Wise Words: A Heroine’s Resurrection

I wasn’t sure that I would enjoy The Lady’s Handbook for Her Mysterious Illness, but actually found I couldn’t put it down. While it is, at times, utterly harrowing, it is also full of hope and possibility. Despite severe illness, Sarah Ramey just does not give up, and she arrives at insights and conclusions, about the medical system, and society and culture, that make a lot of sense to me. She becomes ‘quietly expert at the art of fruitful despair’ (Sarah Ramey, The Lady’s Handbook for Her Mysterious Illness: A Memoir, Fleet: London, 2020, p. 237).

I noticed that there are some one-star reviews on Goodreads, people saying it is truly terrible. It’s not a perfect book—no book is!—but I don’t think the reviews are entirely justified. It will not appeal to everyone, but for me it was though-provoking and endarkening. I am sharing the quote below in the hope that it inspires (or reinforces the knowings of) others.

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… A heroine’s resurrection is not a release from the wheel—not an ascension, an end of samsara, a rising out of the body, a final deliverance. It’s not a slaying of anything, of bad guys, of dragons, or Orcs, or ogres—not even a slaying of inner demons. A heroine’s resurrection is down, into the wheel of life—a rooting into the dark, turning earth. A claiming of the body, a realignment with the psyche, and a partnership with the dark, wormy dirt itself. She becomes literally grounded. Her whole job is to learn how to work with life—including the demons and the darkness—not against it, not transcending it, not denying it, not dominating it, not submerging the ugly parts, not striving forever to be better, lighter, brighter, perfect, perfect, best, champion.

Her job is to understand the shadow.

And when this initiate comes back to the upper world, instead of that being the end of the adventure, it’s actually the beginning.

That person now has the job of accompanying others, guiding others, strengthening others as they go through their own difficult, painful descents, disintegrations, and reconfigurations.

Like Persephone.

Goddess of the seasons.

Put another way:

It’s an ecological initiation.

It’s not about learning how to win or dominate something or someone else. It’s about learning how to grow strong roots, and to thrive in connection, cyclically, with everything else.

And this requires not being afraid of the dark.

It requires working with life as it is—worms and all.

(pp. 229–230) 

Greeting the Wild Nun

Dear readers, I seem to be becoming more and more quiet in this space. Life seems to be getting the better of me, and I am struggling to find not only the energy to make art, but also the motivation. I don’t lack ideas—in fact, I have far too many!—but I do lack impetus and focus. 

This is the ongoing challenge of living with a chronic illness: traversing the difficult times with as much grace a possible, and then beginning again, again, again.

So, in an attempt to redirect my attention and energies back towards what is nourishing and restorative, and away from detrimental distractions, I have made a decision to take an extended break from social media. Mostly this means Facebook, which I intend to avoid for the next month (though potentially much longer). The only exception will be to share anything I publish here. 

I will also probably be posting less often on my Instagram account: @offeringsfromthewellspring

By consciously avoiding the worst of the online world, I hope I will be drawn back towards what I need: nature, sunshine, beauty, myth, making, and healing work in my studio.

However, wisely or otherwise, I have created a sister account on Instagram to explore a new creative project, an alter ego of mine: @the_wild_nun

I intend to share most of what I post in the voice of this new persona here, but do come and follow her journey on Instagram if you feel so inclined. She’s an hermitic creature, much like the Solitary Woman of a story I once wrote; but she does like some company from time to time. 

And so I, she, begins …

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My unknowing is both shameful and a place of beginnings.

It is only by journeying into the darkness that I will find my way. I can no longer shy from my uglinesses, my weaknesses, my flaws, or the hidden things that scare me. I need to dive down deep into myself, to find a passage through the underworld, and then back to the surface.

The Wild Nun is me and not me; she tells all the truth but tells it slant. She is a dweller of two worlds: upper and lower, inner and outer, conscious and unconscious. She bridges the gap between, and sees in the dark, unearthing treasures.

When I cannot speak as myself, I will speak through her. When illness, fatigue and depression silence me, I will use her voice, create with her hands and heart.

Her name is Veejma, the phonetic spelling of the Polish word wiedźma, meaning witch, hag, harridan (source: Max Dashu, Witches and Pagans: Women in European Folk Religion, 700–1100).

I am taking the Wild Nun’s hand and letting her lead me into the underworld where radical healing is found. A new journey is beginning, a new twist in the path, a new shadowy entrance into myself.

Detail of my painting Rainmaker (filter added)

Comfort: A Poem

There was a curious comfort 

in the consciousness that she was 

back in the underworld 

back in the cauldron 

the chrysalis 

for she’d been there before 

and knew its darkness well 

no longer frightening or painful 

but familiar 

the ways well-trodden and 

full of memory 

just like home

Detail of Proserpine by Dante Gabriel Rossetti