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February 7, 2015

I am Still Little.

Little Abby Pingree

As I navigate this frequently insane, yet deeply beautiful experience that is human existence, I am often amazed by my own ability to overlook the obvious.

Like many of us, I experienced pain and confusion in my childhood years. I have only just come to understand the importance of honoring my inner child. To fully acknowledge the hurt long since abandoned to adult responsibility and mature sensibilities.

As an avid meditator, I have seen past the hurt to an ever present infinite peace within, even to the neglect of relative pain. In my desire to bypass the relative and disappear into the infinite I failed to see that infinite peace does not negate relative pain.

The relative needs the compassion, tenderness and wisdom of the infinite and the infinite desires to embrace the limitations of the relative for completion––the infinite excludes nothing.

In the spirit of uniting the relative and the infinite, I gave my inner child a voice—here is what she has to say.

Here is her hurt and confusion. (Deep breath).

I am little still.

I wish I was invisible. I don’t want you to see me. Don’t look at me. If I could only be invisible, unseen––a ghost. If you see me, you might scowl and frown at me, your eyes saying “bad girl.” You might yell or shout at me “you have done the wrong thing.”

I’m sorry, I don’t know how to tie my shoelaces yet, please don’t be so mad and stomp away––I am little still. 

Oh, if only I could be invisible then you could not find me when your face is all twisted with silent rage that burns and bruises. As you pull me outside, your hand hard gripping my upper arm, I dare to look up at your face and I am terrified; what are you going to do to me? After the storm that hurts and confuses has passed I don’t even need you to say I am sorry, I just want comfort and to know that you love me.

I stand—small, meek and reeling. Please, please just hold me and tell me you love me.  I am desperate for this comfort because I don’t know how to comfort myself––I am little still.

If only I were a tree, a leaf or a blade of grass. If only I could turn into dirt. When I am alone in the forest there is peace and quiet, I can almost imagine I don’t exist at all. The birds never shout at me, the trees never pull away when I need to be close, the mossy ground always holds me softly. If only I could disappear into the forest but I don’t know how—I am little still.

The other day I waded out into the lake as far as I could; I was alone and cannot swim yet. I slipped on the muddy lake bed and went under. I did not disappear then—I made it back to the shore.

I have heard my mother say life is a gift, to be treasured—I do not believe her. I wish to be invisible for life is scary, scowling with sharp painful edges. If only I could be invisible, unseen––a ghost.  When you look at me I will look away, eyes tightly closed fists clenched wishing, pleading to disappear––its the best plan I can come up with for I am little still.

She is heard.

Embracing our inner child is a deeply personal process; a process which, for me, required guidance from a spiritual teacher/healer. I came to her with a wiliness to look within; to dive deep and truly see what longed to be seen. She gently, yet firmly pointed out that I had overlooked my inner child, that I had not given my internal little one her due.

It can be frightening, even brutal to embrace our inner child but when something repressed is given a voice, allowed be seen and felt the healing moves very deep.  Infinite peace embraces the relative pain and karmic patters are released. A lost child is found and brought home.

Relephant read:

Loving My Inner Child (Even When She Misbehaves). 

Author: Abby Pingree

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: flickr

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