I think somewhere inside each of us lives a tender, sparkling soul – a kind of Christ child pulsing to grow into all the Wisdom and Power and Love and Purpose that are actually its nature to become.  But like the infant Jesus, it can’t get there right off.  Its path is an unfolding one, beginning with much dependency, much need of gentle food, deep rest, attentiveness, nurture.  A vulnerable god, in need of our protection.

I don’t think a soul can ever fully die, but I do think it can get lost inside of us.  It can be ignored or beaten down or scolded for its strangeness or inefficiency so long it learns to be silent when it most needs to speak.  For years my soul felt too afraid to tell me things it urgently wanted to say. I’m sure some fear remains.

But in those golden moments of freedom, as I learn to listen, to wait, to honor, to encourage it toward Becoming – watch out!  I feel a source of Wisdom and Love and Power that makes me shake.  Or smile.  Or laugh.  Or sit silently reverent.  From its cracks seep hope and confidence and humility and courage.  Its roots drink Purpose, and in its presence I feel more deeply happy with who I uniquely am and with all the ways I’m just like everyone else.  My darkness and light become less adversaries than companions, each respecting the necessary role the other plays.  My fears become less hurdles, less roadblocks to thriving, and more like folks to whom I tip my hat as I move along my way.

Last night I had the most wonderful dream.  As a child I had a parakeet named Buddy, with whom I spent a lot of time.  Often he’d sit on my books or the tip of my pencil as I did homework, or sing from the ceiling fan in my room.  In the tenth grade I guiltily sold him at a yard sale, bearing the burden of abandoning, for convenience’s sake, my trusting companion.

Since then Buddy has become a persisting figure in my dreams, popping up particularly when I’m not taking care of myself…when I’m consciously or unconsciously ignoring my soul.  He represents my soul.

In many dreams I’ve forgotten to feed him.  I haven’t given him water.  His feathers are bent and unpreened.  His cage is filth.  In one, his eyes were even plucked out.

But last night – last night I dreamt I came to where his cage has always been, and the cage was gone.  Buddy sat serenely on a free-standing perch, the essence of youth and beauty.  His feathers were soft and more colorful than they’ve ever been, the look in his eyes all life and health.  I went immediately to him, exclaiming how beautiful he was, and how delighted I was to see him.  I woke up smiling.

My prayer to all of our souls:  may we love and honor you into becoming what you pulse to become.  May all your wounds and silencings be transformed into beauty, flight and song, and the resulting chorus become a contagious balm to a world in which there is much darkness, and the need for thriving souls is great.

This entry was posted on Friday, February 25th, 2005 at 12:04 pm and is filed under Healing, Philosophy, Psychology, Religion/Spirituality. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.