Normandy in France was a big shakeup - opening me to incredible beauty and creativity…
And stirring the deep waters of past lives, during times where there was an extreme lack of safety for women.
The contrast of the poetic beauty - with the deep and multilayered energies of persecution, war and trauma - was a lot to digest.
It feels like I lived several lifetimes in what was actually only two weeks of calendar time.
The layers and dimensions of the experience so densely stacked, and fully saturated with energy and emotion.
Let me go back to the beginning…
Leading up to arriving in France for the very first time.. I felt uncharacteristically nervous.
Something about it felt really potent and a little unsettling. But I’d been looking forward to going, especially for the warmer temperatures and the opportunity to explore somewhere completely new.
I wasn’t particularly phased during the process of selecting the location. I needed to arrive in France on a certain date for my visa, and an opportunity came up to stay in Rouen, Normandy that fit really well.
So I went with the path of least resistance and locked it in. I didn’t even google the town or region before committing.
A few days before leaving Ireland and heading to France I finally had the thought to look it up. I learned that Rouen had a link to Joan of Arc, and it actually looked like a beautiful place.
My first day I wandered into the historic centre of the town (I was actually just looking for a health food shop 😅) and causally stumbled upon the main cathedral… outside of which the famed saint Joan of Arc had been executed.
As I sat inside the incredible gothic structure, an absolute work of art, I felt waves of energy pulsing through my body, which became shaky as I was brought to tears.
Something deep in my system was being activated. Something I couldn’t place yet, as I began to adjust to the new environment on so many levels.
That night, somehow I slipped on the stairs where I was staying, and fell hard. It was one of those moments where time slows right down, and I knew as I was falling that it was going to be bad.
Miraculously I didn’t break anything - truly a miracle with how hard I fell and the way I landed.
But I was left with huge bruises and swelling, most significantly on my forearm which absorbed the most impact. (It’s nearly 2 months later now and the deeper tissue layers are still healing.)
Already feeling tender, in the next few days the intensity only increased…
I could feel that my body was deeply triggered at a cellular level. There was a persistent sense of extreme danger, despite knowing that in the present moment I was safe.
It was different to anything I’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t a response generated by my nervous system - I could feel it coming from deep in my organs and cells.
As I was walking through the town and sharing some of my feelings with a friend, so much clicked into place.
Fragments of past lives started coming back to me -
The witch trials.
Family members being hanged in a town square.
Living in fear.
The absolute terror of simply existing as a woman during those times.
The contagious fear and hysteria, the forces of authority and control.
I was feeling the dense layers of history stacked one on top of the other, from generations of persecution, war, pain and suffering.
The past may be long gone, but the unresolved conflicts and complex dynamics still reverberate through the layers of reality to influence the here and now.
There is so much still lingering from these dark, painful times, and the deeply woven threads of history can hold so much invisible power.
I felt this very keenly at one of the D Day beaches in Normandy too.
It was a hot, sunny summer’s day, and on the surface it was just like any other beautiful crowded beach - full of families laughing, playing and enjoying themselves.
But echoing loudly through the layers of time I could still hear gunfire and the screams of soldiers, and feel the heaviness of so much pain, death and loss.
It was just under the surface. As if a hair’s width of distance was all that separated that reality and this one.
It was incredibly jarring, and I moved on quickly.
What I can’t even begin to describe is the extreme contrast - between all the deep, heavy and painful threads of the past,
And the equally extreme and overwhelming beauty of northern France.
The villages, fields, wildflowers, the coastline and farmland. The care and intentionality in the smallest of details.
All the things that could be considered mundane or inconsequential somehow transform into art.
Beauty feels like a way of life there.
Whether in the middle of the countryside or the busiest part of the city - there’s a level of care, sophistication and the elegance of simplicity.
You can feel it in the food, the fresh produce, the shopfronts and gardens. In public spaces and people’s homes.
It was magical and inspiring, creating a beautiful opening and unfolding of creativity in my system, and preparing me for the Venus initiation that was waiting for me in Sardinia…
…At the same time as being brutal, uncomfortable and overwhelming.
Compelling me to confront and sift through the energies of the past still alive there, and everything it was plugging into and drawing out in me personally.
It was like being pricked by the thorns while simultaneously taking in the exquisite beauty of the rose through all the senses.
A portal opening to the two seemingly opposing energies - two facets of the divine whole.
The epic duality of pain and beauty.
It was certainly not what I ever could have anticipated for my first experience in France,
But it offered an incredible opportunity for healing and recalibration, and a depth so far unmatched in its intensity and flavour.
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