The Fred Factor: Planting Seeds of Wisdom
Occasionally, moments of brilliance grasp my being. When this occurs, the message invading my consciousness is designed to support me - or someone else through me. This wisdom, far greater than I possess, channels through the ethers to locate a conveyance system. And sometimes, finds a voice delivered with my tongue.
True, I must be aligned and open to receive the insight. I need to be willing to allow the knowledge to influence me - whether offered for healing in me or another. When the resonance of information sounds a bass note deeply within me, I find ways to live into it. These efforts always serve me well, even if the results are unexpected.
On Thanksgiving eve, a reminder of the wondrous ways the universe works tapped me on the shoulder. This particular nudge arrived in the form of "A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood." As a young child, I loved watching Mr. Rogers. His gentle manner, the many puppets, visually traveling through his miniature neighborhood, the opening song, the swapping of shoes and sweaters...I adored all of it. Sitting in a dark theater nearly 50 years later, I could feel a sense of peace, joy, and safety wash through me, as the film began with a mirror start to the long-running children's program.
As the story unfolded, I noted something I'd not consciously remembered from my early days of watching the show. Mr. Rogers reassured me again and again about the "okay-ness" of all of my emotions. He told me, whatever might be happening, he liked me just the way I was, and that included when I felt angry, sad, or afraid.
In my early 40's I worked with a spiritual life coach, Laura, about a turbulent situation in my marriage. She asked, "How do you feel about that?" I replied, "I feel like he's trying to mix it up with me." Laura responded, "Okay, well that's not a feeling. Try again." I gave it another go: "I feel like there's nothing I can say that he'll hear." "Yup," she said, "I'm with you, but that's still not a feeling. How do you feel when you think he's mixing it up with you? When you believe he doesn't hear you?" "OH! I feel angry, and scared, and so, so sad," at which point tears seared my skin.
Somewhere between Mr. Rogers and Laura, I lost the safety of my own emotions. I created an illusory, self-manufactured version through controlling behaviors and living in my head. I could "think things through." I'd "figure things out." And I became an expert at predicting all the possible outcomes...all as a means to control my world, and create an external security blanket.
Except, I was never really safe, because I didn't trust myself. I thought I did! But not truly. The evidence revealed consistently in my lack of trust and faith in others, because trust always begins with the Self.
This gifted moment, with Laura, set me on a many years journey of attuning to my own emotions. In fact, on one of those brilliant ether-wisdom occasions, I realized: identifying my emotions, being with them, and creating space to feel them, wasn't quite enough. I needed to find a means of expression, and this articulation must not be verbal. My mind could support the process, but not lead the way. In turn, it was not about speaking words or writing down thoughts about my feelings. With this awareness, I tried on a bevy of non-head modes, and discovered a powerful compilation of honoring my feelings. On-going practice created greater trust between me and me, allowing me to lower walls between me and others. I've also leaned into a broader and deeper faith in the magic of the unknown. All potent learning for me. Like many things I try on, when they work for me, I offer them to clients. And again, I've witnessed the potential of this shift - away from stuffing, numbing, or thinking through. Instead - feeling, being with, and physically or creatively expressing the emotion within.
Back to the movie last week. At one point, the Fred Rogers character speaks to the protagonist, who is struggling with anger. Rogers says, "We are trying to give the world positive ways of dealing with their feelings...There are many things you can do. You can play all the lowest keys on a piano at the same time. BONNGG!" My jaw dropped.
This ether insight granted to me, about how to express challenging emotions, lay dormant in my being for 45 years! Fred Rogers planted those seeds in my childhood, and through a series of life events and interventions - unwittingly designed to water, fertilize, and shine light upon that soil - they've blossomed. Talk about playing the long game.
I wonder if many of the intuitive tidbits, emerging from my adult self, actually marinated for most of my lifetime. Then, with one tickle from the universe - and the benevolent message monsters inhabiting my sphere - the knowledge awakens. Perhaps it is the combination of my unique experiences and an openness to the ether energies rousing. Maybe when those forces - the inner knowing and the universal wisdom - meet in an open "surrender-space" within, the resulting perceptions manifest as a gift with divine timing.
If I've learned nothing else, I've discovered this: I cannot hear the wisdom, if I am bound to my control freakery. I possess no space for listening or allowing magic to bloom, if I believe I already know all the outcomes. If I don't trust myself enough to surrender to the unknown, I will always be limited by what I think, instead of what is true.
I believe each of us has the power to call upon the dormant seeds of knowing, and blend them with open-hearted ether-receiving in the now. For me, creating that space within is much less easy. I find, it's all about practice! But I can only be an occasional voice for the big wisdom. Because our experiences differ, our perspectives and delivery differ. I believe we need each other to get still and listen deeply, because what we each have to contribute - where the inner and greater meet - is compelling magic. The world craves the healing balm each one of us has to offer. I promise to keep working on my part of bringing it forth to this neighborhood we share. I hope you'll join me.
With love and practicing surrender,
Joanne Lutz
