From the Ridiculous to the Sublime and Back Again
Warning: The following article contains descriptions of specific bodily functions that may be too explicit for some readers. Or maybe not.
rnI am trying to grow, really I am.
rnEach day, new learning opportunities present themselves. It might be a moment during meditation, when some new insight blooms into being and I am different than I was before.
rnIt might be a moment of stillness, when I remember to stop and look at my child without judgment. And I see the Divine, right there in front of me.
rnAnd I realize anew that God is all around me, and in me, and I only need to stop long enough to feel the grace. The absolute,
amazing grace.
rnOf course, there are also many, many, many times when I can’t quite get there.
rnLike, when I find myself writing in my gratitude journal in shorthand. (So much to be grateful for, so little time.J)
rnOr when I have entire conversations with my child’s teacher, in my head, while doing yoga. I do yoga to relax, of course.
rnSometimes.
rnThen, there are the times when I am sitting cross-legged on the floor, screaming at the top of my lungs,
“I am trying to meditate! Shut. Up. Now.”
rnHow can I be expected to achieve enlightenment while one child is threatening to tear the other limb from limb?
(Deep, deep sigh.)
rnOne of the voices I am trying to listen to more often, on my road to consciousness, is that of my own body. We’ve been talking to each other more and more, and most days it is a pleasant conversation.
rnI say, “Good morning liver and gall bladder, good morning spleen and pancreas,” as I twist from side to side during my morning yoga routine.
rnI say, “Good job!” and give my tummy a happy rub, when we’ve had a particularly satisfying visit to the bathroom.
rnAnd I say, “I love you so much!!” when we look at each other through the mirror, while brushing our teeth.
rnI started talking to my body after reading
You Can Heal Your Life, by Louise Hay. Her beautiful, classic book helped me to realize that I had lost touch with my physical self.
rnYears of stress, dietary neglect and just plain aging had made me reluctant to look too closely in that mirror.
rnOr to listen, to the growing number of distress signals coming my way each day.
rnHeadaches. Chronic indigestion. PMS like nothing my mother had prepared me for.
rnLouise Hay also taught me that many of our physical symptoms begin as repressed emotions or unresolved mental conflicts. Real wellness can only be achieved when we are willing to deal with and heal these old hurts.
rnAbout fifteen months ago, my body and I came to an agreement. I would start doing a better job of taking care of myself... mind, body and spirit. In exchange, my body would try to relax and enjoy life, just a little bit more.
rnAnd we both agreed to stay in touch, better than we had in the past.
rnOkay, here comes the ridiculous part. (You thought we’d already reached the ridiculous part?? Hah.)
rnIn the midst of a particularly grueling series of negotiations, I asked my body to give me gentler signals, to let me know when there was additional physical or emotional cleansing to be done.
rnI felt like the headaches and mood swings had done their job.
rnSurely we were ready for something more subtle?
rnIn what can only be described as a supremely unconscious moment, I suggested to my body that it could release just a little sweat... accompanied by just a tiny little bit of body odor, if there was something that required my immediate attention.
rnIt was a natural part of cleansing, anyway. Why not just start a little early, to initiate a timely cleanse? It had to be better than those splitting headaches, that went on for three days straight.
rnWhich brings me to today, and my son’s fourth grade spelling bee. My son loves to spell and was really excited about making it to his school finals.
rnWhile getting ready to attend, I set my intentions: He will do his very best. He will be proud of his performance. He will have fun and be joyful.
rnAnd then I totally detached from the outcome of said spelling bee.
rnSo there I was, watching my son spell the word “prescription.” There were only three children left in the competition. Each round was exponentially harder than the one before.
rnFor me, at least.
rnThe kids looked remarkably cool and collected; while my heart was pounding so hard I thought it would take flight from my chest.
rnSo much for that whole detachment thing.
rnThen, as we – I mean he – was sounding his way through the word “metrical” (??), I noticed just the tiniest whiff of... something.
rnWhat???
rnIt was down to just two fourth graders now, one of which was my son. For five or six rounds, they were neck and neck. One word after another.
rnI just might be having a heart attack.
rnDang, what is that smell?
rnIn the end, my beautiful, brave son was defeated by the word “tutu.” Dumb, girly word.
rnHe was disappointed, but is handling it at least as well as his mother.
rnWho needs a shower.
rnSo, I am heading up to the master bath for some serious one-on-one time with my body. Clearly, there is something needing my attention.
rnI just need to relax and sniff my way to enlightenment.
rnMeg Brown writes about conscious parenting at
www.ConsciousFamilyJournal.com.