I’ve been especially fragile this weekend, feeling like a strong gust of wind or the wrong insult could shatter me like glass into a thousand tiny pieces. Some of it was what I mentioned in my last post, and some of it has to do with a series of horrible dreams full of so much death and ugliness that I woke up more than once feeling exhausted and shaky, not sure if the gasping, body-shuddering tears were real or part of the dream.
I was in such a bad place that even my husband knew that I needed to run. “Go,” he said. “Work it out of your system.”
And run I did – six miles of sweat. At the gym again because the streets and sidewalks, with their hidden icy patches, still scare this newbie runner.
Usually I run with my iPod, with music or podcasts that make the miles go faster, but today I knew I needed silence. My mind was noisy enough on its own and I needed to create some empty space for God to show up.
Staring at the black TV screen on the treadmill, the reflection of my face stared back at me. It looked haggard, closed, and even a little bit frightened.
Suddenly, the face staring back at me was not my own face, but the face of the young hooded person in The Wilderness Downtown, running through the streets of my hometown. Running, running, running. Past the school where I was sometimes tempted to hide my brains because nobody flirted with the nerdy churchy girl like they did with the one who knew how to flip her hair just so. Past the church where I longed to fit in with the youth group but always felt like an oddball. Past the park where the team bully sent me home from a baseball game crying when I fumbled the ball. Past the grain elevator where construction workers whistled at junior high girls passing by, but I was always convinced they must be whistling at my friends and not me.
Past all of those old stories that cling to me like glue. Running, running, running. Sometimes circling back and passing the same stories again and again, but always running.
And then… the exhale. The body refusing to let me hold my breath. Refusing to let me hang onto those old stories. The desperate craving for oxygen that forces the exhale.
I started to imagine all of those old stories – and a hundred others that came after them – leaving me one by one with each exhale. “I am no longer defined by the failures of my youth.” Exhale. “I’m not the fat kid or the nerdy kid or the awkward kid.” Exhale. “I’m not a failure or a bad friend or an absent-minded dreamer.” Exhale. “I have not been rejected just because someone disagrees with me.” Exhale.
And then the inhale. New stories to replace the old. “I am loved.” Inhale. “I am worthy.” Inhale. “I am good enough.” Inhale. “I am strong and can handle rejection and failure.” Inhale. “God loves me.” Inhale. “God loves me.” Inhale.
The face looking back at me in the TV screen changed. Now she was softer, more open, and glistening with sweat. The hint of a smile tickled at the edges of her mouth. The reluctant sun peeked through the window and touched her hair with light.
Maybe the ugly dreams were about the old versions of myself that still need to die. Maybe it’s about surrendering – getting rid of the old breath – so that new things can grow, just like the trees sprouting all over the streets of my hometown at the end of The Wilderness Downtown.
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p.s. If you want to see the streets that hold my old stories, enter “Arden, Manitoba, ROJ OBO” into the box at The Wilderness Downtown. If you want to be reminded of the old stories you need to exhale, enter your own home town.
6 comments
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March 6, 2011 at 11:40 pm
Edward Colozzi
Thank you for your intimate wonderful sharing Heather. You are very poetic in your expression of your experience, perhaps similar to some of what St. John of The Cross describes as “The Dark Night of The Soul”. It is this undoing of your “false self” that often brings on a shedding, a moulting exoereince, and you are moving in the right direction. It is your false self that is shattering into a thousand pieces, not your ture self. Unfortunately false self is part of our human journey and won’t be leaving soon! But you can dismantle its power, and that is what perhaps is going on right now. You may want to read Thomas Keating’s “Open Mind Open Heart and “Invitation To Love” for more insights. And YES, you are good enough and yes, God surely loves you and will never abandon you. Keep on keepin’on. You will prevail Heather:) Warm regards, EdC
Perhaps you might enjoy this. http://tl.gd/931t6m
March 6, 2011 at 11:59 pm
Lisa
I am almost in tears. This speaks so so deeply to me, Heather…I am so glad that you are continuing to breathe and, by sharing the experience, allowing us to benefit as well.
March 7, 2011 at 12:59 am
namaste*heather
Oh my goodness . . . I am so glad I found this link Heather! This is positively BEAUTIFUL! I am a yogi and a new runner and this whole post spoke to me deeply. Thoughts, dreams, the negativity we fight – breathing and the power of breath – the metaphor of the breath. Wow. Powerful and beautiful. Thank you!
March 7, 2011 at 3:42 am
Jessica
That was wonderful! I am in the same kind of place you are now. Letting go of the past that haunts me.
Some say that we have lived past lives and we come back to learn from them. I say, Yes! We have past lives, the lives we lived when we were 6, 16, 26….. We must learn from them.
This is absolutely beautiful!
March 7, 2011 at 4:52 am
Lisa
Found you through Heather’s (namaste*heather) link and so glad I did. I’m a wanna-be runner and my, how you’ve inspired me. Thank you for sharing.
March 7, 2011 at 11:45 am
Andrea
I’ve read your last two posts. The thoughts you have are ones that hit home with so many of us. Thank you for sharing how you found a way to let those thoughts go to make room for new life. It is something we all need to do everyday until love (even of ourselves) becomes a habit.