Scrape, Scrape, Sand, Polish…

Whispering sensations found me this morning causing me to arise earlier than intended, as this feeling beckoned me to seek, sense, savor and allow the movements in my energy to guide me to the answers of the questions I laid out before the Universe last night. This need of understanding, knowing, and instinctively responding to places, ideas, animals, and people that I so long to re-tap into more surely now than in the past.

Though even as I write those words, I sense they speak to me of the fear that is ever so slowly dissipating, receding, and leaving more and more of my waking moments. Answers to lifelong riddles, finally being realized, as I come out from under my cloak of invisibility to see, be scene, share, appreciate, and allow all of me back out in the full light of life. Much of this coming about from the last few years of introspection, stumbling, seeking, tripping, making huge ruts when I would find myself trapped in my awareness of another observing me and me performing to the non-paying spectator who kept expecting me to jump higher and further as I put out fire after fire trying to control their approval of me.

I felt the morning draw me out to the pens, listening while the horses nickered for their grain. I then became fully engulfed in the wonderful smell of all of the fresh, gorgeous, perfectly cured hay, now stacked in neat rows on both sides of the barn, that broke off into blocks just the right size for each horse’s breakfast. Decidedly cleaning and changing out the outside winter water trough to the larger one for summer, using the tool my youngest had found and been bragging about to clean with, a totally marvelous, innovative, simpler way to scrape the interiors free of accumulated scum. I am so tickled with his initiative that later I will spring for his ticket to The Avengers.

I continued on my morning observations, turned on the stove for biscuits, then the computer to catch up on my morning mail. Following the line of my vision, as I opened one, which led me to the next, to the next until I suddenly looked up and found the trail had 7 emails of clicks, each one leading me to more confirmation of my recent clearing out of what did not feel like me in my last few days of actual physical sorting, moving and arranging my life.

I then felt this… maybe? As I was closing the different posts, I spotted another post and started to read, totally enjoying myself, when I felt that jolt, slight twinge in my gut, to be astonished how far in a negative direction the post I was reading started to head. I stopped myself, questioning, asking my body “More?” the discomfort grew, I closed the page, feelings of relief seemed to come from every corner of my being. As I sat there in this sensation of success, I realized it probably could have always been this easy, if I had just listened to “the all” of me.

Trusted my gut, my knees, my nose, my knuckles any and every part of me that ached, hurt, owie’d or did anything else to try and get my attention, turn back, go some other way, sometimes even go so far to get broken or cut up so I would just plain “Stop, damn it”. Instead of just first listening to my heart for the pause, I know that now. Because I would then start to think it through, having these rationalizing thoughts of what ifs, buts, maybe’s and the like, which always meant I would do the biggest thing of all about giving away and turning over my power to another. Stop breathing.

I know this, I teach this, I am mostly aware of this when I am working with animals or people. I watch them, and they all have the same basic response to doing something they are unfamiliar with when they work with another. They stop breathing, basically hold their breath as they try to think and do at the same time. When they think they are being watched, the fear based response is head up, body erect, look at the perpetrator, see if they are liking or disliking what they see. Then keep moving, trying, either not breathing or barely breathing at all until the pressure of the watchers gaze has changed.

This simple answer, right here before me for years, hidden from view, because I kept looking outside of myself for answers, from all of these other people, who have had parts of my answer hidden inside of all of their presentations. Locked away from me, cause I cared so very much more about their approval, than my body’s approval. Which it has always given me the ah hah’s at the perfect place of my understanding. I just mucked up the water in trying to seek for a bigger thing than this simple answer.

As I sit here now and type, I can feel the rightness, common sense of this instinctive response we all have. When it’s right for us we always give out a big sigh, from all of this holding our breath in anticipation of the light of recognition. The breathing deep into our gut, feeling our body fully alive with each full breath, is this movement toward the best “feeling” thing. Now working on my newest realization, for the next 45 days, whenever I feel stuck, no matter if it is once, twice or a hundred times a day, I am going to stop, straighten myself up, take in deep into my gut breaths for at least two full minutes, allow the oxygen to circulate, stretching, wiggling, being plain silly no matter where I am at. By thus distracting myself I will be smiling, full of the breath of life, and expecting to be surprised with new insights into whatever was just stuck there in my mind. I love this exploring and getting deeper and deeper in touch with all of me.

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About irfriske

Trainer, coach, teacher, parent, writer, exploring and sharing the connection through observation of what the Universe reflects back to us in our continuing education in living, loving, and enjoying life in interacting with horses, people, and animals.

Posted on May 5, 2012, in Life and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. Awesome post! Being in touch with ones self, is a beautiful thing. Thanks for reminding us. I need to do more of this.

  2. Very nice. I love the insight about breathing and sighing. I chortle at the non-paying spectator.

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