Healing the Heart And The Inner Child
At a visit to my friend Janet's house a few years ago I found myself absorbed as I looked at the many pictures she had spread about the coffee table, end tables and such. There were so many pictures to look at. These pictures made my heart glad for they showed me a glimpe of a happy family with many happy memories. Something I was not to experience in childhood. I took my time as I looked at each picture. Glowing smiles which enhance wrinkled faces. Father stands next to his daughter, his arm around her shoulder. His eyes are full of pride and love for his little girl. Janet is still his little girl although she is now forty-two years old. As I observe the photos scattered around Janet's family room, I am caught and touched by the various snapshots from the past which capture and hold good memories. There is strength and fortitude in these noble souls. I can see it on the well worn looks on the faces of Janet's
This is a man and woman like many, who worked hard to instill proper family values in their children. They were always there for them, leading and guiding them, and offering their hands to lift them up when the children fell. They taught them to be independent, strong, kind, and to believe in themselves.
I look closer at Janet's face in a smaller photo placed on a beautiful oval shaped cherry end table. The freshly polished surface shines and I smile thinking how this shine
reminds me of the glow in Janet's eyes. She is fiery, enthusiastic and full of life, and I know her parents are very proud of her accomplishments.
I too am proud of Janet, for she is my dear friend; a beloved, sweet, special, intense woman who has been helping me to heal my broken heart and deep emotional wounds for the past fifteen years. She told me the first day she met me that I was very gifted, talented and special. She still tells me, and I do try to believe her, without allowing arrogance to creep in and sour my true self.
Her mother Barbara sits on the arm of a flowery plush chair in another photo, her right arm resting gently on her husband's shoulder. There is contentment in her eyes, her features are poised and relaxed. The red lipstick on her lips and the wide grin on her face reveal to me that this is a woman who is comfortable with herself in this season of her life. There is still much passion burning in the fires of this woman's soul, but I see that life experience has molded and refined the fires as she has gratefully accepted the gifts wisdom has bestowed upon her.
The love between this man and woman not only has enriched and enhanced the nuptial bond which has accorded them a happy fulfilling life; it also gave birth and nurtured my dear friend Janet who will always be young no matter how many tricks the years play on her.
I scurry about the family room, eager to take in the next photograph, my bare feet enjoying the sensual touch of the brown thick carpet. My toes cannot help but wiggle and sink a little into the carpet's soft sensual warmth.
I look about, the morning sun peeps and lights upon a grandiose amethyst crystal cluster creating a miniature crystal city of golden scintillating light. I imagine myself a tiny fairy who steps inside this crystal to observe each and every crystal formed in a myriad of sizes and shapes. Some of the purple glows remind me of stars, and I am filled with hope that dreams can and do come true. I close my eyes and make a little star wish. "One day I too shall know the kind of love that binds this family together. Then I can heal and forget the horrible family memories of days gone by."
For an instant my vision takes leave of this beautiful home of my friend. Now I am standing in the small living room of my parents' home. There are photos scattered about. The smiles are there, but the eyes do not glow. I want to smash each and every one of them because they do not capture magical moments of happy days gone by. They laugh in my face so hard that I cover my ears as the voices of these phantom memories shout the unspoken truths that my heart and soul have never been able to conceal no matter how hard I have tried.
I know that we had to wait an extra week to make one particular photo. On the day before the due date of the family setting my father smacked and beat my mother once more. She would cry and beg him to stop, her arms flailing desperately hoping to avert his blows, hoping her children would not have to see the bruises and black eyes for days on end once more. Never mind the pain. Oh, that was horrible enough, but to have to hope the blows were not so bad this time. Maybe this time the makeup would cover her eyes and face just enough so that she would not have to tell her children why we had to take the family photo another day.
I know that what many would consider pathetic yearnings of a troubled, tortured, abused woman, my mother would muster a glimmer of hope that perhaps this time Father would take pity. He would not hit her so hard or so much. If she were truly lucky maybe he would hurl his curses and blows before the children arrived from school. Maybe he would pass out from his drunken rampages and sleep until time to leave for work. Maybe she could hide the hurts, the bruises, the tears.
So she thought, but she could never hide anything from me. My mother and I
were always psychically connected. She could never lie or conceal her woes from me. This made it harder on us both, I feel certain. It broke my heart to see her in so much pain, and to know how much effort and will it took for her to force smiles and try to convince me that things were not so bad. I am sure that part of her knew that I was not so easily deceived. Her eyes spoke far more than her words. So did mine. Many times we both kept quiet. At times the silence offers comfort, even if only minimally. But still I knew. Many tears and sorrows we tried to conceal from each other, but still I knew.
I can never be fully healed or whole as long as my mother suffers, unless of course, God interferes. Anything is possible. I would welcome a miracle, or a magical potion that would drown out the hurtful memories that reside so deeply inside my being. I can pray and hope and dream. Faith has always been one of my strongest allies and friends.
I quickly open my eyes, and shake my head. How was I drawn back into the past that far? It is painful enough to step into my parent's house for family holiday visits.
Need I lose myself in spontaneous reveries and find myself back there again in my imagination?
I look in front of me. Yes, it is time to be back in the present. I lean into Janet's plush, soft, brown sofa, my hips wiggling just a bit, sinking into the cushion's sensual comfort. I reach for a beige pillow to my left, then to my right. I stroke their softness as I behold the beautiful cherub designs. Each cherub carries a twig in one hand and a lyre in the other.
Ah, how they must play the music of the spheres. The celestial smiles on their
Faces fill my heart with soulful reverence. I reach out and caress one of their wings and smile, thinking how beloved they must be to their creator. They are children of our great creator. Am I not a child of God as well? I glimpse another floating cherub on the other pillow. The twinkle in its eye jumps out at me. "This is not the time to contemplate the mysteries of life," I whisper. One day my questing mind shall have all the answers my soul desires. That day is not today. This is a day to feel. A day to relive memories, hopefully good ones. A day for healing and comfort to a sad and lonely heart.
I rub the lovely soft pillows one more time and nod to the cherub, in grateful appreciation that art provides us with so many remembrances and reminders of the wonders and beautiful loving beings in God's marvelous creation.
The next picture is a very special one. It is a photo of my dear friend Janet and her husband Jack who she married three years ago at the age of thirty-nine. Ah, how her life truly did begin at forty. Janet's long, curled, dark brown hair rests peacefully on her shoulders. She and Jack are both dressed in dark blue. A little boy's twinkle fills his eyes. There is softness and kindness in his face. I smile knowing this is a fifty year old man who is capable of much boyish mischief and playfulness. There are some wrinkles on his face, though not a whole lot. I know that life has hurled many boulders in his path, but they did not break his spirit or extinguish his hopes and dreams for a good happy life.
Blessed be the Dreamers! They are the children of Destiny and the Earth who do not forget that God is their precious spiritual father and mother. This loving being blew the breath of life into each of us. Surely our magnificent loving creator can renew our lost dreams and reanimate the yearnings we let fall into oblivious slumber. Perhaps we
can even acquire greater understanding on the matter of suffering and personal trials and tribulations.
I look around the room and behold the beautiful artwork placed in different areas of Janet's family room along with all the photographs. I am filled with solace and peaceful contentment. Grecian and Roman urns and bowls. A lovely light pink cupid holding a bowl. Ivy, roses, and other flowers in different places. Soft pastel colors amidst the greenery. A miniature garden of Eden.
I take in the beauty a few more minutes then I step into the kitchen to pour myself a refreshing glass of orange juice. I check the time. Eight- forty a.m. Janet will come downstairs soon. It will be time for this weekend visit to come to an end. But I will not forget it. This visit was different from our past visits. It was more magical, more healing and more peaceful. The heart that has healed more can take in more life.
I had not had a visit with Janet in the past three years since she married. How she has progressed and healed so much in that time. Her features are softer, kinder, more subdue. Yet her eyes still radiate, and at times her thoughts and words come forth with lightning fiery swiftness. This is good.
The past three years have brought me much change as well. Grief work and the shedding of many tears have served to drown many fears and soothed many sorrows. Much rage has been cooled.
We soon take leave. I realize that life is full of pictures of yesterdays. There are many new ones stored in my memory from this beautiful healing weekend spent with my two friends. I will mentally return to their family room in my quiet moments when I need
solace from the cares of the day. I will behold the family pictures, the lovely flowers and artwork, and this beauty will bless and enrich my soul.
My grief and inner child healing work will continue. It must. I will it so in spite of the painful memories and scenes which come up needing to be looked at and relived so my heart can heal. How can such a journey into the painful past lead me to doors of wonders and marvels? This I do not know. It is not for me to figure out the workings of the mind, the heart, the soul, and the universe.
I simply sense in the depths of my being that Love is the most powerful force in the universe. Healing is the birthright of everyone. Pain and suffering are mysterious, difficult, teachers whose ways are hard and weary to mind body and soul. We may think they will break us, but they do not have to. They can strengthen us. Pain and Suffering are not Evil. This I somehow know. This knowing gives me strength to move on in spite of any and all obstacles placed before me. We can grow and we can be made whole. This is our destiny, and only we can take the steps to arrive. Some days we may crawl and we may falter, but we must move on. The gift of humanity from God is a will and the ability to move forward to manifest the desires of the heart.
There will be many pictures from tomorrow which will in time become pictures of yesterday. I shall behold them each and everyone and be glad.
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