I’ve sat quite a bit. I’ve prayed a lot. I’ve waited. And now, it feels as though the wind is beginning to take me.
And so, let me ask you: Can you do the same?
If you haven’t found your way yet, can you sit? Can you wait? Can you allow those seeds to germinate within yourself, so that when you do open up, the wind can carry them forward – so that they can take root, and serve the people?
One of the most difficult aspects of our emotional recovery is the countless number of little deaths we’re going to be asked to endure along the way.
The people we knew, the places we used to go, the habits we used to have; all these things that came into our lives when we were sick – even because we were sick – we’re going to have to let them go.
They’re going to have to fall away and die.
And we’re going to have to grieve them…
Those of us who’ve been at it for a while know that feelings and buried memories can come back as we work through the processes of our emotional recovery.
And sometimes, we can experience them without even being aware of the context. So, they can show up as mystery emotions – mystery aches and pains.
But sitting with all of that really helps us learn what’s at the heart of it…
These gifts that we have, the ones we’ve been carrying with us since we were born, they often need hard times to crack them open.
They run on a deep amount of faith.
And it’s the kind of faith that can only be found when we’re pushed to the brink, when we feel like there’s nowhere else to go…like we’ve lost everything.
But afterwards, when we’ve finally come out of it, we find that the only thing we’ve really lost is everything that stands between us and moving forward…
When you’re in the middle of things, and you feel like you’re in a tunnel; you’re keeping your head down, and you’re moving forward the best you can, it’s often hard to be aware of moments of beauty when they come up.
But then, something’ll happen – a sunrise, a song, a smile on the face of a child…whatever it is – and it cracks you open. It reaches inside, and you can feel it…
One example that I keep in my heart and in my mind when I work with someone is that of the mother bird. When she kicks her babies out of the nest, those who flap their wings will fly; those who don’t, won’t. She doesn’t dive out of the nest after them, grab the ones that are faltering, and flap their wings for them.
I don’t say this to be cold.
I say it because it’s the truth.
We only have so much time. And when we bring our gift into the healing arena, we’re not walking alone. We’re walking arm-in-arm with those who’ve taught us, and those who’ve taught them, and those who’ve perhaps passed this gift down from generation,
to generation,
to generation.
And every time we sit with someone, they’re watching.
The way we approach our work is the way we honor their work. Our gift, our lives, our time, our healing, is no less valuable than that of any other…
A couple of years ago – I think it might have been around the time I turned sixty – I was talking with my teacher, and I said to him, “I know I’m getting older, but I haven’t been at it long enough for it to scar, just yet.”
And he laughed.
And he looked at me.
And he said, “It will.”
I’m not sure what I’d find if I looked for them in the mirror, but something tells me that a couple of those old wounds I’ve been carrying are finally starting to scar…
Many years ago, when I was in the beginning stages of this part of my emotional recovery, a teacher of mine shared a bit of wisdom with me that came in the form of the following aphorism:
“Never trust a healer who doesn’t limp.”
I’ll be quick to point out that he did not say, “Never trust a healer who doesn’t bleed.”
And there’s a big difference.
The healer who limps is carrying the scars of their work. It’s changed them. And now, they can move through the world as an example for others…
Bonja the Bodger 