I like bendable things. The things that bend and stretch and start out one color but due to dirt or food or both turn into something else completely in your hands-kinda like putty. I remember as a kid opening the little egg-shaped container and rolling it around the kitchen table, stamping the newspaper and then stamping my hand with backwards letters.
We seem to have it all skewed. We seem to think so often that those parts of our lives, the ones we would rather recreate into a whole new story with different characters, are what separates us from others. In truth, I think its what binds us- the raw, the dirty and the beautiful. Maybe its even in this sequence that we begin to articulate and integrate these moments- at first feeling the rawness, then the shame or discomfort, only to be followed by the allowing and the intangible beauty of seeing something so out of place, fit perfectly together with our own evolution.
I like to look for these memories now. The ones that hide out like cunning children avoiding punishment in the alcoves of our minds. I like to see them emerge from the darkness, mud on their tiny faces and stolen joy in their hands clasped tight behind their backs. I just invite them. Nothing more, than invite them with no other agenda to come out. It’s in this space of agendaless authenticity that these little ones begin to speak with their eyes, and in moment-transform.