We Were In There Shining All Along

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Abstract

n though it needs a bath and the pockets sewn. I love being human even on days such as today when I feel like a raggedy version of myself. At 49, I’m starting to look a bit like the Velveteen Rabbit — disheveled, worn, and to some, I’ll soon start looking more and more like trash. But that’s only because our culture values sheen and shine and new over wise, warm, and growing old. So I love my old fart part. I still fool people part of the time with my beauty, though it’s drooping in places. But this sturdy body holds my light, which grows brighter every day. And it’s a sheen that pours forth until the body itself releases and dissipates, for we were in there shining all along.Learning to love myself feels like warmth pouring into every crevice of my system, feels like water to the parched, hurts my soul that wants to hide. Oh sweetie. She takes life SOO seriously, I’m exhausted by her, so I do what’s counterintuitive: I love her more. The

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re’s no room for anything else. Only love for her. It’s a choice, one that feels like I’ve opened a spigot for heaven on Earth.It’s hard because she’s love-starved and wants me to pour love into her all day. I don’t really have the time. And yet she deserves it. Our inner child can be as much work as a real-life child, when we really attend to them. And yet nothing bears fruit so much as giving ourselves the loving attention we desire and that we actually need to grow vast as the wilderness, open, whole and big as our Source.So I sip tea from my carafe, smile — and remember the Taoist principle of the inner smile. I ask mine if she’ll smile all day at me but especially at this neediest one in me and she says, “Sure.” She doesn’t mind. It’s not tiring or a chore.“I love smiling at you and at her,” says my inner smile.Thank you. I raise my teacup and toast the universe.</article></body>

We Were In There Shining All Along

Svetozar Cerisev on Unsplash

Tis 6:49 a.m. All my clocks are wrong. A candle beside me calms. The whir of the furnace reminds me both that I am grateful for our power AND that I wish we could be more-off grid. We cannot afford a solar battery, and a new technology will eventually be born that shall render solar storable for the average family. We paid for the solar panels, but not the generator for another $20 k or so, because, apparently, they’re just not that great.

I don’t know, what do you think? Oh my Lord. Well I do care what you think, AND it’s just me here typing in the early morning light.

My body aches with fatigue, and yet I’m so happy just being here. I love my big, thick wool sweater even though it needs a bath and the pockets sewn. I love being human even on days such as today when I feel like a raggedy version of myself. At 49, I’m starting to look a bit like the Velveteen Rabbit — disheveled, worn, and to some, I’ll soon start looking more and more like trash. But that’s only because our culture values sheen and shine and new over wise, warm, and growing old. So I love my old fart part. I still fool people part of the time with my beauty, though it’s drooping in places. But this sturdy body holds my light, which grows brighter every day. And it’s a sheen that pours forth until the body itself releases and dissipates, for we were in there shining all along.

Learning to love myself feels like warmth pouring into every crevice of my system, feels like water to the parched, hurts my soul that wants to hide. Oh sweetie. She takes life SOO seriously, I’m exhausted by her, so I do what’s counterintuitive: I love her more. There’s no room for anything else. Only love for her. It’s a choice, one that feels like I’ve opened a spigot for heaven on Earth.

It’s hard because she’s love-starved and wants me to pour love into her all day. I don’t really have the time. And yet she deserves it. Our inner child can be as much work as a real-life child, when we really attend to them. And yet nothing bears fruit so much as giving ourselves the loving attention we desire and that we actually need to grow vast as the wilderness, open, whole and big as our Source.

So I sip tea from my carafe, smile — and remember the Taoist principle of the inner smile. I ask mine if she’ll smile all day at me but especially at this neediest one in me and she says, “Sure.” She doesn’t mind. It’s not tiring or a chore.

“I love smiling at you and at her,” says my inner smile.

Thank you. I raise my teacup and toast the universe.