 Repairing the Web: Star Beings II,(1) painting, acrylic and watercolor crayon on canvas, 24 x 24  Childhood Dream sketch, "I shock the ladies having tea, by declaring I am going to fly. I jump out the window and do just that." 2025 Introduction I’ve noticed that on the occasions when it feels like my body is letting me down, I seem to develop new ways of listening and seeing. Unwanted as illness is, it prods me and pokes me into paying attention to my inner life, to parts of myself and of my experience that I might have been avoiding during the usual day-to-day. The following reflection came at a time of fever and fatigue, a time when I was too tired to think clearly, but too restless to ignore what was stirring inside me. As I lay in my bed, memories and images began to rise; of childhood fears, of birth-mine and that of my children-of sensitivity as a burden and a gift. What follows is my attempt to understand this recent experience: how illness, rather than silencing me, sometimes opens a door. Fever as a Doorway It is cold in the house and I have a fever. My thoughts drift in and out of clarity. Yet from within this fog, memories and images begin to surface with unusual vividness. Illness has always had this effect on me. It opens a threshold between the visible and invisible, the body and spirit. I was reminded of Frederika von Hauffe, a distant relative who was a mystic and healer. She became famous in her time for her psychic abilities, including the ability to predict future events, to see the dead and to heal herself and others. Her abilities increased as her body weakened but she died young. Her life was such an extreme example, but could I have been experiencing something of what she did, but on a much smaller scale?   Me at age six or so in our apartment in NYC A Fearful Child Illness also often brings me back to my origins. I remember myself as a small, fearful and extremely shy child, when my parents moved us from New York City to suburban New Jersey. In our new neighborhood of immaculate lawns, quiet streets and sprawling houses, I didn’t want to go outside and play on the street with the neighborhood children. Their games of stickball and other raucous sports felt too loud, too violent. I was intimidated by the ways in which the other children seemed sure of themselves, comfortable with their loudness. I was afraid of being seen, and of making a fool of myself with my clumsiness. My sisters seemed to fit easily into this new world, while I retreated inside with my books. I was frequently ill as a child, with ear infections and fevers that necessitated me staying home from school. Reading was my refuge, my way of hiding and surviving, while sick in bed or as an escape from a life where I felt I didn’t fit in. I imagined that in the eyes of my parents and my peers, including my sisters, I was a failure somehow. I felt different in a way that didn’t feel acceptable. My mother didn’t understand this side of me. As a child, she’d been athletic and fearless, always outside, running, climbing and jumping. She excelled at school in gymnastics, showing little interest and aptitude for academic subjects. My hesitancy baffled her. I grew up believing that my sensitivity was a flaw to be overcome, rather than an expression of who I was.  Drawing from my intuitive journal, 2024, Me at my birthday with unseen guides above my head. The Pattern of Thresholds I’ve noticed that illness often arrives at moments of transition, during moves, big decisions, or life changes. Each time, I am brought back to that same uneasy question, will I be safe if I cross this threshold? Beneath that lies another, do I deserve the freedom and gifts that change brings? For much of my life, I have viewed my physical and emotional reactions to change as obstacles, evidence of my lack of resilience. But recently, I’ve begun to wonder; what if these are not obstacles at all, but messages from the body’s deeper intelligence? What if the symptoms are my body’s way of guiding me, reminding me that fear and growth often appear hand in hand?  Planetary Bodies, painting, acrylic and watercolor crayon on canvas, 24 x 30 The Hidden Strength of Sensitivity What would it mean to see my sensitivity as a form of strength? To understand that the same openness that leaves me vulnerable to illness or fear, also allows me to perceive subtle layers of meaning and connection that might otherwise remain hidden? Illness slows me down. It interrupts the surface current of daily life and forces me to stop and listen, to the body, to memory, to the whispers of the unseen. In that slowness, I can sometimes glimpse a larger pattern, the possibility that sensitivity is not a defect to overcome but a doorway to deeper perception. Perhaps this is what my ancestor, Frederika von Hauffe, knew. When the body is humbled, the spirit can speak more clearly. When bodily strength falls away, sensitivity becomes its own kind of knowing. Illness reminds me of the importance of my spiritual practices, that tend to fall away during the busyness of life. It becomes a time of recommitment to my inner knowing and to the web of connectedness to unseen ancestors and guides all around me. Integration and Petition The essence of my petition, I realize, is to live in close harmony with my inner life, to allow my spiritual awareness to infuse my daily experiences, not just in moments of crisis but as a steady undercurrent of being. To face my fears not as enemies but as guides. To honor the small, frightened child within me. To reframe her vigilance as an attempt at care and as a longing for safety. To thank her, and then to step with her into the unknown. To make space for my unseen guides, including my ancestors, to allow their guidance to come through, however subtle and whispered this guidance might be. In the end, I want to remember that contraction and expansion are parts of the same rhythm, the rhythm of birth, grown and of awakening. My folded wings are not broken, only waiting for their time to unfold. And that even in fear and confusion, the body is listening, the soul is awake and something new is always being born.  Drawings of Frederika von Hauffe, from daily intuitive journal, 2025 Closing Note
IN writing this reflection, I am reminded that healing rarely happens in straight lines. It unfolds in spirals, revisiting old fears from new angles. The body remembers everything, and if we listen closely, it can show us the way forward. For me, illness has become not just an interruption, but an invitation, to pause, to feel, to notice the sacred intelligence working quietly beneath the surface. Each time I fall ill, I have another chance to reach back and meet again with the child I was once was, to soothe her fears and remind us both that sensitivity too can be a form of strength. And another chance also to connect to my lineage of ancestors, to receive their witnessing and guidance.
1 Comment
Amy
11/4/2025 03:26:53 am
Very sensitive to the cycle of emotions that accompanies each of us in our life journey. Leave a Reply. |
ErikaI've been making dolls for about fifteen years now. I believe that dolls serve as representations and reminders of the best part of ourselves. I am excited to share with you here my learnings about new methods and techniques for doll making and healing. So glad you are here! Categories |
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