Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

The finer aspects of joy.

September 26, 2017

 

I've discovered this trick about state of mind and storytelling. Most (almost all) of our fears are self-inflicted, self-taught, self-maintained, and it all has to do with our self-narration. More often than not, that narration has no words (at least for me), but it definitely has a vibration--anxiety, powerlessness, helplessness, panic, anticipation, exhaustion, etc. 

 

That vibration becomes so rote that it becomes automatic truth--no questions asked. (And when, dearest petals, have we ever not questioned the 'truth'??). But, yes, I get it--it's hard to ask questions, rationally, objectively, in a state of high vibration. 

 

Enter the simple act of storytelling. Instead of going within, giving in to the "I" statements in your head, turn the narration to the third person and make yourself capable, strong, steady, whatever you need: "Though it was Monday and Amy woke up with that familiar feeling of the weight of another week, she remembered how powerfully she'd blasted through harder weeks, longer weeks. For some reason, that was enough. She took a deep, stabilizing breath. Energized, she got out of bed and..."

 

So, not the best prose, but no one else is reading it (usually). This is inner monologue, and I can't tell you what a discovery, what a relief, and what a change of perspective this has been. Reframe the scenario. If you were the main character in this story (and guess what--you totally are), how would you want this character to succeed in this particular scene/conflict/moment? It's not lying to ourselves; it's not avoiding. It's coming into our own power, our own possibility, and retelling the vital truth of our own stories.

 

 

 

 

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