The Healing Journey – Guest Posts of Patricia Garza Pinto
Facing my Deepest Parts of Self…
It is the wee hours of the stormy night when the veil between the physical world and the spiritual world is the thinnest. It is dark. It is cold…inside and outside. I am alone with my many parts of Self. I am alone with the darkness which lives within me.
With what seems like an angry vengeance, huge raindrops crash against my windshield. The wind blows hard and howls with a low guttural roar. A bright street light begs for my attention. I hear a police car siren in the distance. I hear the vague screams of a man’s voice. Odd…In the midst of the mysterious chaos of this dark, stormy night, I feel no fear.
Off in the distance, standing in front of the convenient store, I see a homeless man having a conversation with himself. Without any warm clothing for protection, and wearing a pair of shabby and tattered shorts, he dances in the pouring rain as his addlepated prattle lands on deaf ears. The tall, slim woman, with a half smoked cigarette hanging from her lips, wears short shorts and flip flop sandals decides to escape from the rain and enters the convenience store. She appears to be a prostitute working her wee hour night shift. They are all meaningful characters in my own story. They are me.
A parking lot security guard walks up to my car and waves to me to open my window. With a thick, middle eastern accent, he asked, “Who are you and what are you doing here?” I answered his questions. Eagerly he commences, with a thick heavy accent, to share his ideas and beliefs about God. I strain my ears to understand him. It was futile and to no avail. I attempted to put meaning to his jumbled words. It was as if he was trying to convince me in saying that God lives within me and that God is Light. I was Light. God was my “parasol” during the storm. My eyes welled with tears as I put meaning to another timely metaphorical message in my life. I was the Light and Great Spirit was my refuge during the storms in my life.
With slow meticulous grace, I drop my head back against the headrest of my vehicle. I close my eyes and focus on my slow belly breath. My ears yearn for the crashing sound of the rain drops pelting against my windshield. A pleasant distraction from the soon to be, painful eruption ready to express her Self!
I begin my conversation with God…Great Spirit. Audibly I speak the words, “God, sometimes I feel so confused deciphering Your words, words from my Higher Self, words from my ego. Please…Help me to decipher my ego parts from my Higher Self. Help me. Show me. Please. A warm, lone tear rolls down my cheek.
With my eyes still closed, I think of the words “father wound”. All of a sudden, as if Zeus himself shot two lightning bolts into my body, I feel powerful waves of energy from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. I can see the colors of the chakras palpating throughout my body. I feel warm and cold at the same time. My heart expands as if to burst out of my chest and my stomach drops to my pelvic floor.
I drop my head in my hands and begin to sob. My chest heaves as I gasp for air. Salty tears fill and sting my eyes. My mouth goes dry. Deep, powerful emotions were stirred at the thought of my parents and my dysfunctional childhood. I see my father’s piercing eyes, furrowed brow and pursed lips as he screams hurtful and abusive words at my mother. My mother kneels, crumpled on the floor like a rag doll with her head dropped towards her knees. Tears of shame and fear roll down her beautiful face.
Swiftly, he moves towards her and grabs her by her long, thick, beautiful auburn-brown hair. He begins to drag her around the living room as he hits her body with powerful blows from his strong arm and fist. She screams and begs for him to stop. And so do her seven children as we huddled in a group screaming and crying for him to stop.
I experienced my father as an alcoholic, abusive womanizer. He didn’t respect the Divine feminine within himself much less the Divine feminine within my mother. He would bring home his “lovers” and force my mother to cook them homemade meals as they taunted her while she shamefully, with downcast eyes, toiled away in the kitchen meeting her abuser’s needs.
My story about my father and mother is a story about deception, lack of trust, insecurity, doubt, fear and many other things. I have taken on the story of my parents and have projected this story onto my own partner and intimate partnerships.
I will be sixty years old in July. It is time for me to dig deep and face this insecure part of my Self which I project onto my intimate relationships with men. The story of my parents has created great strife within my Self. It is again time for me to do some more deep, powerful inner healing work. Part of me is very fearful…fear of the unknown. Part of me feels insecure. Then again, i continue to remind my Selt that I have worked through other adversities in my life…I will work through this too. I will get through this and I will come out a stronger, more loving, compassionate, understanding and intimate partner. The time is now. My time for healing is now!
My healing continues as I witness parts of me and my wounded inner child. Each time I witness those parts, I am offered the opportunity to heal and integrate those parts of my inner child, me…my beloved little Patty.
I am a Wounded Healer. Because I am a Wounded Healer who has and continues to work through her own shit, I have a bigger capacity and deeper understanding to assist others with their wounded parts…with their integration.
The metaphors: The storm, inside and outside, continues to build. From deep within my bowels, I feel my own storm building. The man’s screams are no longer heard. Now, I hear my own inner screams. The voice of my inner child screaming to be released from the shackles of emotional bondage, shame and fear. My inner child screams for healing. It is cold, inside and out. Most of my life…I felt cold inside and out. Now. It is time to discover my own inner warmth. The bright street lamp I want to ignore is merely a reflection of my own light I have been ignoring. The homeless man chattering to himself is a metaphor for parts of myself who refuse to hear other parts of my Self. The prostitute is a metaphor for parts of my Self whom I have given away.
My healing continues. I am the Wounded Healer!
Patricia Garza Pinto, thank you for this
courageous piece of writing, and powerful video presentation.
For those wishing to connect with Patricia further, here are her link:
Thank you Patricia Garza Pinto for your courageous work and leadership
in opening to the shadow,
and showing us the strength and beauty
that arises from within, when we do.
As one bravely opens and allows the secret demons to breathe and dance,
and to own up to the reality that the work is inside ourselves to do,
we all grow a little stronger and braver to do our own inner voyage.
– Shema Satya