[Vicki Rivard]

Dear Christine,

The piece of writing on your blog is simply breathtaking. (Or, as we say in French: époustouflant!) Wow.

Like Daniel said in another thread: You are not only heard, but felt. My heart feels your heart (and all of the love there). My lungs feel your lungs (and all of the grief there).

I have printed the chapter of your book and will dive into it one evening when the kids are asleep, the house is quiet, and my soul is longing for poetry.

Thank you for sharing your tremendous gift with us. It is a vulnerable and courageous thing to do.

[Vicki Rivard]

Wowwwwww! Powerful stuff, Lauren. Look at the magical shift you triggered/supported! This is beautiful.

I, too, gave birth to a sleeping baby – baby Gabriel. One of the things that helped me the most, in the days following his birth/death, was creating a little altar for him in my bedroom. There was a candle, his ultrasound photo, a book (It’s Time to Sleep, My Love by Nancy Tillman), a baby blanket, flowers, gemstones, etc. I cocooned myself in my bedroom, with this altar, for a long time – talking to him, reading to him, singing to him. I let the grief (which at first felt insurmountable) flow through every hollow part of me. In time, the grief (magically) turned to gratitude and I found myself thanking him for choosing me to be his mama, if only for a very, very short time.

Those days, in that room, with that altar, were some of the most raw, human, sacred, precious transformative days of my life.

As a Death Doula, I have suggested the altar ritual to a number of grieving clients and the response is almost always the same: “I didn’t know if I wanted to do it / I did it / I’m so glad I did.” It could be something you suggest to your patient, if the jaw pain / other symptoms linger.

♥️

[Vicki Rivard]

I opened my bottle of Black Spruce Essential oil, held it up to my nose, and inhaled. The effect on me was instant. Instant.

I was young—perhaps 7 years old. I was with my Grampa. We were standing in the forest of my childhood, next to an evergreen tree (it wasn’t Black Spruce, but it was similar). My Grampa used his fingers to peel dried, sticky resin from the bark of the tree. He then put the teardrop-shaped resin marble in his mouth and explained that this resin could be chewed, like gum; that chewing it was good for cleaning the teeth and freshening the breath.

I asked if I could try a little. He pulled off another small piece and gave it to me. The stickiness surprised me—it had looked smooth and glossy on the tree, but now it was a sticky glob between my fingers. I placed the sticky glob inside of my mouth. It was strong! Very strong! It did not at all taste like the sweet gum I was used to chewing. I spit it out. Grampa laughed. I laughed. We often laughed together.

This memory is very much alive for me, as I allow the aroma of Black Spruce to permeate my cells. My Grampa is very much alive for me. I am reminded of Lorie’s words: The ancestors are with us. They are always with us.

I used to think of my Grampa constantly. I used to feel his presence—which I often described as a bird of light perched on my left shoulder—and have entire conversations with him. But for the past few years, he has felt more distant to me, harder to reach. That is, until I started this Mentorship Program.

As I pondered what to share in my Introduction, a few weeks ago, it is Grampa who showed up and told me to share a bit of our story. When we named our teachers, during our first day of Mentorship, his name—Wilfred Gaboury—found its way out of my heart and into the dreamlike chorus of those who whisper through us. And when I opened that bottle of Black Spruce, there he was again.

I am so grateful to be reconnecting with him like this.

Black Spruce feels like my Grampa: tall, strong and solid. Calm. Handsome. Deeply connected to Indigenous wisdom.

Its aroma makes me feel joyful. Uplifted. Hopeful. (It also reminds me of Christmas—a traditionally happy time in my family.)

Putting drops of Black Spruce on KD 1 (Bubbling Spring) helps me to feel rooted and steady, able to withstand the hurricane-like winds of these times.

The first time I put drops on KD 1, I felt immediately called to put drops on LU 1 (Middle Palace) as well. I did, and felt my lungs soften and expand. I had actually been experiencing some shortness of breath, and Black Spruce on LU 1 helped me take my first full, deep breath of the day and settle fully into the stability of my own bones.

If I had to describe Black Spruce in one word, it would be: Home. This oil carries within it the echoes of my childhood: Grampa, lazy Saturday mornings, forest walks, laughter, safety, love. Home.

[Vicki Rivard]

Tears.

May we remember…

Thank you for sharing.

[Vicki Rivard]

This is so beautiful, Lauren. It lands right in the centre of my heart.

Thank you for sharing.

[Vicki Rivard]

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[Vicki Rivard]

I really love this, Lauren. It is landing with me too. Thank you for sharing, and please share more!

[Vicki Rivard]

Dear Babbie,<div>
</div><div>Reading your intro, just now, felt like forest bathing. Or ocean swimming. Or sunset gazing. It made my Soul feel connected, and less alone.</div><div>
</div><div>I, too, have been preparing for these times my entire life (and, likely, for many previous lives, too).</div><div>
</div><div>I live in Ontario, Canada where, in two days, we will all be “required” to utilize QR codes to “participate in society.” I can’t believe it has come to this and, at the same time, I can believe it very much.</div><div>
</div><div>My mantra for 2021 was: “I will not abandon myself.” I carry it with me, into 2022.</div><div>
</div><div>I look forward to getting to know you better, through this Program and beyond. It has never been more important to build community with like-hearted humans.</div><div>
</div><div>Thank you, Babbie. We are miles apart, but in it together.</div>

[Vicki Rivard]

Dear Benjamin,

It has taken me awhile to get back to you, but I absolutely love this message! It reminds me of a conversation I had with my astrologer once. I told her, “I never feel as though I quite belong.” She laughed (kindly) and said, “That is the Aquarian lament!”

Thank you for this: “…you must embrace a new kind of existence that honors the truth of who you are! We’re not going to let you settle for mere survival! And, in fact, we need you not to.”

Throughout the course of my life, I have often felt that my authentic expression/questioning would “rock the boat” and lead to rejection, which would threaten my very survival.

I now believe that the boat needs to be rocked! Gently, but persistently. Discomfort is required. We have been comfortable (aka complacent) for far too long—and look where it has led us!

Becoming exiled from the collective due to “asking questions that have never been asked before” scares me, but I do feel as though this is one of the crossroads I am facing now, and I do feel as though I am getting closer and closer to choosing the path of unabashed authenticity.

(Unabashed authenticity! Imagine that! The words themselves feel like a celebration.)

I came across this quote in Toko-Pa Turner’s incredible book, Belonging. About the Outcast, she writes:

“In the end, her triumph is a place of belonging in the world that is unimpeachable, not only because she has wrought it from scratch, but because it is large enough to shelter others.”

Beautiful, right?

I imagine New Earth will be made up of plenty of unbelongers, who will wholly belong to themselves and each other (and Spirit—that infinite force that connects and enlivens us all).

I am so grateful for your companionship and support on this journey (and your astrological perspective on things—what a gift). Thank you.

[Vicki Rivard]

Dear Lorie,

It has taken me awhile to get back to you, but I so deeply appreciate your thoughts, your guidance, and your suggestions here. I have been sitting with them and working with them and wish to share where I am, now, in the process.

Yes, the part of me that is ready to die is the part that will shape-shift itself and silence itself in order to “fit” into various spaces. I believe that fitting—ie. being liked and NOT rejected— emerged as a survival strategy when I was still inside of my mother’s womb.

A snippet of the backstory: When my young mother told my biological father that she was pregnant with me, he was overcome with rage and violently attacked her.

Although my mother softens this story by simply saying, “he hit me,” my grandmother, before she died, told me that my mother came home that day “black and blue.”

There I was—a 6 week-old fetus—and my very existence, the NEWS of my existence, triggered a violent rejection (by my father) and deep trauma (in my mother).

I have no doubt that I felt this, in my already-sensitive nervous system. I have no doubt that this is the moment when my heart broke (I was born, nine months later, with a faulty heart valve).

And I have no doubt that the message that was imprinted on my soul, in that moment, was: It is not safe to be me.

This internal message is what motivated my shape-shifting/silencing over the years. Rejection (which includes any type of failure) has always felt dangerous.

But, you are right in saying that this message and its resulting pattern are no longer useful.

I love your idea of a ritual to let go of what no longer serves me (nor my mother, nor my grandmother, nor the rest of my lineage).

It feels important that this ritual include Earth/Yi—the element and spirit I feel least connected to, but which I believe hold a key to my continued healing and transformation.

(During our group meeting this month, Stephanie reminded me that the Chinese symbol for the Yi is the symbol of the open bowl of the heart, with a song rising out of it: “…the ancient song that sings my heart alive…”)

I am therefore waiting until later this spring, when the ground is fully thawed, to do this ritual, as there will be some actual “planting of newness” involved.

Thank you, also, for recommending Cerato—the image resonated very much! I ordered some online and have yet to receive it, but I should very soon. I look forward to befriending it.

(Side note: It has not gone unnoticed that my instant and powerful connection to Black Spruce and its “Grandfather energy” coincided with my diving into Prima Materia work. The gaping hole left by my absent biological father, during the first few years of my life, was filled by my Grampa, whose oceanic love ensured I did not feel the absence at all.)

Thank you, Lorie. It is a wonder to be here, doing this work, with you.

[Vicki Rivard]

Dear Liz,

Thank you for this comment. It IS amazing how we hide parts of ourselves in order to fit in and then, as you say, end up not “fitting ourselves.”

It also seems to be a theme, in this group. I have been reading some of the other Prima Materia posts and have seen this same issue, expressed in different ways, reveal itself again and again.

It leads me to wonder: What happened to us? Not us, as individuals (every one of us likely has a thousand personal stories of rejection and abandonment), but US as a generation of truth seekers and tender healers. What happened, to this world, that has caused so many of us to feel unsafe in expressing our unabridged selves? And how did it happen? And why? And who is benefitting from our collective silence? And who, or what, desperately needs us to open our mouths and speak?

“I will not abandon myself” means that I will not erase parts of myself anymore, out of fear of not surviving the backlash. In fact, those unerased parts (in particuar: my heart) are the ones that will catch me as I fall—and then I’ll realize, “hey… I didn’t fall after all.”

Here’s to all of our courage!

[Vicki Rivard]

Hi Benjamin,

I do not know Monique Gaboury, though the Gaboury line does extend out west so there may a connection somewhere.

(Fun fact: My grandfather’s family tree includes Marie-Anne Gaboury, grandmother of Louis Riel, one of the founders of Manitoba and the leader of the Métis people who led two resistance movements against the Canadian government. Resistance and revolution run in the family!)

And ohhh yes. Diana will hear your voice long after you have returned to spirit form. She will remember your hands. She will remember your heart. You will be alive in her stories, and in her dreams, and in the way she confidently moves through the world. The grandfather-granddaughter dance lasts forever. What a gift, for both of you. <3

[Vicki Rivard]

Hi Lorne,

I rebooted my computer and was then able to post my Intro. Thank you. 🙂