The Way Home

Have you ever had a garden and been just squirreling around and you casually plant a seed somewhere without much thought and then BOOM it just grows into this wonderfully vibrant lifeform?

Ha!

And it's funny because there's other plants you've been fussing over and trying so hard to get the conditions just right to grow and they just don't grow as much.

Like flowers, different songs bloom in different conditions. Each one has it's own unique medicine to share, each one teaches me so very much.

So today, I wanna talk about one of these first kinds of songs. The kind that sprout up strong when you aren't lookin'.

It's called 'The Way Home'.

Listen here

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https://emilyra.bandcamp.com/track/the-way-home

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I wrote it in Marya Stark's class called 'Voice of My Womb, The Rose Petalled Path'.

It was during an exercise where we sit or lay on the earth and record ourselves singing.

This song is a medicine song.

And the reason it's a medicine song is because it helps me all the time. And it helps others too.

It continues to help me to this day, with recovering from relational abuse and trauma related anxiety.

See, I wrote it weeping beneath the oak tree on that cold January morning, because the night before my boyfriend and I had a knockdown drag out fight.

The next day he invited his buddies over and completely ignored me and acted as if nothing had happened.

So I went for a walk, cried, sat beneath the oak, and recorded myself singing this song.

And these words came out:

'> I wish I could tell you
the most painful story

Of what has happened
To the womb of me

I wish you would hold me
I wish you'd believe me

I wish you'd console me
And tell me it's true

But even if you do
Or even if you don't

My womb, she knows
And if that's too

Much pain for you to hold
I wish you'd find your way

Back home.

'

I still don't fully know what the lyrics mean. I mean, I do, but. Yeah. It's one of those seeds that surprisingly sprouted right up.

The oak and I channeled it through.

But to the blessed of my ability I believe it means, 'Even if you don't believe me, I believe me. I know how I feel. My feelings are valid and real.'

And that's powerful.

It's powerful for all the women who don't tell their story because they become ostracized and told they're crazy.

Because it's exausting to tend to grief without real containers to hold them well.

But my womb, she knows.

And for the people who choose that route of looking the other way. Those who lack the courage to hold accountability and accept the consequence of their missteps due to pride or arrogance or fear or whatever...

I wish for you that you'd find your way back home to yourself.
That we all do.

Back to the sympathetic nervous system. Back to safety.

Because when we're truly at home with ourselves, we'll naturally have compassion. We'll naturally care when we witness the suffering of others.

We'll naturally come home to one another.
We'll be free to grow.