The Journey

Soul from oneness

Becomes one with the human

baby growing in Mother’s womb.

Floating in amniotic fluid,

Aware of life and death.

Sister was stillborn,

Experiencing death and birth 

Simultaneously.

Mother remembering the quickening,

The birth, the grief and self-blame.

Mother numbed by drugs 

Calming her hysteria, 

No longer present to baby.

Birthing, being forced out of Mother,

Cord wrapped tightly around neck.

Death?

Life?

Stuck in birth canal.

Powerless to free self.

All alone.

Emotionally abandoned by Mother.

Divine intervention?

Skilled country doctor?

Both?

Breath.

Life.

Named Karen, 

Then separated from Mother 

for seven days.

Seven years old and knowing

Karen, was not my name.

I was certain my name ended in ‘a’.

“Mother, please, may I change my name?”

“Your name is Karen,” she said.

“But Mother!” I cried.

“From birth until death,” she said.

My crone wrapped me in her arms.

“You are remembering my child.

It is true.

Karen is your Caterpillar name.

And your Butterfly name does end in ‘a’.”

“I want to be a butterfly now,” I sobbed.

“Patience my child, patience.

It is not yet time.

You need to master being a caterpillar first.”

Birth is symbolic of life they say.

This time, stuck 

In intergenerational story.

Once again, emotionally abandoned 

By Mother.

I couldn’t live the story

Nor free myself.

No longer remembering.

Waiting to be freed.

August 2013. Camino pilgrimage.

Walking the Spanish meseta

And halted midstride

With a clear knowing:

It is time to change my name.

Joy! Freedom!

My body dancing wildly.

Overwhelming stress.

What is my Butterfly name?

My child asking,

“What if I get it wrong?”

My crone was right there,

Soothing my child and softly crooning,

“Patience my child. Patience.

It will be revealed.

You will know it when you hear it.”

Santiago Spain.

“Your Latin name will be on your Compostela,” he said.

“What is my Latin name?” I ask.

“KATHARINA,” he replied.

My hand shot through the wicket 

Grasping the man’s arm,

While exclaiming, “That is my name!”

Arm pulled hastily from my grasp

As if a crazed pilgrim was 

standing before him.

Joy!

Ecstasy!

My body wildly dancing.

Katharina. My favorite name.

My Butterfly name.

Early morning darkness,

Two kilometers outside of Santiago,

Destination: Finisterre light house.

Looking back at the cathedral in awe

As the full moon illuminated the spire.

I stood transfixed in the silence. 

A vision formed,

revealing the dissolving 

Of the intergenerational story 

And the wounds fully healed.

I turned into the light of the rising sun,

Walking into my future as Katharina.

Joy! Bliss!

I was no longer stuck in story

I was freeing myself.

Not one thought of the goo stage

Yet to be experienced.

Pure celebration and gratitude.

March 2014.

A gold-coloured cord symbolizing 

My connection to my past,

To the intergenerational story.

Women gathered in a circle,

Witnessing my trembling hand 

As I sought the courage to cut the cord.

Cord cut.

No longer caterpillar.

Not yet butterfly.

In the unknown. 

I was goo.

Eight years later.

March 2022.

Ego identity and story 

Dissolved thread by thread.

Wounds healed.

Goo transformed.

Soul emerging.

Past, present and future all one.

Wings still wet.

Not yet ready to fly.

My crone, ever present.

“Patience, Butterfly.“

Her joyous laughter echoing in the silence

Of my mind.

“You are remembering your power.

You are remembering the oneness 

From whence you came, Katharina.

Trust yourself.

You are free now.

You will know when it is time to fly.”

Katharina Reed

April 2022