The Book of Me ...

Ladislav Dvořák: It Is Raining From The Blue Watering Can On The Isle Of Žofín
Originally uploaded by josefskrhola

After a very tender session with a non-dual healing classmate and dear friend, she pointed me in the direction of an author/blogger named Havi Brooks. One of the tools that Havi has created is titled quite simply: "The Book of Me". She recommends that people give themselves reminders about what works for them, particularly when they are in scared, anxious, or dark places. Because when we're in these kinds of places, we forget and get lost. I sure do.

The picture I chose for the cover of my Book of Me features the moon along with shimmery ethereal bodies and a castle. What has worked since I was a little girl to help me anchor when I felt very alone and terrified was looking at the moon. As a healing, evolving adult, I have come to accept and appreciate the moon just for what it is and not assigning it any special, magical qualities. However, in terms of what works and what I may forget, if I am spinning and can't find my seat or feet, it helps to look up into the night sky and zoom in on the moon. Just watch how steadfast it is, out there in the vast, expansive no-thing-ness. It is reliable and consistent.

After saying my prayers last night and talking to God about how scary it is to feel so powerless right now, before I got into my bed I went out to the kitchen window and looked at the moon. That's all I needed. Just a 2 minute glance. And what I got from that is this message: "You can count on me." After today's healing, I also know that I can count on God. And I can count on myself.

In my session today, thanks to the skillful listening and guidance of my healer-friend, I uncovered a layer of grief that I had been blocking out for quite some time. It was the layer beneath the layer. The top one, more riddled with fearfulness than anything else, had been easy to access. The one below it, a river of grief, is the one I had avoided. This is where the real healing takes place. My patient healer-friend waited with me in silence, as I only peeked at it with one eye open at first. Then, after a few minutes, I looked at it head on and what was the water being looked at was now the water of the looker in the form of heaving tears. My words were: "I can't fight this any more." This was in reference to the ways I don't let myself feel or see anything that feels too much. Today, I gave up. White flags out and waving.

My territory of grief is not new, just not fully explored. It's a very little place. It is about being left and not held and not embraced and not protected. It is about a little girl's longing for an adult to reassure her and to show up for her. It's a pretty simple desire, really, with a whole lotta crap that has twisted it and tainted it and made it into something bigger than it really is. My expression of grief today was letting the little voice have her place: "I want mommy to tell me I will be okay."

So, this comes full circle. Peering at the moon to remind me that I can count on myself. To know that a little one who resides in me needs to know that too. I can give that to her.