Meeting my Inner Child
I had a very spiritual experience the other day. It was my third session with Kate Jones at Mind Body Movement as I work on healing a fractured childhood. This particular day I had no expectations and I started by letting her know that I was feeling anxious, like something needs to change; this feeling of entrapment; living in an American suburb where I feel like I am suffocating every day that I am here. I explained I was feeling no peace and how I had literally experienced a panic attack in my kitchen on a recent morning and almost fainted. There has never been that feeling of..."sigh, I am home...." You know; that feeling when you know you don't need to move anymore, because you have found the place you want to live, for a while, or forever. I have never felt that. Every place I have ever lived has felt temporary...sometimes I don't put pictures up on the wall, or unpack boxes because I feel I won't be staying long. It has always been this way, I expect because I have moved over 35 times. I often feel I am somewhere because I have to be, like circumstances put me there. There is one place I don't feel like that. When I get off the plane at Charles de Gaulle airport, or get out at Gare du Nord in Paris, France. I breathe that huge sigh of relief and smile widely, from ear to ear. The sights, the smells, the fragmented pieces of French language all around me, the smokers, the metro, the people, from the bums to the businessmen, to the well put together women and trendy LaCoste wearing metro-sexuals. Paris. It feels like home.
Kate and I began talking about the peace I felt whilst visiting Pere Lachaise cemetery. The first time I was there, it was raining slightly but the sun kept trying to come out, creating these rays of light through the trees, and a yellow hue between the gravestones and doorways. The smell of moisture was in the air, I could smell wet leaves. The rain was light and misty. I felt no anxiety walking through the cobbled pathways, getting lost amongst the tall headstones, and, as Kate put it...."Feeling rested among the resting." Every now and then I would hear the hollow, echoey sounds of birds singing and pigeons cooing.
I closed my eyes as I painted a picture with my words for Kate who simply asked me questions and I will describe to you my journey as I went deep into my soul, searching for something I didn't know I had lost.
It's getting darker, there is a blue tinge to the wet dusk. But there's that sunlight again, those beautiful rays of light; and there's a little girl, in front of me, there, walking in the light. She has black hair, in two ponytails, one on each side of her head. She has big brown eyes. She is wearing brown plaid trousers that are a little too short and hang above her ankes over white socks, a pair of shiny black Mary Janes and a knitted white sweater with a dark brown border around the neck and wrists, and a big sailboat on the front. She is in awe. She is walking and her being exudes wonder, excitement, and she is this inquisitive little thing, eager to learn, eager to take it all in. I shiver. I don't want her to know I am there, because I might scare her, and so it's better that I just stay back and watch her in the distance.
I suddenly realize that this little girl is me. When I was about 6 years old. I am smiling as I am describing this to Kate, and she suggests I get into the little girl's skin to see what she is feeling. I am hesitant, because I feel like I will scare her with all my internal fear and I don't want to sully her innocence with the me that I am now, if that makes sense. After a minute or so, I decide to go ahead and move into her.
When I get into her skin, her eyes grow wide, and she looks down at her hands (my hands), wondering what the hell just happened. She is curious, but not frightened. I fear she knows I am there and get out of her skin and walk quickly, about 20 feet back into the shadows, where I am once again a silhouette in the semi-darkness. She turns around. She knows someone is there, but still, she's not afraid. She squints her eyes, trying to make out who I am. She is puzzled. At this point Kate asks me what I want. I start to weep. I start crying and hold out my hand to the little me. I want more than ever for her to take me with her. I tell Kate through uncontrollable sobbing that I don't want her to leave me in the darkness, and as I am reaching out, silently imploring she takes me with her, she starts to walk back over to me as if she heard my thoughts. She stands next to me, looks up at me and takes my hand. I look down at her and smile. She smiles too and motions her head forward. "Let's go," she says. I feel my heart leap in my chest. I feel joy. I feel light. There is no sense of time.
We walk together, through the bright rays of light. I can see a clearing, a meadow where the grass is every vibrant and brilliant shade of green. The meadow is full of daisies. There are little bits of pollen or dust floating through the light. Lots and lots of little daisies. And she stops, and sits down on the grass, pulling me down to sit with her. And we make daisy chain bracelets, and daisy chain crowns together.
Kate asked me at this point if this is where I wanted to leave this, or if we went somewhere else from here. I told her no, this was perfect. This was beautiful. And so we left it there.
Walking out of Kate's office that day I can't describe the joy I felt in the core of my being. It was as if I had been on a long journey. I was quite exhausted, but I felt like finally, just maybe, I might be beginning to mend some of the fractured pieces of my childhood. It's not everyday you get to make daisy chains with your inner child. How lucky I am.
So I had a feeling that somewhere, in a storage unit in a long forgotten box full of old photographs, the only things I have managed to keep throughout the years of moving around, was a photo of me in that outfit. Wearing the plaid, too short trousers and the sailboat sweater. Yesterday I went to the storage unit and rummaged around until I found the box of photographs. And sure enough. There's that photograph, taken when I was that little girl, of about 5 or 6 years old. Innocent. Before the fear, and the walls went up. Later, I looked up the symbolism of daisies, and was amazed to find that daisies symbolize innocence and gentleness. The photo below is the same little girl that held my hand and walked into the light with me, releasing me from being a shadow in the darkness, in every detail. I haven't seen this photograph in many many years.
Kate and I began talking about the peace I felt whilst visiting Pere Lachaise cemetery. The first time I was there, it was raining slightly but the sun kept trying to come out, creating these rays of light through the trees, and a yellow hue between the gravestones and doorways. The smell of moisture was in the air, I could smell wet leaves. The rain was light and misty. I felt no anxiety walking through the cobbled pathways, getting lost amongst the tall headstones, and, as Kate put it...."Feeling rested among the resting." Every now and then I would hear the hollow, echoey sounds of birds singing and pigeons cooing.
I closed my eyes as I painted a picture with my words for Kate who simply asked me questions and I will describe to you my journey as I went deep into my soul, searching for something I didn't know I had lost.
It's getting darker, there is a blue tinge to the wet dusk. But there's that sunlight again, those beautiful rays of light; and there's a little girl, in front of me, there, walking in the light. She has black hair, in two ponytails, one on each side of her head. She has big brown eyes. She is wearing brown plaid trousers that are a little too short and hang above her ankes over white socks, a pair of shiny black Mary Janes and a knitted white sweater with a dark brown border around the neck and wrists, and a big sailboat on the front. She is in awe. She is walking and her being exudes wonder, excitement, and she is this inquisitive little thing, eager to learn, eager to take it all in. I shiver. I don't want her to know I am there, because I might scare her, and so it's better that I just stay back and watch her in the distance.
I suddenly realize that this little girl is me. When I was about 6 years old. I am smiling as I am describing this to Kate, and she suggests I get into the little girl's skin to see what she is feeling. I am hesitant, because I feel like I will scare her with all my internal fear and I don't want to sully her innocence with the me that I am now, if that makes sense. After a minute or so, I decide to go ahead and move into her.
When I get into her skin, her eyes grow wide, and she looks down at her hands (my hands), wondering what the hell just happened. She is curious, but not frightened. I fear she knows I am there and get out of her skin and walk quickly, about 20 feet back into the shadows, where I am once again a silhouette in the semi-darkness. She turns around. She knows someone is there, but still, she's not afraid. She squints her eyes, trying to make out who I am. She is puzzled. At this point Kate asks me what I want. I start to weep. I start crying and hold out my hand to the little me. I want more than ever for her to take me with her. I tell Kate through uncontrollable sobbing that I don't want her to leave me in the darkness, and as I am reaching out, silently imploring she takes me with her, she starts to walk back over to me as if she heard my thoughts. She stands next to me, looks up at me and takes my hand. I look down at her and smile. She smiles too and motions her head forward. "Let's go," she says. I feel my heart leap in my chest. I feel joy. I feel light. There is no sense of time.
We walk together, through the bright rays of light. I can see a clearing, a meadow where the grass is every vibrant and brilliant shade of green. The meadow is full of daisies. There are little bits of pollen or dust floating through the light. Lots and lots of little daisies. And she stops, and sits down on the grass, pulling me down to sit with her. And we make daisy chain bracelets, and daisy chain crowns together.
Kate asked me at this point if this is where I wanted to leave this, or if we went somewhere else from here. I told her no, this was perfect. This was beautiful. And so we left it there.
Walking out of Kate's office that day I can't describe the joy I felt in the core of my being. It was as if I had been on a long journey. I was quite exhausted, but I felt like finally, just maybe, I might be beginning to mend some of the fractured pieces of my childhood. It's not everyday you get to make daisy chains with your inner child. How lucky I am.
So I had a feeling that somewhere, in a storage unit in a long forgotten box full of old photographs, the only things I have managed to keep throughout the years of moving around, was a photo of me in that outfit. Wearing the plaid, too short trousers and the sailboat sweater. Yesterday I went to the storage unit and rummaged around until I found the box of photographs. And sure enough. There's that photograph, taken when I was that little girl, of about 5 or 6 years old. Innocent. Before the fear, and the walls went up. Later, I looked up the symbolism of daisies, and was amazed to find that daisies symbolize innocence and gentleness. The photo below is the same little girl that held my hand and walked into the light with me, releasing me from being a shadow in the darkness, in every detail. I haven't seen this photograph in many many years.
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