I am aware that I see beauty everywhere. Yet I do not see beauty reflected in the mirror.
New awareness….is this reflection—is that me?
This morning the words “Art of Allowing” jumped off the cd that was laying on my counter. Those words captured my attention…the Art of Allowing. This cd is one from a series called Living the Art of Allowing that has been in my car for a very long time, and is part of a 6-cd series that I bought back in 2006. As far as I know, it is the only cd left from that set that I still have on hand. I brought it inside after cleaning out the interior of my car. My intention was to listen to it again. The topic of cd # 4 is “The Amazing Power of Deliberate Intent”.
I am currently taking the Intent Home Study Course….again…this time taking with renewed purpose this time around, so I thought this to be no accident that I bumped into this particular message with the word “Intent” in the title and catching my attention. I have not re-listened to the cd, but since those words jumped off the page to me this morning, I decided that I would sit with the question of allowing during my quiet time this morning.
Back to the image in the mirror. When not looking in the mirror, I “see” myself as beautiful, loving, able to discern and appreciating beauty in all walks of life. So why does it feel so difficult for me to see that beauty in the image in the mirror? Am I believing in separation from those qualities? Am I believing that there is something I need to do in order to be a better expression/reflection of myself, lose weight, exercise, have face lift, change hair color any and all in order to be more beautiful? Is this what makes us beautiful? I know that isn’t true for others, why can’t I see that as true about myself? Is this the message I choose to be hearing for myself? No.
Those are exterior finishes….more like a coat of paint, right? Except that what I am seeing on the outside is reflecting what is inside. Right? Am I willing to uncover and expose what’s not true with this thought? Am I willing to trust enough, to love God and myself enough as God’s expression, that I am complete as He made me? Beautiful? “His work is done…behold, it is very good…”? Not human, right?
Do I have a belief in separation from my Creator? What is beauty? What is beautiful? Why is it so easy for me to see beauty everywhere except within? Yes, this is what needs to be let go—the belief that God’s idea is ever, could ever, be anything except beautiful and complete—not dependent upon a certain size, weight, color, height, form. Huge revelation and awareness.
I remember hearing my mother tell me on many occasions, “handsome is as handsome does”. I never liked to hear that phrase. What I heard was, “you’re not beautiful, be satisfied with the idea that you’ll never be beautiful, be a nice person instead so people will like you.” That is the message I heard.
I better realize now that this is why seeing beauty, helping others to see beauty they already possess, help uncover the error in thinking about what makes one beautiful has always been so important. I remember how that felt when those other words. This is the false belief that needs to be let go of, washed away, healed, leaving only love filling all spaces as to who we truly are.
When I look at pictures of my mother when she was a young girl, I see that she truly was a beautiful little girl. She also was considered large for her age, standing taller than her mother as well as her older brother. Her mother was a small and slender person. I can imagine some of the things my mother may have been told as a child from a mother who was not known for her nurturing qualities but had a rather austere, stern way that she conveyed.
I know that my mother associated small with beautiful and big with clumsy, big was not beautiful, and was never able to feel beautiful herself even though she truly was a beautiful woman. I thought that’s what she thought. It occurs to me now that perhaps it was because she had never learned how to nurture nor appreciate her innate beauty from her mother, that she was not able to see her own beauty. Her mother had never learned how to nurture, nor appreciate beauty beyond physical appearances, and was not simply able to teach my mother how to nurture either because she too had not been taught. (Thought comes…Does this mean that I don’t know how to nurture either? Another thought floating to the surface in order to flow away as an untruth about One Parent, Love, continues to be revealed.) Is this something that we need to be taught, or can we learn as we listen within to what our Source is telling us is true about us?
Big always was associated with clumsy. This is what I associate with the memories as I recall hearing my mother talking about me to someone when she didn’t know I was listening. She was telling them that I was not very graceful. I took tap dance lessons believing that I wasn’t graceful enough for ballet. Did I want to take ballet? I don’t remember, and I did enjoy tapping.
I had not taken tap lessons very long around the time that I was to go ice skating with my siblings. I was told that I had to use the double runner skates. I hated them. They weren’t pretty. They weren’t graceful. They were baby skates. I’m not a baby. (One of my favorite things about getting a baby brother was that I no longer would be introduced as the baby of the family)
I talked my sister into letting me wear her single-runner skates after she was finished, and while we were waiting for our ride home. I’ll show them, I thought. I can too skate on big-girl skates. But oh, those skates were much too big. It was really hard to skate on just one runner. I couldn’t do it. I fell. Hard. Then I couldn’t get up.
My brother and sister kept telling me to get up. Quit being a baby. Stop crying. But I couldn’t. Everyone kept trying to make me walk on the injured leg. I kept crying. I couldn’t. It hurt too much.
Finally—I don’t remember how long—they believed that I was injured. I was taken for an x-ray, and we discovered that my leg was broken—in two places. Everyone felt badly about making me walk on a broken leg.
I remember that cast. From my toes all the up to the top of my thigh, and I had to wear it a long, long time. I remember not being able to scratch the itch underneath that cast. I remember the smell from my toes because I couldn’t wash them thoroughly because of that cast.
I remember when that cast finally was cut off…..with an electric power saw…I was so very afraid. I was so disappointed when said that another cast must go back on because the bone wasn’t completely healed. The next cast was smaller but it still was uncomfortable and covered my whole leg. I don’t remember how much time went by for all of this, but to a 7 year old, it seemed like an eternity.
I remember when the second cast was finally taken off…..yes with a power saw again, still frightening but not as scary this time because I now knew they were not going to saw off my leg. I remember standing in our living room in that house in Ravenna, after coming home, finally without the cast, and with my whole family standing there telling me to walk. Only I couldn’t. My leg still hurt…..but this time because the leg was filled with pins and needles from being in a cast for such a long time. Much too painful for this 7 year old, in spite of all the prodding for me to walk. Everyone kept saying “don’t be a baby”, “stop crying”, “walk”. Maybe there were some nurturing comments too, but I don’t remember them. Selective memory from a 7 year old perspective.
I don’t have a memory of what happened next but I obviously did finally start walking again. I do remember that I never took any more dance lessons. There could be many reasons why, but what I believed was that it was because I was too clumsy. That’s what I heard when my mother told me, “Handsome is as handsome does”.
I have loved watching the Ice Capades. When watching, I felt myself gliding across that ice, dancing on single-runner skates, moving gracefully to beautiful music, wearing beautiful, flowing dresses, in the arms of a handsome man. Yes, that was me. I felt it all within. I did learn to ice skate, on single runners even, though I never felt quite as graceful as the professional skaters. I still love watching them.
I love to watch dancing too. I imagine myself waltzing around and around a large ballroom to the beautiful music and in the arms of a beautiful man. I feel it completely.
This is what has been uncovered. I better understand my love of graceful ice skaters and dancers and beautiful things.
I’m sorry dear Father that I have not been seeing your beautiful child as clearly as you do. I do feel your loving embrace. Thank you.
Many life lessons throughout this all of this uncovering and unfolding for me. I realize that in many ways I am still that little girl wobbling around the ice pond of life saying, “See, I can too skate on single runner skates!”
Thank you for this wonderful release of old memories. I feel nurtured through my mother’s expressing God’s love. I am grateful.
{ 0 comments }
