In the front of the room a bowl of water held a pile of small stones. The teaching exercise was to choose a pebble to remind you of something you intended to give up in order to let LIFE energy fill your whole being. A single ebony stone resembling a heart called to me. I dipped my fingers in to lift it into my palm. Walking back to my seat I reveled in the smoothness and shine of the tiny wet symbol.
I will give up self-doubt, I boldly covenanted with myself. The heart shape would remind me that loving my skills and talents would honor the LIFE energy just waiting for permission to bloom through me. I smiled thinking, I can do this.
Sitting down I turned the pebble over loosely in my hand noticing that upside down it resembled a decayed black tooth. Ouch, I winced. Knowing my resistance to fully trusting myself, maybe this effort will be like pulling teeth. Or possibly the decay was already too advanced to stop its spread. This process could hurt, I realized.
Later I looked at the pebble from the top where a smoothly worn shape clearly resembled a tear drop. Hmmm. Tears of pain? Of loss? Of fear? Or could it be tears of joy for finally realizing that believing in my worth would bring great things? The origin of the tears doesn't matter, I reasoned. Tears move us on when we let go of what was, to make room for whatever will be. This could be exciting, I concluded.
Another turn of the stone revealed a miniature footprint. Suggesting I would have to walk the walk to reach my goal. Whoever said stones don't speak? I wondered. I just had a full conversation with this pebble in my palm.
What speaks to you today?
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Things Remembered
My bicycle lock had the combination 11-37-15, with a second lock of 26-12-30. An elementary school friend lived at 1911 North 11th Street. At Girl Scout camp on the Mullet River I was forced to go to the nurse's tent daily to soak my feet in a pail of water made deep purple by a small pill called Potassium Permanganate. It was to prevent the spread of 'athletes foot' rampant that summer.
At 16 when I asked a classmate (never a friend) Bobby B., what he did on his newly acquired job, he responded, "I put the blue string down the center of sanitary napkins." It was not true and was only said to embarrass me in front of his fellow boy friends who guffawed nearby. They thought it was hilarious. I thought it was stupid. His attempt at embarrassment falling to the cracks in the sidewalk and disappearing like gutter water
At a small group gathering in my 20's, Dee N. served a potluck dish of lime jello with pineapple and a touch of horseradish. Radical. And I just had to have the recipe. I remember details of conversations, quotes whose authors have long been forgotten, looks on children's and/or animals faces in KODAK flashes of time.
All these and MORE are things I remember. And yet, I can't remember the author of the book I read and loved a week ago. Can't remember the exact date of my divorce. Can't remember how I celebrated milestone birthdays between the ages of 18 and 40. Can't remember whether I took my daily medications unless I use the marked dispenser designed for that purpose.
Isn't it interesting what things we remember and those which we don't?
What's up with that?
At 16 when I asked a classmate (never a friend) Bobby B., what he did on his newly acquired job, he responded, "I put the blue string down the center of sanitary napkins." It was not true and was only said to embarrass me in front of his fellow boy friends who guffawed nearby. They thought it was hilarious. I thought it was stupid. His attempt at embarrassment falling to the cracks in the sidewalk and disappearing like gutter water
At a small group gathering in my 20's, Dee N. served a potluck dish of lime jello with pineapple and a touch of horseradish. Radical. And I just had to have the recipe. I remember details of conversations, quotes whose authors have long been forgotten, looks on children's and/or animals faces in KODAK flashes of time.
All these and MORE are things I remember. And yet, I can't remember the author of the book I read and loved a week ago. Can't remember the exact date of my divorce. Can't remember how I celebrated milestone birthdays between the ages of 18 and 40. Can't remember whether I took my daily medications unless I use the marked dispenser designed for that purpose.
Isn't it interesting what things we remember and those which we don't?
What's up with that?
Friday, April 18, 2008
It Might Have Been
The saddest words of tongue or pen, are these four words -- IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN!
Being a born procrastinator, self-doubter, waiting for permission to live my life kind of person, I've frequently looked back on my path and been saddened by what might have been. If only I'd done things differently. . .
Since 2005 when I birthed the spirit and messages of my inner-self, Wisdom Walker, I have been more consistently walking my talk. But that walk has been taking me in circles. SHE is now challenging me to go public with my writings and perspectives and to let the seeds fall where they may.
With this blog birth I intend to replace the four saddest words with the two gladdest (it rhymes) words -- IT WAS!
As I share Wisdom Walker's voice on this site, your presence will be both welcomed and treasured.
And so it begins. . .
Being a born procrastinator, self-doubter, waiting for permission to live my life kind of person, I've frequently looked back on my path and been saddened by what might have been. If only I'd done things differently. . .
Since 2005 when I birthed the spirit and messages of my inner-self, Wisdom Walker, I have been more consistently walking my talk. But that walk has been taking me in circles. SHE is now challenging me to go public with my writings and perspectives and to let the seeds fall where they may.
With this blog birth I intend to replace the four saddest words with the two gladdest (it rhymes) words -- IT WAS!
As I share Wisdom Walker's voice on this site, your presence will be both welcomed and treasured.
And so it begins. . .
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