In Her Embrace
I dreamt that I was climbing a mountain and when I reached the top, I hugged the mountain, taking her in my embrace. Then I noticed that I was wearing a dress ‘of the mountain’—a dress made of clay and earth. What a special feeling to wear nature, to be nature…
My teacher in Jungian dream interpretation and Archetypal Feminine Psychology, Faranak Mirjalili, later helped me to link my dream to Sophia, the Mother of All, the feminine aspect of God.
“To be cooked by a myth is a journey for the heroine or hero within us. A part of every human being longs to consciously come to know which ancient stories live within the depths of our soil and soul.”
- Faranak Mirijalili
And I decided to follow my dream literally, creating a dress with tree leaves and ferns which I then wore into the woods of France during my summer holiday. There, a dialogue of meanings unfolded: my wounds were Her wounds, my scars were Her scars.
Here are some moments of the creative process that gave so much joy through an intimate connection with myself and the earth.
Preparation.
Once I decided to make the dress, more dreams occurred. One of them involved a passport picture which I noticed was actually a picture of me and my naked breast with its scar from my breast cancer surgery. In Spanish, the word “breast” is ¨mama¨.
Dressmaking.
Part of creating the dress felt like honoring my female ancestors, including my Mother who was an accomplished seamstress, as well as my Grandmother and many women long before H&M and Zara.
The Forest.
Once I had completed the dress and went into the woods, I had a strong intuition that I had to get closer to a pile of cut trees that I had seen before, laying massively along a mountain path.
And nearby, I also noticed charcoal and deep tire tracks. So much destruction….
The Wounding.
Here I felt I was honoring the wounded feminine: women, the Earth, and how we’re treating the planet. I was uncovering the feminine wounds, and blessing them, discovering how they can also be doorways to love.
And Beauty.
There is beauty in allowing our creative force to emerge, following the subtlety of it, manifesting it, and allowing nature to speak through us. To do this without judgement and with wild abandonment is to connect to something much bigger than ourselves.
Sacred Ground
By Olga Romanillos
I sink my feet into the open sores
like gullies carved into the earth
by an inclement water.
In your open sores, mother,
and I climb your arid or forested slopes and I climb far, so far..…
Always this falling, like a young Sofia
peering curiously into the void.
this pulling myself up and this falling back down,
the fight, the exhaustion,
the search without clear clues,
just trails uncovered in the night.
Night, answer me
Where should I look? Where do I go?
There are neither metaphors nor symbols enough
To help us find what we lost so long ago
And today, only today,
maybe tomorrow,
I will uncover the wound and bless it.
Sacred ground.
Hundo mis pies en las llagas
como cárcavas horadadas en la tierra
por un agua inclemente.
En tus llagas, madre,
y trepo tus laderas, áridas o boscosas.
Y trepo, pero qué lejos..
Siempre este caer, como una Sofía niña
que asoma su rostro curioso al vacío
Este elevarme y este caer,
la lucha, el cansancio,
la búsqueda sin rastros evidentes,
solo pistas encontradas en la noche.
Noche, respóndeme,
¿dónde miro? ¿dónde voy?
No hay metáforas ni símbolos suficientes
que nos ayuden a encontrar lo que hace tanto perdimos
Y hoy, solo hoy,
quizás mañana,
desvelo la herida y la bendigo.
Tierra sagrada.