I started the process of telling myself the truth of my own experience more than one year ago, as I rode my tractor through the field of the WEL-Systems™ paradigm; yet, as this summer has moved from June, when I last wrote in this blog, until now (Labour Day weekend), my penchant for getting honest with myself and with others has accelerated hugely; in fact, it has become a power with orders of magnitude. I have changed gears and loosened my brakes. My tractor is in 'rev' mode. It's about time!
I am realizing just how much of the seed volume of my own life force that I have reduced and/or washed away by denying those, whom I cherish in my life, the truth of whom I am - perceived weeds and all. When I deny myself the expression of whom I am in the world, it is tantamount to hiding myself under a rock; that very seclusion means that others cannot even hope to insert themselves into any one of the many corners of my garden, so that I absolutely know that I am not alone.
So much of my denial of the expression of whom I have been has been fertilized within and driven by the piston of 'I screwed up, again'. I have no interest in its content, but the very vibration of this unconscious belief, now made conscious, as a driver, has been akin to the energetic quality created in the distortion of a used and broken pulley that can no longer drive the belt that runs the blade of my lawn mower - essential to cutting grass, baring my truth. Indeed, the pulley broke itself this past week; it was no longer willing to propel the denial, the avoidance, the games, the 'make it nice and everything will be OK'. It just stopped... after loosening and rattling itself for sometime, in a bid to make clear its need to cease operation. Was I listening?
What happens when a new pulley is purchased, the machine repaired, and, yet, the blade still refuses to cut? Do I flip my mowing machine over? Do I take it apart and start over again? Do I open the book of words, the direction manual, and study the fact sheet? Do I discard the entire machine and purchase a new one? Do I take out the push mower - the one, which, in its simplicity, easily cuts to the truth with no more energy than my own physical movement forward? Do I reach for the scythe, reminiscent of the ancient idiom that my word is law in my universe, that guarantees that my harvest of the fruit of my experience, sun-kissed by the so(u)l of that sacred law, abounds from telling my truth? This veracity is not truth as an absolute; it is an opinion at best. However, it is my truth of my own experience - including all of my unwanted and uncultivated plantings.
Have you noticed, that when grass gets length to it, you can't see the dirt from which it springs? Long grasses can most certainly be gorgeous to view; at the same time, they serve as cover for all those things that we would rather not look at ... much less step into... if you get my drift... and they are many. In my undeniable awareness of this, I have chosen to become my own blade; I choose to cut my own grass so that I can touch the earth of my own truth, smell it's pungency, hear it underfoot, and see its true colours. My blade is driven by the divine, my Signal from Self. As my pulley, it's fail safe... nothing broken, nothing to fix. It is who I am and It is the only thing that I need. It is my truth.
To the women in my life... you know who you are... who are choosing to stand tall on your own mowed lawns, to move into the many corners of your own gardens and to step up onto the rocks of your lives toward your own salvation - the expression of your unique truths - I extend my deepest gratitude. It is your willingness to turn on your blades in support of my cut that both invites and allows me to reveal the truth of whom I am in my world. I am simply unshakeable in that truth as my earthly platform from which to launch myself into my emerging future.
T'aint nothin' wrong with my dirt! I love the feel of it under my feet and in my hands; I love its aroma.
And... I love cut grass! And... most of all... I love the fresh smell of its integrity, its authenticity.
Mahalo.
Sheila
