I believe I can heal my scabbed over places without needing to know every detail of their origins, of my mistakes, my crimes, my humanness. What if the scabs work as helpers, protecting me from infection? In that case, I should handle them more gently.
Sometimes I look at my hunched, bitter self. She complains. She shrivels up. I don’t want to feel damaged any more. I believe I can vanquish her by repeating a specially constructed mantra every day.
The smart thing would be to leave the scabs alone, but feeling their roughness, I flinch, and I lose sight of my path. Monkey Mind grabs the wheel and steps on the gas. Sometimes she runs me into a ditch. The wheels spin, stop, spin, stop rhythmically, hypnotically.
Setting targeted intentions as a mantra can remind me that I have experienced the bliss of Oneness and have sensed evidence that the universe does not wish to smite me in some whimsical game. I am safe. I am whole.
The mantra reminds me:
- Just come back to the body. Breathe a bit. Stretch.
- Remember the vibrance of your whole being, of all of being.
- Let the sore spots go for now. Let them go until you’re ready to go there.
- Preventing wounds from overtaking my whole self is enough for now.
My theory is that the scabs will dry up if I stop picking at them. Once they’ve shrunk a bit, I can easily peel them off.
This is not a spiritual bypass. I’m aware of shadows, but they cannot drag me from the light.