The Girl As God - The Truth (pt. 2)

Monday’s Musing “The Little Girl as God” didn’t feel complete, yet I didn’t know why. Rereading it I realize I was less than honest.

‘Isn’t that called dishonest?’ an inside voice asks.

I was dishonest for two reasons.

Several months ago an acquaintance sent me an email containing a piece she had written. The further I read the more I realized her piece was about me. She suggested my stories were all about me and that instead of trying to “save the world” I should get some friends and learn to listen.

Since I listen for a living, write on the side and take after my father who contrary to his outgoing appearance often said he wished to live deep in the woods, I seriously considered the potential for truth in her comments. I recounted my week and realized I had been listening that week, to three different friends in distress.

Still I was stunned and panicked. Were my stories about me? I read a few and was mortified. She was right. They were. I scanned stories by other writers, strangers and friends, and realized their stories were all about them.

Once my heart stopped racing and shame stepped slightly away, I realized that’s what stories are. I’m not well read but I do suspect even fictional characters in varying degrees represent parts of their author’s insides. So of course it’s about me. That’s who I am.

Then there was the part about being accused of wanting to save the world. It might be hard for this person to believe, but everything I write has more to do with saving me. I don’t intentionally set out to weave the world into my stories. It just happens as I’m waking up after having episodically been asleep, ignorant and ignoring nearly four decades out of my 52 years.

So what does this have to do with the little girl at the church?

I cut that story short and was dishonest because I thought, ‘Here I go again. It’s all about me’ and I was embarrassed to write the truth.

I wrote “The girl walked away with her family” then went on to write that the girl was like the Creator or the energy behind the Big Bang saying, “Look what I made.” I still believe that’s part of the story, a significant part. I’ve walked away from my resonance with Nature and am just finding my way back.

But the full truth is I was the one that walked away. I turned and walked away from her outside the church of my childhood last Sunday morning.

I exuberantly heard myself telling her that her handmade, paper and plastic creation representing Nature was a work of art; that she’s a work of art and Earth’s a work of art.

I heard these deep truths coming out of me to this child I didn’t know. Then I promptly stood up, looked at one of the women with her, said “I like your necklace” and then I walked away.

Excuse me. I like your necklace?

What was up with that??

I did like her metal necklace made of flowers. Yet what was up was my discomfort. I was uncomfortable with the exuberance I heard bubbling out of me as I knelt eye level to this child who excitedly said, “See what I made!”

I was uncomfortable because I didn’t want to be judged as that woman who gets excited and acts like a child.

You may know “what’s up” with that. I don’t think I’m the only one who absorbed the messages permeating society’s ethers: “Grow up.” “Stop acting childish” “Act your age.”

I walked away last Sunday from that child as I had walked away from the real me, the me that girl represented from my own childhood. And I walked away from the exuberance of being seen and sharing.

That little girl represented the me from decades ago. My detaching and walking away from her is what prompted my move to the anesthetized state I’ve episodically been a resident in much of my adult life.

Please bear with me here. This is where at least for me writing gets tricky. I want to offer what I awoke this morning thinking. It’s about you (or it may not be) and yes, here’s where saving the world comes in too…..

I awoke this morning with one thought in my mind. My walking away last Sunday mirrors what we as a whole have collectively done over eons in relation to children and the Earth.

Whereas the male Aborigines went on Walk Abouts, it seems modern man is prone to Walk Aways. I suspect we unknowingly participate in that walk away when we censor rather than question, resist tears of compassion rather than open to sadness, ignore the embers of passion rather than risk rejection, react in anger rather than hold a wide angle and maintain silence and control when our insides exude excitement.

I could go on, but I don’t want to preach. I just want to share the gift the girl shared with me.

And I believe it's not too late.

May we all start turning toward and embracing the parts of ourselves we’ve ignored. May we fully see all children with their offerings of “Look what I’ve made” and share these precious moments in the beautiful world with them.

At least for now, that’s how I’m saved.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 23 September 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com