In Dicken’s, A Christmas Carol, there is a haunting scene: two children hiding in the cloak of the Spirit of Christmas Present. The spirit says, “Learn this lesson…..This boy is ignorace. This girl is want. Beware them both.”
They arrived after a phone session I won with a consultant who helps women design/redesign their lives and businesses. Do not think these children only just showed up, however. They have been hiding inside of me for a long time, but another layer of their existence was exposed after I felt what I can only describe as- my Core of Strength, which sits right in the center of me- an unshakable stability, as Maureen, the consultant asked me to visualize speaking to people about the message(s) I want to share.
In that moment, I felt strong and absolutely incapable of folding within myself in doubt and fear- completely self-assured and present. Leading. Listening. Sharing. Offering. And then, as my daughter observed as she listened to me speak, my voice changed. In the beginning of the call, my voice was strong and elated. At the end, my voice faded.
I touched my capablity. Reengaged with my vision, and naturally as the inner journey would have it, in order to reach that capability, I must face what is standing in its way.
This boy is weak. This girl is incapable.
Intellectually, I know this is not true. I know it is part of a story I carry with me, a rather influential story, which says: although you do have much to offer you are incapable and far too weak to carry it through. Look at how many times you have disappointed yourself. This story simmers, in what seems to be fact, based on past behaviors and experiences, and although I know my past does not have to determine my future, this story has the capablity to completely shut down someones potential. That someone right now, is me.
But- I am working through the layers of my boy, weak and my girl, incapable. Sometimes I still get up and play with them as if they are old, dear friends. I give them reason to stay. But mostly, as I have been exposed to them in a greater way, I look at the dynamics of our relationship and determine its health, and wonder how the relationship might be transformed.
The other night, I had a dream of a fly. It was buzzing, sitting on the baseboard beneath a window. In its buzzing, I was able to hear words. The fly was telling a story. A story of its childhood and how it felt abandoned. However, even though I was able to understand it, I wanted to kill it because it was annoying me. It flew off the baseboard and began flying around the room. As it flew, it got bigger and its buzzing got louder. I had a swatter and tried to kill it, but I was in conflict. I know why it suffers and yet I still swat. Missing each time, it landed in my hair- now a large sized locust, black as night.
I woke up.
I used to believe it was about fighting and killing parts of myself that I disliked and made me uncomfortable, especially once I find them and see the troubles they cause, but it is not about fighting or killing these parts of ourselves that hold the sad stories. It’s about looking at them curiously and through the eyes of compassion. If I fight and kill the part, which holds the story, I lose opportunity to be compassionate, and a part, which can perhaps assist in new and unexpected ways moving forward.
In my dream I wanted to kill that part of me, that girl with the sad story of abandonement- who does not feel liked or important or capable or strong. The girl who feels weak because of her vulnerabilty and innocence. The girl who couldn’t. The girl who can’t. The girl who doesn’t. But, that girl is kind. Sweet. Pure. And I will not abandon her.
In keeping her story does not mean I now have to live by it. I already have been. But, now that the story has seen the light of day and I was brave enough to look I am no longer controlled by it. I only understand yet another layer of what I carry inside, and that is a victory.
We have millions upon millions of stories alive inside of us- all of them creating a beautiful mosaic of the mystery of who we are and the story of our continuing evolution. All of them, singing and dancing, and yes many creating chaos and havoc, yet awaiting our courage and curiosity to look, and therefore awakening and liberating us closer to that great mystery.
This holiday season, as we go into the darkest night, ask: What am I hiding beneath my cloak? The light of awareness will guide you.
Namaste, and Happy Solstice.
The Soul Reporter