Baby Me

Verily I say to you, if ye may not be turned and become as the children, ye may not enter into the reign of the heavens’ Matthew 18:3

I am brought to this thought of a light gray morning. As the photos used to be: light gray. I have been wandering around in my heart, picking up the shards, visible in the receding tides of time, This one is a relationship I had with another, that one a relationship I had with myself. All are fragments blown apart by emotions too powerful to maintain solidity.

Now I have a different take on emotions – now I can keep them at a bit of distance like that old cartoon of holding off the fighter, one hand on her forehead, other hand lifted to cover a yawn. It’s much more comfortable here than it was being that warrior, sweating, bleeding, grunting with effort. I have less of my heart to protect. It is more visible, viable, vibrant, vagrant… That other heart? The one I kept cutting myself on the sharp edges of? Yeh, it’s pieced out on the desert floor by size & color, by name & emotion. I finger these one by one. I remember.

When I was a child, I was still of more than one mind. There was the me responding to the nuns in school, the me wearing the face I only showed to my Mother, the me riding headlong, free, grinning, straight into the ocean breeze, bumping along the boardwalk on my bicycle “Blue Boy.”

That me features most in aspect of who I am today, I’m happy to say!

There was the me in my mirrors, the face framed in braids, the me reflected back from the pages of whatever book I was reading; whatever copybook I was writing in. Perhaps these are not so different from the me reflected in today’s computer screen.

Of course the adults to whom Matthew delivered his message were confounded, looking at one another, judging him crazy for these verbal impossibilities delivered in the name of a Savior already dim in experiential memory (unless you met Him up close & personal.) I’ll bet you the children understood only too well what Matthew meant. Childhood is a “oh me! oh my!” special place where many experiences are new & shiny, bearing no fingerprints save those the child herself puts upon them.

I think she woke up with me this morning. Last night I went to bed, stiff as a piece of wood, my low back sending up a dirge of refusal to bend; I walked up the stairs from one heating pad to another, wondering if I’d be functional in the a.m. But there is this of the miraculous about me: I wake whole every morning. Wherever I travel in the night in my lightbody, my physical body is back on patrol upon waking.

I love the experiences which stay totally new. I love when a layer of my life-built cocoon is stripped away by an experience & I am returned to another me…when I’ve been able to sift through those edged remnants to find one shard fitting into another perfectly. It is a restoration of me I never expect – the eternal surprise of discovery which reduces me to that wide-eyed innocence I once so readily (& so easily) manifested.

From this place, I can grow again & in the manner in which I wish to do so. I need not adopt the comfortable patterns of well-traveled reactions. I can see once again that I am at the beginning of an event. I choose to participate wholly, in a way I’ve never done before, or at least not in my recent history.

Which leads me to ask aloud; “Is history ever recent?”

But here I am, born again of a gray morning, sitting between mountain ranges unacquainted with oceans for uncounted years. Once this desert was the ocean floor. Once I lived beside the sea & begged the ocean to be my mother, Now I peer out the window & beg the mountain to be my father.

Who can love this ragged, paunchy, punchy me? Who would ever be tender with this old bird, treating her like the perpatetic little chick she once was, dashing from seed to seed, colliding with life yellow as a yolk? I may have found someone who regards me so. My sense of wonder is renewed & fulfilled. It matters little if anything will come to fruition from the relationship. It isn’t yet history. In this now, I can be safe as the child protected only by her own senses, living in the most present of moments, dreaming, dreaming. Nothing matters but the dream; the rest will care for itself upon emerging.

Right now is that edge to surf & I can’t pull my attention away,

I am returning to blessing by virtue of being blessed by another; returning to wholeness just as I am. I take one last look at the pieces all about; I understand deeply that this very dream may also join them at some time.

Right now, I am forgiven of being an adult in the childhood of being in love. Right now I can be in my Kingdom of Heaven; surrendered to a King.

3 thoughts on “Baby Me

  1. Teri says:

    Got a little difficult trying to read through the tears in my eyes. The pictures brought back so many memories. I love them, and the word pictures you paint for me. And I love you, sister mine.

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    1. I know what you mean, I cried at my hopeful closed-eyes face. That pic was taken at Aunt Tiny’s in Folsom on a sun-dappled day. Remember the woods she had behind her place? I don’t know if you played hide n seek in them as I did with Joe & the cousins – Charlie & Judy. Of course I don’t remember back that far. But the three or four photos I have of me as a child are iconic for me now. And what a funny little face on that baby!! I might try to scan them into computer at the lab. I thought it came out well – love the yellow as yolk line! 🙂 Love to you, too – c

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  2. Charles Heineke says:

    Hi Carol,

    Nice report. You’re learning a lot about you. Learning to let go of all that isn’t you is the hardest part of learning to allow ourselves to be who we truly are: totally innocent children of Godness. I finally discovered that back in 1994, and it’s been a blessing to me ever since. When you know the feeling, not just the intellectual concept, of total innocence, life is so much sweeter and easier. You seem to be there, or close to there, as you make your daily progress.

    We have to let go of everything that isn’t us to find that which inherently is us. It isn’t hard to be who we are. It’s hard trying to be who we aren’t, which is what most of us have been doing all of our lives. That’s why letting go of all that we’ve been taught we are is essential to allowing ourselves to be all that we are and never needed to be taught.

    The idea of speaking “putdowns” has been one of the most destructive things we’ve been taught in our society. Putting down others and ourselves, even jokingly, is exceedingly damaging to our self-concepts. That’s why coming to realize and appreciate our own innocence is so valuable in finding freedom in our lives.

    It’s easy to see that the joy, curiosity, and feistiness of your youth is still alive and well with you today. Good for you.

    It sounds like you may have found a lover to practice on. If so, enjoy your find. In fact, be so focused on sharing your love with him that he is bound to reflect back your love to you, in spades.

    Be the lover who lights up the lives of those around you, by letting your love shine on all you meet. When we’re sending out love, love returns to us, multiplied, since we got it in the sending of it and in the receiving of it back. And even if it isn’t returned to us, we still got it in the first place, by experiencing it within and then sending it forth, to do its wonderful work in others. We’ve contributed our part to the global collective.

    Blessings all over you! I’m proud of you, and all you add to the party.

    Charles

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