The tempting turd

I recently had a dear friend visiting for a weekend and we decided to play. We did a structure which goes like this:

A plays music, B walks around. When A abruptly stops the music, B is to look for an inner image or a thought that presents itself. This is repeated 5 times.

The A walks and B does the playing and stopping for about 5 minutes.

Now we have five images each. The structure is to allow a story to come forth in 15 minutes. First we take turns asking questions to the other’s story – innocent questions, like a child would: ” is x dangerous? what is the favorite food of the monster?”

My story turned out like this – the words in bold are my images:

The tempting turd and the heart of the mountain

The  round turd-ball is located on the mountain plateau in front of her. It wishes to be seen and taken up, but the 8-year-old girl in blue pants with shoulder straps and a willow flute in yellow cord around the neck will not touch it. She looks up at the 3 white pointy mountains in front of her and thinks it’s strange that there is a turd up here in this  snow landscape where all is white and  quiet. There aren’t any tracks around the turd either. And it is too big to have come from a bird.

Scary.

“Take me up!” she hears a nasty voice offer, but hell she won’t, “No I won’t !”she says out loud and feels brave.

There she sees a skier — a stalwart young fellow he is, with yellow hair and a beard and mustache, hair blowing in the breeze where he stands on his “old-fashioned” wooden skis. She is so happy and relieved, he resembles exactly  the Birkenbeiners from King Sverre ‘s men. HI and HO,  she rushes over to him-he  surely can take away the nasty turd!

But what is this?  The Skier is made  of cardboard! Who put him here? And why?

Then she sees a door in one of the pointed mountains open-and* there is a wise and beautiful woman sitting on a sky chair! She has blue robe and a candle in her hand and a Crown of Light, she smiles and says:

«I am so proud of you that you’re did not pick up that turd. That one we  leave,you know, that one we smile at, that one we pass by. God has not created it, it’s just a contrivance. “

The girl with the overall is so happy, and the blue dressed wise-woman takes her by the hand and they go into the mountain which is illuminated by good lights. They round a turn, and there lies a still lake with a shiny white swan.

The woman says: “This is the heart of the mountain.” The girl squats. The Swan swims over to her. It looks at her. 

She accepts. She is seen.

*(At this point, I got an impulse to tell Rebecca that we should write each other into the story.)

– – –

When we share the stories, we share the places in the stories that touch us emotionally, where we get associations and ideas and impulses. I talked about the turd: it is Mephistofeles’ turd:  Mephistofeles has been here  in the disguise as  a poodle.

Of course he wants the  girl -me to take it up and be interested in it. And the girl refuses, but right afterwards she feels anxious and spots somebody who looks so valiant and brave and can do it FOR her…and discovers that he is made of cardboard.

This male hero is a fake. She has to decide for herself: the power is hers to choose.

As she sees this, the cold and uninviting pointed mountain opens to reveal Mother Mary, who praises her for not picking up the tempting turd: ” THAT one we smile at – God has not created it, it is just a contrivance.”

The girl, having chosen truth is now open to meet the Heart and be recognized.

*

As I, Leelah, see those eyes, I am showered in Light.

Afterwards, I notice how special that willow flute feels – and Rebecca reminds me of Aslan in the C.S Lewis’ stories about Narnia: “He sung the world into existence….This girl can sing the world into existence playing her magic flute.”

*

The day after this, I am meeting my daughter in town. It does not take much time before we seem to be caught in a vicious pattern of anger and blame. I am aware of it, trying to hang in there, my daughter’s button are pushed big time. When I come home, part of me realize that she is a messenger, and that the message is this vicious pattern of blame and self righteousness in my mind – the need to be right or implode. A deep depression takes me over, and the rest of the evening and night something in me plays out all the scenarios where I tell my daughter off in righteous wrath.

This continues the rest of the day – I feel like in a spell – until I read this story again  – and realize that all the ways I use my daughter to attack and project guilt into, I am taking up Mephisto’s tempting turd and making it real.

And now what was a horrible temptation to blame and project, turns into a great method for being aware and awake: each time I feel the temptation to take up the turd, I instead breathe and willingly welcome the energy from the emotional imprint from childhood.

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Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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