From September, 2007.
I’d been running around trying to get things done, fretting over stuff not in my control and generally giving myself a pain in my spirit. Funny thing is the faster I went the behinder I got until there was hardly any discernible forward movement. To begin this particular day, I did my morning B.R.E.W. with considerable effort to Be Still, the first step.
I went to my favorite spot of trees in my mind, with the fat trunks and thick foliage. My thick trunk with the curve of my back worn into it was empty waiting for me. The air was crisp and the sound of the waters around me were soothing. I was in My Place. And I was sad, burdened even here, heavy laden with a rucksack of my current worries and fears and hopes I hesitated to have. I needed help.
It was easy to put down my worries a few months ago. Now I wasn’t even sure how to set them down. Then a waterfall appeared off to my left, a little ways away from where I sat. Just at my feet there appeared a push broom. I managed to set down some troubles briefly only to reach to get a few back, to hold onto them for a bit longer. And then my help came in the form of a stronger me.
One by one I’d set down my burdens and then took back a few until I had most in hand once again with little room to hold the push broom and very few things to push away. Putting them down made me feel a great sense of abandonment; it seemed like my burdens and I needed each other—obviously I was confused.
My alter ego watched with pity and thoughtfulness. She took from me the burdens that I’d re-collected from the pile and replaced them on the ground. She took the push broom from my reluctant hands and hushed my protesting movements. She pushed the burdens over the waterfall in one strong push of the broom; they made no sound nor flailing for salvation and I sat in the curve of my tree stunned.
My alter ego sat next to me and told me—made me know what we did was right. I hadn’t abandon anything really. This was my back-of-the-boat time. She did one thing more for me; she took off my back, the rucksack chocked full of issues. She had to be careful because part of it was fused to my back. She cut it away, brought it to the edge and flung it over the waterfall. I fell back against my tree, nothing between my back and it, and that comfort was new again. I closed my eyes.
It was the closest I’d been to a rested spirit in a long time. She returned and sat next to me again and said, “There.” She raised an arm and I laid down my head in her lap and wept. And I felt better. Then there was room for step two—Receive God’s Love . . .