The Salem Martyr , Thomas Slatterwhite Noble, 1869
Unmarried, still living at home with her mother and looking after various children, she felt she was by and large a huge disappointment to her family, and was becoming more of a disappointment to herself by the day. She had no interest in marriage or having children of her own. She loved the children that were constantly in and out of her home, but knew that there had to be something better out in the world for her…
One of the recurring themes in Swan sessions has been a healing around the word ‘heretic’ and ‘witch’ and release from religious control especially when it is still carried in the birth family.
Recently I held a Swan session for a young woman who came from a very religious family. She told me that if her family knew of her love of magic and healing, would cut off all contact with her. She had just completed in her training in a healing modality that she loved but was still holding back on sharing her gifts.
Her Swan Lore Story:
“I met her as I gazed deep into a darkened well, the healer from before. Her face is unclear in the murky water but searching, straining to see me as I worked to make out her form in the shifting, glossy surface of the well water. I finally saw an older woman, but older in the way that suggests youth could be found beneath layers of weariness, undue stress, and the pain of trying to fit into a world that simply isn’t ready for your gifts. I reach out to touch her hand and find myself passing through the water into her timeline. She is happy to see me, but clearly anxious and preoccupied, pacing the room as I took in her humble dwelling.
Dirt floor, rope bed made with an ornate quilt, a rocking chair, and little else. The mirror through which she saw me is the only seeming item of value in the low-ceilinged log cabin. Her front door was ajar as though she had just come inside in a rush. It was never clearly shown to me, but I get the sense that she had a big part in the construction of her cabin.
I was shown her life some years before when she lived in a cramped flat in a distant city, looking after nieces, nephews and the pets and children of neighbours. I saw her huddled in ‘her’ corner by a large, bright window, surrounded by her favourite books and totally immersed in intricate needlework. Complex stitches, rainbow-coloured thread, embroidering quotes from meaningful texts into wall decorations and elaborate quilts. When I first saw her there so focused on her craft I thought how sweet it was that she was so absorbed by needlework. But as I watched her and was able to see more clearly into her thoughts, I saw how seriously she took her work. It was her art, painting with thread, and she was very prolific.
Unmarried, still living at home with her mother and looking after various children, she felt she was by and large a huge disappointment to her family, and was becoming more of a disappointment to herself by the day. She had no interest in marriage or having children of her own. She loved the children that were constantly in and out of her home, but knew that there had to be something better out in the world for her.
I was shown her childhood. A little girl about four years old, long, silky, dark hair in a bow, on tiptoe to watch her grandmother do similar needlework to what I had seen her do earlier. She is so fascinated by what she sees and so eager to learn but still so small and uncoordinated. Her tiny hands reach up to her grandmother’s, wanting to make sure she doesn’t miss a thing. A few years later, I see her completing her first sampler. It is not perfect, but she is so proud, and so is her grandmother. She worked so hard and now feels as though she can do anything.
I saw her, a few years in the future, outdoors in the hot summer weather, wading in the river that flows through the park near her home. She stares deep into the water studying the creatures there, the rocks, the occasional shell, the water plants. She sits on the bank, gazing out over the water, resting, running her fingers through the soft grass, feeling fully herself. There is a sense of ease for her here that perhaps, even now in her young life, she does not fully feel in many other places in her world.
Eventually, she feels she has to leave the city and her family. She sees an advertisement encouraging sea travel to a distant land for the purposes of settlement, and whatever she reads in this advertisement convinces her that this is both what she wants and has to do with her life. Things have become increasingly difficult at home, staying is no longer an option. Her hand feels forced, but she tells herself that this is truly what she wants, and she is not completely wrong. The voyage is hard, but she is hopeful for what lies beyond.
I see her arrive in this new place, completely alone, not knowing where she fits into her new community. She feels ill-prepared for life here and wonders whether she made a mistake in coming after all. Eventually, she begins to find purpose in assisting the healers who have also made the voyage, becoming the student of a doctor of sorts, a kind but self-important man who takes great pleasure in running the show whenever possible. She spends time in the woods, learning about the unfamiliar plants and their uses. Everything still feels so new and she wishes there was more she could do to help the healers, but she works very hard and those around her appreciate her for her earnestness and care.
She stays up all night with an elderly patient, allowing the family members to get some much-needed sleep, knowing the doctor would never have spent as much time on one person, especially one so old. She fears that they will die on her watch, she would never be able to forgive herself, but they rally in the night, much improved by morning, and she is so relieved and proud. A small accomplishment to some, but again, she is filled with the sense that she could do anything.
Time passes and the verdant embrace of the forest becomes her true home and the medicinal plants there become trusted allies. She wields their healing power with ease and finesse. Her neighbors, grateful for her knowledge and kindness, have watched her grow and expand her skill set. She is a valued member of the community, though still keeping largely to herself. Alone, but not lonely.
She contradicts the doctor in public and he rebukes her with harsh and disrespectful language, making reference to her former life in the city. She is also not the sort of person who is very good at standing up for herself, so she stays silent, knowing that she is in the right in this instance, no matter what he calls her. The disagreements continue and his anger escalates. He starts a whispering campaign against her, former friends turn away when they see her approach, and eventually she begins to fear for her own safety.
This is where I met her. Just after an ugly interaction in the street she dashed into her tiny home to plan her next move. She would run to the woods. She felt confident she could survive out there by herself, but she was quickly caught, returned, and killed with a rope before any of her loyal friends could save her.
At this, I found myself quickly lifted from her world by Sister Swan and soon I was back at the well’s edge and so was she, now on my side of the looking glass. I threw my arms around her and we both cried and cried. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” I said. “You did nothing wrong, you helped so many. I’m so sorry.”
I felt the bonds that had held her then now wrap around my throat, as real and as life threatening as they had been to her so long ago. (I have since childhood, for no particular reason, been very sensitive and protective of my neck area, not even being able to wear turtleneck shirts without discomfort. Perhaps this is part of the reason why.) The grandmothers give me a sharp, glowing tool to free myself and I feel huge relief as she and I are both finally free.