The Pulse …my hero
(Note: This is a continuation from a previous entry – The Pulse …in allowing)
I noticed the first thing that came up for me was this low grade constantly present fear. I realized that I had been explaining it to myself, wrassling with it, judging it, accepting it and hoping it would just go away…
When I looked at it with allowing eyes, at first it got worse and I was like, forget this! Ugh! This is AWFUL!! What in the world am I so freaked out about? It got worse and worse but I stayed and listened as I moved about my day, instead of using one of many tactics I’ve developed during my life to banish it.
I realized after a day or so of low grade panic (I spent a lot of time in the nature sanctuary nearby, walking and listening and looking around while doing this…the flowers and trees really helped.) that the background noise of fear was revealing itself to be of multiple tones.
I was being constantly poked by a wide variety of things that were so constant that at first it had appeared to be a single voice. Nope! As I watched and allowed and trained my focus on different voices, they resolved themselves.
This was tough – it was so hard not to reach for my HUGE bag o’ tricks and process through or whatever. Nope, I decided to give this Let it Be thing a full opportunity to be experienced, and I stuck with it.
It was hard. I cried / panicked a lot and returned to listening to the breeze or the water or trees talking to each other and kept looking. It was as if I’d been waiting for this for my entire life…
One by one the voices presented themselves. They appeared as grubby children. A child with her teddybear’s head ripped off by a bully, crying and dirty, was first. I sat with her, listened to her rang and rave and throw temper tantrum after tantrum until she wore herself out.
Then she ran to me and I felt like she wanted me to know her better but didn’t know how to begin, so I asked her, “What’s your name?” Joy, she said, and a flash of memories passed before my eyes of all the times I had been punished by people who were supposed to be taking care of me for being too loud.
Being too happy. I got picked on and beaten up enough times that I learned not to do that, and this little girl had held it for me. She was my protector – not a demon or gremlin stealing my joy, but instead protecting me from the pain that had come before. She was my hero, my knight. Together we looked at the world, and it was changed.