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cancer rising

I feel very strongly that I am under the influence of things or questions which were left incomplete and unanswered by parents and distant ancestors. It often seems as if there were an impersonal karma within a family, which is passed on from parents to children. It has always seemed to me that I had to answer questions which fate had posed my forefathers, and which had not yet been answered, or as if I had to complete, or perhaps continue, things which previous ages had left unfinished.
-C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections

I wouldn't ever say it to my mom---except for that I did. That her, I, and my sister: we all are cancer rising. The Goddess thread. She pretended not to hear me and I resisted the urge to try to explain.

The body is
the densest part, energy consensed into form. Or, in another way, a halogram. A pattern of interference. Like frequencies banning together, bodies
also stick together. Groups in-carnating, staying near, life-time to life time. A larger condensation; basically the same each time. "do I know you?"

Oil to water
droped in. A free-radical: they all know each other, but they don't know me, but I have the hole that will send them off balance. "Every few generations, an artist is born..." To heal the wounds we've forgotten. Apparently,
chaos brings healing.

It has been hard for me to relate to my blood. Maybe that's why connecting to spiritual archetypes rather than ancestry has made more sense to me. Also, I do not really know my blood: my mom was adopted and also my grandfather on my father's. Plus, nobody talks.
Maybe its hard for everyone to see their archetypal connection to their immediate family. Just because of proximity. We can't get perspective, everything looks foreign from so close.
And I don't have a line that goes far enough back for me to get beyond the personal pressed against my eye ball.

the archetype of: free radical

In other [archetypes], theres sort of ambivalence in relation to blood: artist, teacher, poet
really, in blood, these are all there but on the surface, they manifest so differently; it feels almost blasphemous for me to relate, even though deeply, I know they're the same.

But healer, specifically wounded-healer.... I could maybe explain that they held the wounds and I would find the healing
but I hurt them too,
though, apparently, chaos brings healing.

oh-yeah-and archetype: martyr
the visceral memory of having died for these wounds so many times before, and the all-too-wilingness
to do so again. To die for them rather than...

"But you're forgetting one---one that's really in your blood"

Archetype: orphan--that's the archetype of adoption.
It fits with the dizziness, the displacement. the feeling of foreigness: in my body, in the world. The incongruence between what I was shown and what I knew. My grandma died of alzheimers but she was not by blood. The lostness surrounded me but was not me.

A theory of attachment says that a baby actually knows their biological mother by smell. But my mother was actually my mother. But hers wasnt: could I sense in her an inability to attach that she could not feel herself?

Story: So, my grandma--my mom's adoptive mom--was dying of alzheimers. Around the time my sister was born, my dad hired someone to look for my mom's birth-mom and she was found: around the time my grandma died and a while before my dad died. My dad died when his dad was getting open heart surgery.
The result was that my sister has basically an entierly different family than I did.
My dad's mom and dad---still there---but my dad's death sent them into chaos. I had to step back. but, in the time since, they have started to heal, and my mom--getting some distance and seeing them better, got back some power, enough to see she had to step back, too. Enough to
my sister--in big ways and small--in ways she couldn't defend me.

my mom's shifts, the disruption of abuse from my dad's side of the family, the protection of my sister, me...I'm alive. All coincide with the restoring of the matriarchal blood line.

different forms, but we are on the same path:
cancer rising

So, there is maybe more in blood than I thought, and maybe the rest is in the blood too: my imagery, the things I connect to and know (and the styles I seem to sing in): native american (I figured that was because of where I live) and celtic, especially more since I let my hair be blond (white blood has a lot of shame). Maybe these bloods are really in me. I don't know.
and I notice how Im kind-of afraid to ask.

When I think that, I remeber a prediction I was given that some things would get clear to me in the next couple years. "does my mom know?" "no, but it will make sense to her. you will be looking in a closet and something will make you remeber"

its kind-of sad. The holes in my memory, the unexplained fears when I was little. The physical symptoms seemingly without source, but clearly the soul speaking. I think that, unconsciously, I blamed my dad. just because he was the man I knew. I think, unconsciously, he accepted the blame: having a clearly wounded child. I think that we both felt bad about it---wanting to be better for the other, but also felt like, "fuck you" for not being what I need. but, now that I'm starting to see it, even though it ended us in a place where neither could live with the other living (and then he died)...the original causes--I don't think it was his fault.

so, (clearly) I am at Pacifica right now. I have a sense that I am in the right place this quarter because the topic matter is everything that I feel I can't take--aging, developemental psych, domestic violence. I had to bail for part of the violence and abuse class. I wanted to be in there but I could not breathe. It was more important to go outside and lay on the ground and cry---not for myself.
for everyone,
for the lost blood of our mothers
for the way that our bodies have become foreign to us
for the way that we've lived in our minds---afraid of our hearts
I am grateful to feel.

and I feel that daunting choking and falling back of seeing a path raise before me in no certian terms
of knowing that
exactly what I can't deal with is the work Im to do------again,
not just for my self.


it's good to see the path.

Few bother to look.

What's the archetype for Unconscious-TeeVee-watching-Video-Game-playing-CrackTard-Porn-addicted-Ass-licker?

Cuz, you know, I want to figure out my own underlying motivations.

I think its called the ass clown

what if all the widows and orphans adopted each other?

would they still be lonely?

sometimes I think they will. But they have their moments here and there.

gosh. my blog is such a downer.

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