Thursday, September 9, 2010

Grass Under My Feet

I was contemplating the comfort of grass under my feet tonight.  For the last few nights, I've gone out into the backyard, taken off my shoes and socks, and wiggled my toes in the manicured fauna of the lawn.  There's something soothing about cool grass on the tootsies, like a mother stroking your hair when you were little.  So, I went a bit farther.  I sat in the grass and looked up at the stars, strangely grateful that they were always there, even when hidden in cloud shadow.  Earth and sky, always there.  Roots and branches, feet and head, body and spirit, always there, always together.  It was gorgeous.

But something was nagging me in the back of my mind; a heavy sorrow, a seeping wound.  I examined the sensation and realized I was hanging onto it fiercely, like a lifeline, even though it was hurting me.  I could feel it, something sharp inside, something detrimental and dug in deep.  I knew this ache.  It was the old familiar anger and sorrow from all my criss-crossing emotional scars, trying to draw my attention away from this lovely moment.  Noisy misery doesn't want to be healed and it'll raise hell to get you to stop.

I refused to give it notice, so it began yelling like a demanding brat in a toy store.   What are you doing?  You look stupid!  What if the neighbors are watching you?  There are probably bugs in this grass.  GET UP!!!

I began to whisper in the darkness, "I let go of my anger over my father.  I let go of my anger over my mother..."   You could practically hear my insecurity yelling, "Nooooooooo!" like a foiled villian tumbling down a rabbit hole. 

I went through a litany of relatives and loved ones who've done me harm in the past, people who've hurt me physically, mentally and emotionally.  I spoke the words to unlock the chains that bound me to their terrible actions.  But once again, I left out a very important harmer.  Me.  Didn't even think to include myself in the mix.  So tonight I went out into the yard, took off my shoes and socks again, wiggled my toes and whispered, "I let go of my anger over myself.  I let go of the hurt I've done to myself.  I let go of the rage over how much I've hurt myself."  And the earth was there to comfort me.  Always there.  Dirt and grass are good listeners and they feel great too.

Now, sitting in my room and typing away, I am pleased with this new little tidbit of Rebecca Speak.  A new idea, a fresh regimen to help combat the insecurity, like learning a new exercise routine.  So I'm going to do it every night.  I've woven an intricate web of fear, loathing and depression over the years, all radiating out from a central spot, where I've squatted for so long.  It'll take some time to snip all the sticky threads but I'm confident I'm up to the job.  One step at a time.  I've already cut quite a few. 

So go on out there and dig your bare toes into some green grass, my friends.  Feel the solidity of the earth beneath your feet, breathe the air into your lungs and begin a routine of your own; a routine of self-love and healing, of dropping each negative emotion and feeling yourself get lighter with each release.  With practice, we'll soon be floating.  I feel like flying.  Let's start snipping the threads. 

Love, R 

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