Our Beautiful Nightmare

Our Beautiful Nightmare

My Sister and I were talking earlier in the week. She shared a story an elder told her, about a group of frogs trying to get out of their situation. They were attempting to climb up and away from the mud they'd been living in. Try as they might, they kept slipping and sliding down, causing quite a raucous. And one frog kept going. Finding his way up the embankment. Every time he turned around, he saw the commotion, mouths moving, bodies slipping, of his fellow frogs. And kept going.

As he reached the top, he turned to proclaim, "Look, I made it!". He wanted to beckon the other frogs onward. Yet the commotion and chaos of his clan continued. The thing about THIS frog... the one that made it out of the muck, was he was deaf. He hadn't heard a thing the other frogs were saying. And each time he had stopped and turned back, he thought they were cheering him on! Little did he know they were screaming about their situation. Falling in to the mud over and over.

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And my truth about mud is... I really like it.
The way it holds you tight. The way it suctions to your skin and hardens every pore.

I remember being young and carefree. Rolling naked on a beach on the east coast. Letting mud cake on to every nook and cranny. It felt good.
The hardening. The restriction. The density upon the body.
And then... you washed it off!
In the sacred ocean. Oh the liberation. The tingling. The freedom it ignited deep in your flesh.

Right about now we're each asking, "How do we find our way through the muck?" Through the darkness, the hatred, the agony, the suffering. Through our old patterns, broken relations, and all the things we've believed we've failed. How do we turn an attuned ear to the wisdom within... of our hearts, wombs, bodies and souls, and keep living?!

We've been taught to judge the muck. To judge deafness. To label our ability to keep going as successful or not, in relation to our inability to move and slow down. We've been taught to judge the wounding. The ways we've failed. The mud. To judge all of it.
We've been taught to overcome. To push things down and away. To rise above. And to avoid and simply not go there.
We've been taught. So very very many things. About others opinions.
How about taking some time this winter to unteach ourselves!
And simply find out what feels good. To the body. The skin. The soul.

Cuz' the thing is... it ALL has purpose. The mud. Loss of hearing. Staying. Leaving. Being dirty. Washing clean.
Your path and mine.
The frog that made it out of the mud was blessed by his deafness.
Depending on how you look at it... the frogs that remained had a few more days in the succulent muck! In the chaos of their confusion and judgements.

The wisdom of our dear frogs...
Mud is gorgeous. And it can be something we want to get out of.
So judge not what's coming. Or what has been. You'll be present to your life more fully.
Judge not the fullness and changes you're going through. Judge not the face of your love.

"The past is beautiful, like the darkness between the fireflies." ~Mason Jennings.

Can you live that full within yourself!? That wide. Vast. And willing... to be the one to climb from the mud.
And the one willing to play around in it a little longer?!
It's sometimes hard to remain in the shallows. It's sometimes hard to stand at the top proclaiming, "I made it!"
Heck ya!! They all have purpose and blessing. The all have sacred time.

Your moment is coming. Your moment is here.
Do not bludgeon yourself for where you are. Roll around in and with it.
Lather it on your skin.
Enjoy the tightening. Oh the tightening! And the way the mud clings to every pore.
You WILL be washing it off in the cleansing ocean.
In your time. In your way.
We can only keep mud on for so long.
Will you trust your own sacred creation and true pleasure?

Will you trust you are the intimate child of a holy love that created everything inherent with precious gifts and thanksgivings? Will you savor your beauty, strength, and lived experience?
The life you've lived... it's meant to be shared for us all to bask in, as you make your way up the muddy incline, hearing not our or your own fears and trepidations that may hold you back and anchor you down.

One day we'll all be beckoned to a place void of sound, color, movement, taste, smell, purpose and sensation.
To keep going... keep going. And then...
To rest here and ask, "So... why am I here NOW?!"
Why am I here NOW!

Trust the breath of this moment.
Trust the grace of your enveloping heart.
You are healing. You are whole.
Trust the wonder that brings fireflies upon our darkest hour.

We're together in this my friends.
Yep... frogs. In the mud. Discovering what we love and for what we've come.
And giving our whole selves to THAT fully.

Love is embedded in everything.
Yes... even the muck.

Move forth when you're prompted. And don't fear remaining.
Let your deafness to your own internal restrictions be a blessing. And climb.
Climb. Climb as far and high as you can my love.

And stand there, savoring it.
"I made it. I am here."
This is my life.
This is my love.

2009, Natasa Prosenc, Woman at Mud Volcano