We tend to just do things, don’t we, without thinking too much of it. We go places, we see people. But do we really go places? Do we really see people? Most importantly, I suppose: do we do this life as we’d truly like to, from the absolute quiet of who we are?
There was a great chunk of my life where I didn’t follow the quiet voice that, only ten minutes ago, whispered to me: ‘Grab a candle, your computer, a cup of lavender tea. Go and sit on the couch. And Brooke? Dim the lights, will you?’
This voice, of course, belonged to me. The Soft Girl, to be specific, and how lovely it was to feel her presence in the quiet of the evening (the Soft Girl is the name I’ve given to my intuition/spirit for those of you who are new, here.) 🙂
Of course, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t interject with a teeny little side-note, to take us deeper into things. Self Care is the label most would glue to what I am currently doing with my body, my soul, my evening. But as the memory of the Soft Girl’s whisper returns to me (it was as I reached for the tea bag, if you’re wondering) I find myself rejecting this label, slightly.
Living fully, it seems, is what I am actually doing. Hearing the whispers and livingthem all the way through.
To me, the current collective perspective of Self Care implies a lack of something, a need for something nice to fill the spaces in between it all. For example, we often say: I’m so tired. I lack time. I lack energy. I am going to gift myself a beautiful little slice of Self Care because I lack all the above things.
The thing is this, though: don’t we all deserve to live a beautiful, care-filled existence simply because we are alive? Don’t we deserve the deeper level of care we innately have to offer ourselves, because our hearts have asked for it, and for no other reason?
I think we do.
So I’m going to start listening more carefully to the Soft Girl’s whispers, and gifting myself life to the fullest, whenever I can.
In the early hours of this morning, the universe woke me from a dream. The details of the dream elude me now, but the message was a whack over the head that I’m unlikely to forget for a very long time.
The line that woke me was this: ‘wake up and smell the bullshit.’ All I remember was that it was a woman’s voice that had declared it, and she was engaged in a conversation with a person that I couldn’t see. Upon hearing those words within the dream, I woke from my sleep. It was 2:00 am.
When a reasonable hour rolled around— time to wake for the day— I lay in bed and wondered about the dream. As I lay there pondering the absurdity of waking at the exact moment the dream girl had asked me to wake in order to ‘smell the bullshit,’ I continued to wonder. What bullshit was this dream girl asking me to wake up and smell? Right then, an epiphany arrived in my spiritual inbox, and it took the form of an ugly bucket of pegs I bought a long time ago. I bought that bucket for no other reason than to hold pegs.
But as I lay in bed it hit me: that bucket of pegs was just another reminder of a way of life I no longer choose. A time when I was living so far outside of the boundaries of who I authentically am, I couldn’t even see the ‘bullshit’ I’d accidentally mistaken as ‘truth’. At the time, I was heavily living according to everyone else’s template, which of course meant that I was living outside of the truth of who I really am. And as I continued to see the ugly bucket of pegs in my mind’s eye, I thought: what a wasted opportunity.
“Brooke, I heard the soft girl whisper. It is an old story you have been living within all these years: a story of limitation, a story of fear-based restrictions that no longer serve the life you are moving towards. In the old world, this was indeed just a bucket of pegs.
But it is time to accept that you no longer live in the world you once knew to be true. Yours is a world made of choice, of colour, of magic— and this means that you must no longer allow yourself to revert to thinking along conventional lines. Let others see only a bucket of pegs if they so choose. But you must always remember this: it is your right to see more. And it is your truth to see more.“
I instantly knew what the soft girl was telling me. In the case of the bucket of pegs— had I taken more time to connect fully with who I really am when it came time to choosing that bucket I’d be spending so much time with, I would have remembered that I am soothed by beautiful, soft colours. That I am creative. That I feel things, perhaps a little more than others, so I need to make sure that I surround myself with things that feel good to me.
Had I been more aware of these things about myself at the time, and brave enough to step beyond the conventional idea of what a bucket of pegs should look like, I might have chosen a different bucket. A bucket that wasn’t ‘made for pegs’ at all, but instead was beautiful, and also fully functional as far as a peg bucket might go. How completely full andbeautiful the simple experience of hanging out the washing might have become for me. Gazing over at my beautiful little peg bucket as it hung on the line, feeling a little bit of lovely every time I picked a peg from it. How I might have smiled.
The wonderful news is: it’s not too late for me to see the ‘bullshit’ of my old ways because I’m not dead yet. And while I’m alive, I make a promise to myself that I will always drive towards the possibilities in order to arrive at my very best life.
She was quick, as usual, so quick I almost didn’t notice she’d come. But I caught her. Yes! And when I did, she spoke to me in moving pictures and silhouettes: a projected future scene, playing like a movie on the blank screen of my mind.
When her ‘flash’ of advice came I was on the couch, hugging my pink blankie and gobbling up leftover pizza. What songs might I play on my walk when it came time to brave the cold, I wondered. 80’s pop? Musical theatre? List by eclectic list rolled over in my musical mind’s eye, but a solid decision was yet to announce itself.
That’s when I heard her. Saw her.
And what did the soft girl whisper to me, you ask? She whispered a change of plans. Not an outright change, nothing drastic. Just a tweak. A slight nudge to move me into better alignment with the makings of a greater day. A greater me.
The soft girl showed me a vision of my walking track— the one I’d be springing along in the not too distant future, whistling up fat-armed gum trees, crunching along a pathway of pebbles grey, red, and brown.
But things were different in the soft girl’s version of events. In the soft girl’s version…I wasn’t alone. My little baby elephant— my adorably delightful five-year-old boy—had come along for the pebble crunch of it all, and it-felt-good. It felt…right.
It was that feeling, the feeling of rightness I experienced upon mentally viewing my little mister striding along beside me that confirmed it. The soft girl. Her subtle, intuitive language had whispered it’s quiet hello so that I might use it and make this life of mine better.
An hour later I walked out the front door, trailed by an ever so excited little boy. An hour after that…the two of us bounded back into the house, huffing, puffing and smiling from our Super Mario ‘star run’ down the street to home.
The soft girl got it right again today, the lovely duffer.