Memoir Stories
- Debbie Irvine
- Nov 5
- 3 min read
Updated: Nov 17
Prisms of Light
Flash Memoir
Debbie Irvine
On an ordinary Saturday in February 1972, inland from Dunedin, a city in New Zealand’s south, I sit on the slatted wooden bench in our back garden after lunch. I am wearing my halter-neck, green, paisley print dress my mother made, fashionable in the late 1960’s, my hair, parted in the middle, tied back in a ponytail. The silky synthetic fabric of my dress absorbs the summer’s heat and soothes my thighs. Soon to turn thirteen, I am on the cusp of entering high school and a new stage of life. Read more...
My Shamanic Healing Ceremony
In Gratitude and Memory of Hank Wesselman, PhD. (1941-2021)
It is a beautiful summer’s evening in mid-July as the sun slowly fades over the trees and mountains, in Breitenbush, Oregon. As I walk down towards our yurt by the cool, clear waters of the Breitenbush River, the Cedar and Douglas Fir trees form archways closing in on me like cathedral vaults, shrouding me in the sacred. There is no division here between Inner and Outer. Surrounded by Nature and all her pristine elements of Earth, Air, Water and the Fiery heat of summer, the natural wildlife, and the sanctity and preservation of the natural ecological area by the local community, I feel in harmony and at peace. Kindness and warmth, respect and reciprocity, to each other, the land, and Nature Herself infuses everything. Read more...
Death and Rebirth in Cairo
Debbie Irvine
It is September 2013; the past life vision arises spontaneously. I am a nun kneeling before an altar in front of the low curved ceiling and enclosed sides of a crypt. The simple brass crucifix sits in the middle on the wooden altar, a candle on either side. Everything is bare, plain like the stone walls and floor I am kneeling on.
I have come to the crypt below the church to pray to Mary and Jesus for strength, guidance, and support. It is unsafe times, and I need this moment in silence and secrecy to pray. Here in the crypt, I feel connected to Mary, Jesus, and God without the rituals and dogmas of the church above. I feel the weight of the church above me like a claustrophobic foreign land. Read more...
Compassion and Healing of Christ
Debbie Irvine
I arrive in Santiago, Chile on my way home from Peru to Australia to take in the sights of the famous city for three days. Having left my travelling companions in Peru, I am alone in a strange country and unable to speak Spanish. Today, I am offered a private tour of Santiago City to replace my group tour which was cancelled yesterday.
My personal guide Mattias is a gregarious man in his mid-twenties, thankfully with excellent English. I share that I have just come from Peru where I had participated in Ayahuasca Ceremonies to assist in healing of my primary immune deficiency. Mattias immediately leans in closer to me, raising his eyebrows in curiosity as we weave the city streets together. Talking quickly and excitedly he responds that he is very interested, beginning his own practices in energy and spiritual healing. Read more...
Love Story
Debbie Irvine
Love Story, two words written in firm, bold, creative handwriting in black pen, across the center of the page of a Cash Receipt Book, caught my eye. I recognized my mother’s handwriting and was delighted to see it again, a new, fresh message this night, the second anniversary of her passing.
It was a simple phrase but contained multiverses. The feelings, as I looked at it, carried no memories of the difficult times. Instead, I could feel the tender love and peace I had shared with my mother during the last week of her life as everything around her softened, like the glow of the sliver halo of her hair spread out on her pillow. I had spent the last week with her in her hospital room, day and night beside her, when so much was shared and forgiven. So much of our interweaving lives was reframed and expressed, mostly wordlessly but intuitively, on different levels of appreciation and understanding, of the love between us. Read more...
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