Gratitude Project: Day 15: Childhood Hearts
August 1st 2008 20:56
My grandmother said that I was “born with a mind quick and clever and delightfully odd, with a heart purer and more perfect than the most rarified air.” She believed that I was good beyond even the limits of her own imagination. She said that I was a “beacon of light, born into a world of dark mirrors and shadow.”
I started out innocently and openly displaying all that I was. My grandmother told my parents that I was unaware of my own magnetic qualities and how darkness is drawn to envelop light. She warned them not to put me out in the world “untrained” and ‘unprepared” for “the desire” and angry neglect and disregard my good nature might inspire. And so it began. I stood there, a gleaming china figurine in a curiosity shop. Feeling the ground shake beneath me as hulking, brutish figures stomped by, some reaching out, handling me too roughly, until cracking began. There was chipping, breaking in half and gluing back together again.
As I grew, there were times when parts of me were shattered into many pieces and left alone I attempted to reassemble on my own. This was so hard to do and resulted in putting back my own pieces all mixed up, confused, so that I was still there, showing some kind of resemblance to a whole, but one so jumbled and confused and apparently unlike where I started that I began to not even recognize myself.
But I refused to forget where I began, who I was, truly, at the core. So I reveled in my grandmother’s opinion of me and held on to that. I glued myself back together each time, a little more en mass, a little more confused and disordered, but in a way that appeared to be more solid, less likely to allow for major damage. I deliberately made myself more dense, so no one would pick me up again, and then smash me into the ground.
I fight to hold on to what is good and right in me, to not give up on that old, vague hint of who I was at childhood. That tiny glowing nucleus of intense power inside me, that makes me keep building myself back up despite the odds. But behind all of this, there remains some callousness, anger, and pridefulness.. The challenge…behind it all, is to fight the fear of rough mishandling leading to rough, hard floor; and the painfully strong longing, despite it all, to be picked up, caressed, valued as the person I started as, still hidden down there somewhere at the core. To have some observer hold me, look closely, gently, and lay me back down again, like the rare, precious thing that my grandmother thought I was.
Through all of this I came to recognize and appreciate those things I held dear in my childhood heart: family, friendship, attention, authenticity, beauty, compassion, connection, devotion, enthusiasm, faith, grace, gratitude, hope, hospitality, imagination, kindness, joy, listening, meaning, justice, nurturing, openness, peace, transformation, unity, vision, wonder, and zeal.
Photo by Neloqua VIA Flickr used under a Creative Commons license
I started out innocently and openly displaying all that I was. My grandmother told my parents that I was unaware of my own magnetic qualities and how darkness is drawn to envelop light. She warned them not to put me out in the world “untrained” and ‘unprepared” for “the desire” and angry neglect and disregard my good nature might inspire. And so it began. I stood there, a gleaming china figurine in a curiosity shop. Feeling the ground shake beneath me as hulking, brutish figures stomped by, some reaching out, handling me too roughly, until cracking began. There was chipping, breaking in half and gluing back together again.
As I grew, there were times when parts of me were shattered into many pieces and left alone I attempted to reassemble on my own. This was so hard to do and resulted in putting back my own pieces all mixed up, confused, so that I was still there, showing some kind of resemblance to a whole, but one so jumbled and confused and apparently unlike where I started that I began to not even recognize myself.
But I refused to forget where I began, who I was, truly, at the core. So I reveled in my grandmother’s opinion of me and held on to that. I glued myself back together each time, a little more en mass, a little more confused and disordered, but in a way that appeared to be more solid, less likely to allow for major damage. I deliberately made myself more dense, so no one would pick me up again, and then smash me into the ground.
I fight to hold on to what is good and right in me, to not give up on that old, vague hint of who I was at childhood. That tiny glowing nucleus of intense power inside me, that makes me keep building myself back up despite the odds. But behind all of this, there remains some callousness, anger, and pridefulness.. The challenge…behind it all, is to fight the fear of rough mishandling leading to rough, hard floor; and the painfully strong longing, despite it all, to be picked up, caressed, valued as the person I started as, still hidden down there somewhere at the core. To have some observer hold me, look closely, gently, and lay me back down again, like the rare, precious thing that my grandmother thought I was.
Through all of this I came to recognize and appreciate those things I held dear in my childhood heart: family, friendship, attention, authenticity, beauty, compassion, connection, devotion, enthusiasm, faith, grace, gratitude, hope, hospitality, imagination, kindness, joy, listening, meaning, justice, nurturing, openness, peace, transformation, unity, vision, wonder, and zeal.
Photo by Neloqua VIA Flickr used under a Creative Commons license
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Comment by katyzzz
Photography Tips
Health Focus
Poetry Lighthouse
MS Paint Art
Comment by Urban Panther
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Thanks so much! So good to see you!
Mis
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
I am so sorry that this tugged a little too tightly! How lucky we are to have had such wonderful grandmothers. Thank you so much for your thoughtful comment. It is so good of you to drop by!
Mis
Comment by Urban Panther
Comment by Mrs M
Mum's Word
I can relate to this. But I didn't have a grandmother. I think maybe it was instinct that got me through.
However, it's a constant internal struggle.
"Am I good enough?"
"Yes"
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
Ah the voices in my head
Love & stuff
Mrs M
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Mis
Comment by Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
Amazing the experiences that mould us in life. That pit of anger that lies in the depths is a bit of a bottomless pool, but I suppose is also the reason why we are the people we are today.
My grandmother rocked too, most amazing woman and one I think of daily. CHEERS TO THE GRANNIES
Ash
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Interesting point about anger friend. I come from a family of short fuses and short tempers. Never thought of it as a pool... Thanks for that image! Grannies do Rock!
Mis