Generational Circles

During my forest bathing experience the other day, we were asked to spend ten minutes with a dear one, whether human, four-legged or no legged.

I chose to call close my inner child. I am 8 years old and standing in summer clothes against the backdrop of my back yard, open fields and mountains beyond. I thought of her need to belong and her fears and confusion. If I had the opportunity to say something to her, what would it be?

To my little girl:

I’m with you now in the silence and I want to tell you some things that I wish I heard when I was a little girl.

I see my fingers and my toes, my hair, my face, my mouth and my nose. My ears my eyes, shoulders, feet, legs, arms that hold me complete.

I have a heart beating inside with lungs that breathe, organs that work, all together in peace.

I learned to poop and pee, to make room for more so that when I eat, it feeds the core of my being.

I am complete.

But there’s more to me than I can see for I am made of energy

Like the wind and the warm sun. I am energy. It is all around me and in me and I can feel it with my sensitivity.

I can feel my happy and sad times. I feel anger and hurt, and sometimes my sensitivity can feel more than what’s inside of me.

I feel someone else’s happy, someone else’s sad, someone else’s anger and someone else’s mad. I feel energy that confuses me because sometimes I don’t know what belongs to me.

So as I see you, I am reminded, I was confused a lot not knowing who I am feeling and who I’m not.

So I want to say to my little girl, there’s more to me than I can see, and it’s all good, and invite it all to be part of me, that I am not just my skin and bones and eyes and nose and head and toes.

I am energy that I can hear, I can feel and sometimes I can see, and it’s all okay because it makes up the beautiful me.

If only I heard these words back then to help me understand, I wonder how life would be different. I hear them now.

Twenty-four hours later, while talking to my daughter, she put my 8-year-old granddaughter on the phone. She wanted to share a moment her mother named déjà vu.