There was a small girl with cornflower curls. She spent her days merrily singing and dancing in pure delight. She was a free spirit. Eternally grateful that she had not lost her connection to God. Her neighborhood was filled with adults in slow motion and graying hair. The small girl knew that if she could share her sweet songs and spontaneous dances, that all her old friends would remember. She would set out each morning knocking on doors, one by one, as a messenger of inspiration, sharing her childhood joys. It didn't seem to matter whether they welcomed her in, she would dance and sing on doorsteps just the same And the world she created was such a wondrous place.
This small girl grew a little older. She would do what she could to straighten those cornflower curls. More importantly, she set out to silence the magical child inside of her that had remembered joy. Her singing and dancing were exchanged for control and manipulation, protection and defense, judgment and criticism. Her choice was to imprison herself in everything that did not come easily. It mattered to her now how people judged her. Whether she was liked or disliked. She would punish herself and others for the wounds she inflicted and received. She withheld her love, as a form of spiteful punishment.
This girl vowed, with words of defiance, never again to allow anyone to hurt her. With that promise, she condemned her heart to constriction. She became cold and dead inside The world that controlled her now was a suffering place.
With dull, damaged hair the girl grew older. She occupied her time with rage and impatience. Her friends shared her sour burdens, all hanging their heads and trudging through their enormously weighty lives. The drama preceded her. She became the victim of her own creation. Time was no longer her lover, but her warden. She could not remember singing and dancing with joy. Her perfectionism had replaced that freedom. In search of an exit from her boring life, she dabbled in anything outside of herself that would have power over her. But the pain inside did not go away. She wept as her body began to scream . The world she resented victimized her, as her addiction to suffering excellerated.
The girl who once, long ago, loved her cornflower curls, was much older now. The classroom of the ego had spun a sticky web. She was blindly stuck in its illusion. Her Mother and Father had imprinted their fears upon her. Her peers had helped manifest her rebellious mask. The suffering she held as her very own, her identity, was killing her. Her body, a most profound teacher, now volunteered to create a gigantic "wake up" call. And so her bones could no longer hold the heaviness she knew as her life. Her world came to a screeching halt. Without the ability to walk, she could not escape herself. After much struggle, she surrendered. In exhaustion, she reached for the only thing she had left .the Serene Center of her Being within her Heart. Even though it had been shut down, lo those many years ago. Her heart had been waiting, as though in hibernation, for her to remember that magical child she had rejected. To remember who she really was. She fell into deep prayer . The world that she remembered, embraced her in Love.
The girl has grown into a woman of great wisdom. She spends her time in sacred moments of Now. She remembers who she really is as God. She remembers why she is here. She embraces each new experience with Love and compassion. As she looks back on her life and the choices she has made, she can actually see the Divine Order that has gotten her to this moment. She is eternally grateful for the path her ego has led her down. Now she knows in her Heart of Hearts that she walks the pathless path; going nowhere and doing nothing; being everywhere and being everything. Her practice is to be lovingly present, no matter what it looks like outside or inside of herself. If she forgets to remember from time to time, she listens to the voice inside of her Heart, her gentle Soul, whispering "wake up". Now she is the doorstep of humanity. She stands in surrender, singing of the sacred Isness, dancing to the rhythm of her Truth and her Freedom. It matters not whether anyone listens, or welcomes her in, for her own Self-Love inspires her.
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