Back Pain and Childhood Memories


I came down with a bad case of lower back pain, that left me home from work. It seemed I had to work through some issues before I could move on. I visited with a number of healers, maybe five, (all doctors or masters) in my efforts to get free of the pain. I was asked the question “what is under that” by one provider.  I had no idea.  However, twenty-four hours later while stretching on the deck, I had a memory come to me from years ago, in which I was an 8-year-old child and I was witness to a fight between my parents. The problem may have been that she was 44 and he was 49 and she had become pregnant. Well, the bigger problem was that my father’s youngest brother was getting married and my father wanted to go alone, as he had the idea that a pregnant woman should not go to a wedding. Or he was embarrassed to be having a 7th child at his age.  Also grandmother had to be collected from two hours away as the baby sitter. My father was not overly fond of her either.

In an effort to impose his will, my father punched my mother on the arms. I was a witness to this noisy punching fight.  My mother was cornered on the stairs and ended up with black marks along her upper arms. As an eight year old I wanted so much to heal this situation between my beloved parents. It left me with a feeling of helplessness and inability to move on from the memories and wishes. It left me with a pattern that presents itself once more when I am confronted with inability to fix a situation that is essentially belonging to others.

Recently I had found myself chewing on conflicts I have had within the last year. I was spending more time on them. Prayer time was used as an excuse to go over the whole situation some more. I grew it, I watered it, I heated it up and I aired it from all angles. I was praying to move on yet being totally stuck in the war zone of the old conflicts. The war zone is the place of the third chakra and fire. I kept applying heat to the current situations by thinking about it and wanting it to be different, yet not having the control to make it different. None of the conflicts were mine to control.

To get around this situation, I had to see what is happening first. Then I have to say to the energy, in meditation, that there is nothing I shall want for the situation, but to let it go, and to concentrate on giving the energy back to God, bypassing the fight in the 3rd chakra, where I am right and justified and have many weapons. Then the energy of God has a chance to come down through the heart and bloom into an ecstasy, into a smile toward the problem, remembering others need prayer, owe me nothing and I can call on angels to open my heart. The energy on its way over the solar plexus then settles into giving me a new name, the one called to follow God’s calling instead of getting into the wars and having wants for others.

There is a picture of my parents at the wedding, with my mother dressed in a dark blue suit with a white fur color, a white hat and white long sleeve gloves. She is out in front with my father hidden in the back, with just enough of his white head visible to know it is him. A little war he did not win.

Just as that Carolina Wren is trilling on the fence post, and building into himself the songs that call in his mate, so the older woman now finds she has built into herself her own temperaments, built them into the basin of her earth in the pelvis, the root of the tree of who she is, her seeds sown in childhood and reseeded every time she flies off the handle. And watered every time she cried, and was emotional in that special way and grew in the warmth of her love for herself and righteousness of herself like her own sunshine on this way of being and in the birdness of herself, airing out her own rightness for whoever may listen and agree publicly with her and now needing to see that this isness, this business of herself is not serving her well. Making a commitment to grow the seeds of love and when she gets in a mood, and is in the forest that now eats her up, she has to be watchful for the path where those roots of so long ago come up and drag her down to be possessed by them. But rather to keep watch and know where she now goes, where love grows. It is the path that is pleased when poured around, that invites down a loveness, mantled over her and served back up over the Solar Plexus, where it polishes the White Stone, the one that has the new name written for her, given of the Father to her, oh so long ago, and she knows it and responds to it in love, all the time singing the new song.

About rlongwort

Licensed Professional Counselor. Dream specialist.
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