Doorway to Haynes Roots

"We write to expose the unexposed.

If there is one door in the castle

you have been told not to go through, 

you must.  Otherwise, 

you'll just be rearranging furniture 

in rooms you've already been in.

Most human beings are dedicated to

keeping that one door shut.

But the writer's job is to see

what's behind it, to see the bleak

unspeakable stuff, and

to turn the unspeakable into words."

Anne Lamott

Shelley and me

Dwight and I opened MuRefuge to share my whole ecology garden with his many sculptures through the Second Annual Sebastopol Center for the Arts' Gardens with Sculptures.  So many visited.  And what a surprise when I looked up to see Shelley standing nearby.

When we hugged, my reality tilted (have any of you had a similar experience?).  Grandma Haynes and I were hugging.  And then I returned to MuRefuge talking to Shelley.

I was so happy to have family right here at MuRefuge since remaining family is scattered all over the United States.  My sister and I are estranged, my oldest brother is no longer in his familiar physical form, and my youngest brother living in a Kansas City suburb is very private.

Our Haynes’ aunts have all departed their bodies, except Marty. A husband of one aunt, mother to Sue and Shelly, and wife of another sibling, father to Jim and Ann, are all of that older generation.  As sad and grieving as we have been of this generation’s passing, I for one am releasing the multigenerational dysfunction that has been passed to each of us through the spirit rebirth (genes is another way of saying this) over many, many, many, many years.

When I got a divorce, I decided to legally change my name because I did not want my father’s name since I experienced verbal and physical abuse when he lived with us before my mother obtained a divorced.

The Universe, aka Divine, played a joke on me!  Or perhaps it was my personality’s habit that did. . .

As I was advancing through nursing school, when one weekend I was back on the farm with Mom, Steve and my siblings, we got a call that P.C. had shot himself, aka committed suicide.  As I talked on the phone to Nell, I heard a very

quiet, gentle voice inside me say, “I will eventually discover the ‘why’ of his actions.”  After getting my nursing diploma I moved to El Paso.

As I write this ever so difficult blog entry, I am aware of how cold I feel; fearful I am sharing my story with you.    tee hee, ha ha  . . . laughter releases emotions . . . tee hee, ha ha

After many relocations and BEing stuck, I found my way to Northern California, knowing it was only a matter of time before I would no longer work as a registered nurse.  My focus shifted from workaholism to working on finding myself.  Grandma Haynes visited me often, sharing “Do your Work now so you don’t have to do it on your deathbed.”

One morning I got what I call “the cosmic kick in the butt” to leave nursing when I could not make myself get out of bed to go to work.  Then the deeper Work began and culminated when I went to a laughter workshop with Annette Goodheart http://www.laughtercoach.com/home.html in Santa Barbara.

During that week what had been locked in my unconscious became available to me, providing me with “the missing piece of the puzzle” for my healing work.

When I was four, Grandpa Haynes tried to molest me.  I ran away, for which my mother admonished me for “not loving my grandfather.”  Annette pointed out to me that a four year old who had not been sexually abused earlier could not have reacted as I did.  As she worked with me body memories from age three to six months came forward.  My uncle P.C., who was living with my mom and me at the time, orally sexually abused me repeatedly.

After many months of Work with Annette and many years on my own, which included confronting my mother, I am healing.  Part of my healing has included understanding P.C.’s despair around his father’s oral sexual abuse of him and his repeating of this on another generation.  Please remember when you read this that in the 1960’s the psychological life of individuals and of our nation was so very different than it is in present day .

In Victorian times reportably there was an epidemic of oral gonorrhea among infants wide spread over much of the European continent.  At that time, there was not the knowledge of how gonorrhea was transmitted; now we know it is transmitted through a penis infected with Neisseria gonorrhoeae. This secret, hidden practice arrived along with the European settlers to this country.

My mother did not deny that this abuse had happened to me.  And, although she exhibited many symptoms of the same abuse, she could not admit to what had been done to her. I did not need or want to traumatize her any further.  I

was driven to recognize, admit, bring out of hiding the family secret, and heal myself.  

This healing journey has essentially been done outside the confines of my family.  Perhaps in my very early adulthood I KNEW I must distance myself from my family in order to heal.  This healing of my life altering auto immune disease (auto immune disease comes from the self not being able to differential hers or his own cells from those of invasive organisms) could not have gone forward had I not met and connected deeply with Dwight, now my husband after 23 previous years of a monogamous, committed relationship.  

Shelley, me and Dwight

My last name remains Haynes.  Haynes reminds me of all I have experienced: the early oral sexual abuse AND the deep healing which has freed me of the debilitating body flashbacks.  These flashbacks began when I was in elementary school after we moved to Shenandoah, Iowa and continued throughout my life until just fairly recently.

I offer the story of discovery and healing to you . . .
the doorway I took to Haynes roots

In the very first BE-ing Rooted: a Practice in Essential Living http://beingrooted.blogspot.com/2010/07/story-of-murefuge.html  post I equated healing the raped landscape of MuRefuge to healing myself. This initial post was a less explicit version of my healing and the first public, written acknowledgement of my early trauma.  Now some ten months later, as the hands Dwight sculpted for our artisan well offer water to the water sprite living below the surface, I am offering this entry to you all, spurred by my recent physical connection with Shelley and spiritual visit from Grandma Haynes.

"about everything in your
live that isn't really funny"