Dangerous Compassions

chicken times

Yesterday at the garden, I had a blissful time.  The temperature was just right, in the garden, under this huge wooden shelter.  The facilitator provided prompts that encouraged me to write things I loved, very insightful stuff.  The company was good–I was with my friend, and the strangers were nice also.  Sunflowers were blooming, so tall and gorgeous.

We didn’t share what we wrote, which was nice because there was no need to decide what to share.  I could just focus on what I was doing.

Afterward the facilitator took us to her plot, where she picked fresh bell peppers for me.  Then this garden guy gave me and my friend a tour.  We went into a huge chicken coop with a low roof.  I saw some little city kids hold chickens for the first time.  The garden guy gathered an egg.

I remember when I had a chicken, a brown chicken named Judy, when I was a kid.  I would gather her eggs, and she laid them in her house sometimes, but sometimes we found one by the fence.  If you gather eggs, I think you learn to think like a chicken–where is a good place to lay an egg.

That garden!  There are a ton of fruit trees.  It’s huge.  It seems like such a vibrant place.  A living place.

Then my friend and I got lunch.  It was great.  It was my first time as her passenger.  She’s a good driver.  I really enjoyed my veggie combo, eating slowly and savoring.  I forgot how good that restaurant is.

Later we saw another friend.  She gave me a small angel made of rose quartz.  It has a bald head that looks like a Buddha head.  I let Ming hold it.  I said the angel was a Buddha Bird.

The friend gave Ming a tiny beautiful feather.  I gave Ming a small clear plastic jar to put the feather in.

A big challenge in my life is figuring out what I need to change vs what’s ok to be me.  When I was young, I thought I was all wrong and needed to change everything.  Now I know mostly I’m fine.

People said I needed to speak my truth more, that I was having an energy blockage in my throat chakra from not speaking my truth.   I had a cough that lasted most of a year, and someone blamed the cough on that.

And it’s true–I’m quiet.  But are they just uncomfortable that I’m quiet, or am I really having an energy blockage?

I guess I’m the one who needs to know that.  A few years ago I spent an entire year focused on speaking my truth.  That was my year’s project.

I made some progress, but I still clam up a lot, not feeling safe enough to say what I’m thinking, defend myself, defend others, share an idea that might help or offend.

But is that ok?  I think silence is a valid option.  I’m an introvert, after all.  Silence is vilified sometimes–people needing constant stimulation, people who turn the tv on right when they get home, people who need the radio on to fall asleep.

A long time ago I had a year or two when I was going to Death Valley a lot.  I learned about huge expanses and desert quiet.  My mom told me, “You must be really comfortable with yourself.”  I was surprised she said that, and I live in the desert now.

I think silence is great.  Do I really need to say something?  My energy is there whether I say the thing or not.  My reaction, judgment, or idea is there, whether I say it out loud or not.  It’s in the room.  Maybe if I spoke it, I wouldn’t be heard anyway.

But I do think words are magical.  That’s probably why I’m a writer.  Someone can tell you something that changes your whole life.  Someone can tell you something that sticks in your head and you don’t understand till years later.  A word can be a blessing.

Sometimes I feel like growing up is a process of accepting myself.  Maybe by the time I’m old, I’ll decide I’m entirely ok.

Some moments, I do feel ok.  I enjoy my senses.  I stop thinking and worrying and just feel who I am in a world that seems like a good place.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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