Welcoming a visitor who's made a long journey to find me.

[woodsgnome]

Recently I was reading a series of contmplative reflections on a blog called A Loving Healing Space (http://alovinghealingspace.blogspot.com/). Sometimes there's material there that takes quite a bit of re-reading to fully grasp the message. In other words, it can seem radical, or at least counterintuitive at first, but often the words I find there helps me create room for the healing space suggested by the blog's title. Once you allow yourself to get there. Anyway, here's an entry that gave me pause:

..."No matter what is happening in your life right now, you can have the intention to provide a holding space for the unmet and abandoned children within you. These ones are arising not as some error or obstacle, or as evidence that something has gone wrong. But have come as invitations of integration, and as emissaries of wholeness.

"Just as you are only ever longing for your own presence, these ones are only longing to be re-parented and allowed to return Home once again, as new forms of love and creativity within you."

This seems to be the crux of recovery for me. Yet the doubts seek to interfere. Integrate abuses and the monsters who toyed with me as if I was their ragdoll? Feel wholeness within the brokenness? Allow pain to mingle with the peace I've tried so hard to find? And it's already gone on so long—how can I ever get past it? Should I? Maybe all this worry only reinforces the fears that I can never really heal.

Radical. Still, all the other ways—the escape, flight-freeze, hiding, etc.--they only seemed effective in short bursts. Then the clouds would once again obscure my clear vision; the fear came rolling back as if to reclaim its familiar niche in my life. Flashback city—sleep it off, distract, medicate; anything but absorb; please, 'not that' would be my instant reaction. It hurts too much; please let me escape this. I resign myself to never making it. Small steps, huge leaps—they're all futile, it seems. Down the road, at best, but not now.

My reasoning (Inner Critic) interjects, smirking that this new sort of rescue/recovery I'm reading about is only doable via imagination. Yet another fantasy, the mind suggests. And that's not real, is it?

But wait; I'm learning to respond to these nagging doubts. Why else even have an imagination if it can't consider alternatives? If it can't create a new pathway that transforms the old negative vibes into a new form of beauty? And then realize that this quality never left me, but comes again, as that abandoned child. And this time I don't have to fear his reappearance.

Slowly—sooo slowly—I'm beginning to consider this new trail. Like all the old ways, it's probably filled with obstacles in the form of triggers and flashbacks. But now I can learn to unlearn, too. Not merely as a comfort, but in joyful acceptance that it's my right as a human to find my way, again. And yes, to rescue that hurt child who keeps knocking at my door.

And so the child arrives; he carries an important gift that both of us need: healing.

[Chartery]

Hi woodsgnome - I resonate with your writing and the prose is fantastic.  Reminds me of a good friend of mine, much appreciated.  Nice way with words you have.

[arpy1]

wow. beautiful, woodsgnome.