Hamsa–The Hand of Fatima & The Virgin Mary


in high school I had reoccurring dreams of a symbol–a hand with an eye on it.  Dreamed it all the time.  I had no idea what it meant, but it remained with me always.  A few years later I lostinthevalleyrosaryFatimawas dreaming I was in this different aboriginal world and we were painting our faces with blue war paint.  A woman, the leader, kept saying something very close to the sound of “Fatima” and I bolted out of bed but I could not write it down for some strange reason–it slipped away too quickly.  More time passed.  I got sick.  Really sick..  I’d sob into

my hospital mattress praying the Hail Mary over and over and over until I fell asleep.  And everything changed.  But I came back to that dream of the hand with the eye on it, and mulled it over while I was healing.

Last month I was at church (a very rare occasion because I try very hard not to cry for some reason when I”m there) and I was walking out with my grandpa and there was a table of pamphlets and audiobooks set up and I stopped dead in my tracks–there it was; Fatima.  I knew that name but from where?  I kept repeating it in my head.  I knew it.  It was a picture of the Virgin Mary, the vision in Portugal.  I stopped my mother and whispered that I knew this–that I’d dreamed this.  Naturally she shrugged and that was that.   More time passed.

I looked up “hand with eye” and what came up was the Hamsa symbol–the hand of a holy woman (or God’s hand for some) with the eye for protection against evils.   I didn’t read much more because I was floating on the fact that I had dreamed these things and thought maybe–just maybe.  I was so drawn to it, I ordered my hamsa ring after waiting years to get it–I don’t know why I waited.  I stared at it on Etsy every month or so.  But I had to have it.  It was me.

Then I’m at home reading the art of Tantra and books on Sacred Sexuality Read More


The pop and snap of prescription pill bottles
swallow, light, inhale, scrape of the chair,
cluster of tap-tap-taps on the keys, a silence—

beyond this room, beyond this wall
I can almost hear you—the soil
sifting, seeds spreading out, dry in your palm;
folds of light robes around you like
birds’ wings—your child
asleep on your warm back,
your sky a sea, an earth, a breath

because you’re there I’m less anxious
(as I palm another pill) because I rely
on sedated time I sit in my chair,
lost somewhere before the border,
where I see myself later—aged and worn away—
walking to you, palms up.
“Here, here I am…” only you aren’t waiting
for me, time is something else to you—
so I see I don’t have to tell you
where I’ve been or why I am here
but that I’ve arrived
out of the cement tomb;
the rise and fall of my chest is all,
seas of breath and I am.

I know the scent of your skin,
the feel of your warm, bent back Read More

Jung and Alan Watts

So I’m reading up some more on Jung which led me back to Alan Watts The Way of Zen.  It’s a great book but I prefer (here’s a PDF version) The Book: The Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are.  Here’s a snippet of what The Book is like:

If you haven’t read these and are interested in healing and finding your way than these are the books for you.  I’ve been a long-time fan of Watts and now my self-study to occupy my days is Jung.  One part I wanted to share with you is Jung’s Psychological Types (a brief intro).  There are 8 psychological types according to Jung: out of the two ATTITUDE types and the four FUNCTIONAL types it becomes theoretically possible to describe eight psychological types:

  • extraverted sensation type
  • introverted sensation type
  • extraverted thinking type
  • introverted thinking type
  • extraverted feeling type
  • intraverted feeling type
  • extraverted intuition type
  • intraverted intuition type

I’m the Intraverted Intuitive type (to read what these are check out in brief JUNG: A VERY SHORT INTRODUCTION):

“Introverted Intuition does not concern itself with external possibilities but with what the external objects has released within.’  People of this type are inclined to make use of the mechanism of reification (i.e. they treat ideas, images, or insights as if they were real objects).  ‘For intuition, therefore, unconscious images acquire the dignity of things.’  Like Jung himself, who was primarily an introverted intuitive type (with thinking as his auxiliary function), they have difficulty in communicating ideas simply and in an organized way, for they pursue image after image, idea after idea, ‘chasing after every possibility in the womb of the unconscious,’ as Jung says, while usually overlooking what personal implications these possibilities may have.  ‘Had his type not existed, there would have been no prophets in Israel.’  They may have brilliant insights, which, if they can be bothered or sufficiently organized to communicate them, others proceed to build on.

Shadow: extraverted sensation.  Because this is mostly unconscious, they are constantly in danger of losing touch with outer reality, and if they break down they become schizophrenic (oh so true).  Many have schizoid personalities, as did Jung himself as a boy.  Vague about practical details and poorly oriented in space and time, they tend to forget appointments, are seldom punctual, and easily get lost in strange places.  Their poor relationship to reality, combined with the depth of their insights, causes some to experience themselves as belonging to the ‘misunderstood genius’ category.  Their attitude to sexuality can be crude and inappropriate, and they tend to make poor lovers 😦 since they are unaware of what is happening in their own or their partner’s body. 😦

Examples: seers, poets, prophets, psychologists (not experimental or academic ones), artists, shamans, mystics, and Read More

Divinity in the Self

I owe this blog post to WIL over at Write into the Light, in her post “My True Self is Not Mentally Ill” where she begins by listing what she likes about herself (a hard thing for us all to do) and discusses how we see our true Self and then shares an amazing video by Mooji from Mooji Answers (you can ask him questions, read his Buddhist (?) insights and all amazing shit). It’s centered on how our Self is NOT ILL, our person, our body is, not who we are.   Go check out the video at her blog.  After I watched the video I went like crazy over to YouTube and looked Mooji Answers up and I came across this video of his on fear, called “What are You Afraid Of?”  Some parts that really, really struck me were:

“The mind must have something to threaten you with in order to hold you hostage…and only when you, the beingness, the consciousness,  the presence, which is not a person, believe yourself to be a person, believe you’re merely the body-mind instrument and functioning then this thing comes out of fear–once you touch “I am the body”…What is innocence? it’s useful because it is required by consciousness in order for consciousness to taste experiencing (without the body, no experiencing) but somehow something takes places–identification with the instrument and then the consciousness falls into this modification : “I am the body this is me” and then a TRAUMA ENTERS INTO THE BEING, IT FEELS “NOW I’VE COME INTO TIME” THE TIMELESS BROUGHT ITSELF INTO TIME AND ANYTHING THAT TOUCHES TIME, FEAR WILL COME, BECAUSE TIME HAS BEGINNING OR SOME END.  THE BODY HAS BEGINNING, HAS END. …

When you believe “I am this body” then fear comes and can continue threatening you.  How can the being-ness that has fallen under the hypnosis that “I am the body-mind” wake up from this?  Setsang.  In setsang, the waking room.

…how can that which is unbound have no beginning? no real concrete existence? Spirit–comes into fear, by holding onto time…NOT FALL ASLEEP INTO THE HUMAN MODIFICATION, IT MUST REMEBER WHO I AM, AND THAT IS DISCOVERING THE DIVINITY IN YOUR OWN SELF, THE TIMELESS AND THE DEATHLESS…”


Go Forward Already

Sometimes I wonder if even my writing about it all is another way, maybe healthier way, of dissociating from it. No. Because dissociation is a problem when we dissociate from our true selves, not circumstance or the bindings and abuses from others. The abuse, oddly, isn’t what’s been bothering me these past few …months? A year? It’s not my mother (I don’t think, because in spite of it all I love her deeply), it’s not my stepfather, it’s not the memories, its not the flashbacks or hypervigilence or the trauma from the psychosis itself. It’s ME.

I think I’ve come so far and then I wake up to rotten curtains on dirty windows and I want to see the snow coming down, yet it’s hard to get up–out of habit. I’ve let it all become HABIT. Not entirely but lots of it. I am afraid of myself most of the time. When I’m focused and rested and on top of the meds and in motion, then I feel like I’m on top of the world and I have it all, because I lost it all, and was given back something better. That’s so true.


When I feel my molecules start to scurry and ping off each other

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Journal: Beautiful

The last few years of my life have been, well, like nothing I’d have ever expected or believed for that matter–in both good and bad ways. The seven or so years before this my life was quite productive and filling up with things like love, the obsession of staying busy or occupied (in my mind) so as not to journey too far into unknown territory–I was breaking down then but very very slowly which allowed me more time to work on me and see where I wanted my life to go. I met White Buffalo Woman who read my Animal Totems, I minored in Sociology (in love with the way people work, like you could actually map it–it thrilled me), I explored Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity a little, the Beat Generation, Alan Watts, meditation, looking at the world through wide open, fearless eyes, testing and sometimes criticizing, trying to see where I fit. For awhile I went through this phase (Emma was a baby then) that I had to move to India, or some kind of place away from materialism and media down my throat–I had to raise her where life was about living and being and using your hands. It drove me nuts.

In those seven somewhat healthy years, I went to college, I began to write and write (which turned into a pitched fever as a spelled out the past and I began to decline, in my late twenties), I made the Dean’s List, worked full-time, and had a baby girl, and all the while I had no idea who I was or what I had been (or what I was going to become).

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