ever. I am giddy with anticipation. Much like a child on Christmas morning as brilliant, twinkling lights are suddenly illumined.
Over time I have refined the course so that the blending of activities keeps everyone motivated and connected through interactive “play.” And though I attempt to be fully present in each exercise, meditation or visualization, as the presupposed matriarchal figure I am unable to completely let go.
It’s almost too painful to observe some who persistently struggle to connect with their inner knowing. You can see the determination in their eyes, the need in their hearts, and the desire in their voice[s]. I wrestle within myself to want to grab hold and cradle them assuringly til they recover their authentic heart, and inner peace. Feeling as if each and every one is my own dear child.
From where I am in my own journey, I am experiencing more impassioned, and tearful sentimentality. At times I must remove myself so the emotion welling up will not break loose at inappropriate moments. I suspect my own mother issues may be rising to the surface. I try not to project my own neediness, and yearning for [what I call] the missing mother syndrome.
By the end of our time together, the once hesitant are now reluctant to depart. They feel something they’ve not felt before. The connection is strong. Her divine feminine self has once again worked her magick. The mother in us all has emerged–just a bit. Her work here is done for today. But she is ever vigilant, and waits patiently and lovingly just beyond the veil for our cry. “Mother, please come, I need your help.”
Lolly O’Dea has been a writer/editor, and a massage therapist for over 20 years. She has spent the last number of years creating and presenting seminars and “playshops” for Stress Management, Energetic Body Healing, Breathwork, Spirit and Creativity, Croning, StoryTelling and Labyrinth Design and Building.