The Vibration of Perfection
October 7, 2008
I’d love to say that my blog has not been updated in a few weeks because of writer’s block; but the truth is, I was over-thinking this forum. For weeks I’ve been looking for material that was profound or impactful, and it was my children who brought me back to reality — the very thing this blog is about to begin with.
My children were affectionately trying to acquire peace and harmony the other day (truly, they were poking fun at me in that, please don’t be mad at us for laughing at you sort of way). They were sitting cross-legged on the floor with their eyes closed and began chanting what was suppose to be ‘Om’. Now, for those of you that don’t know me, I’ve only chanted this inspiring vibration in groups at yoga studios and even then I’m prone to losing my voice for fear of breaking someone’s eardrums, and the last time I sat cross-legged anywhere I got stuck for so long I thought we were going to have to amputate my legs. Aside from the gross inaccuracies of my children’s perceptions, what struck me was that my son was not actually chanting “Om” (the sound that represents the essence of the Universe), but instead he was repeating, ”hmmmmmmm.” This irritated my daughter who opened her eyes long enough to say, it’s not “hmmmmmmm, it’s HUUUUMMMMMM.”
No matter how many times I laughed and pointed out that the vibration they were looking for was “Om” (aaauuummm), they just couldn’t get it. As I watched them achieve their own form of peace, I was reminded that I was trying too hard in my own spiritual journey — again! What makes the spiritual journey fun is that there is no ONE way, no RIGHT way, no PERFECT way. In fact, I am reminded of the Katherine Hepburn quote, “If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”
When we remember that the rules of spirituality are arbitrary anyway, we gain the freedom to express ourselves and our journey in anyway we want. Spirituality shouldn’t be rigid. It shouldn’t be another tool for judging yourself or others. It should be a way to feel the perfection that surrounds us! So, excuse me while I go meditate, “Huuuuuummmmmmmmm.”
Let Me Out of the Box!
September 9, 2008
“I no longer worry about how quickly I gain understanding in this lifetime. It is more important to have grace as I experience the journey unfolding.” –Teri
It’s that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Over the last 5 years I have seen the signs. The preschool teacher who approached me when he was 18 months old because he was biting other children; the next set of preschool teachers who approached me and asked me to work on his whining which was spiraling the entire class into an annoying pit of despair; the following preschool teacher who asked if there was aproblem because he was so focused on what he wanted that he plowed through the circle of friends to get it; the nanny who asked if he has poor impulse control. . . Taken individually, each one of these experiences can be justified, explained or apologized for. Looked at collectively, an entirely different picture begins to form. I have a child who is at best emotionally delayed, at worst, clinically retarded.
These are the words I wrote in May of 2004 when for the first time I was willing to truly look at my son and remove the label of “normal.” I was facing a new era. One in which there were no more excuses. One in which there was more uncertainty than clarity. One in which I had no choice but to follow my inner guidance because society no longer offered me parameters that fit the raising of my son.
In my heart there has always existed the feeling that something wasn’t quite “normal” with him. I knew when I was pregnant that something was “wrong.” It went beyond the normal worries of a mother-to-be; I could feel it in my heart, the baby forming inside of me was not going to be “normal.” When I looked at his first year pictures I quietly suspected Down’s Syndrome. I would then scrutinize his behaviors in private looking for something that would confirm or deny the existence of Down’s–baffled and yet elated that no doctor had yet uttered these words. I would be relieved each time he would display traits that certainly no Down’s child could. I would panic when he showed signs of delay.
When we pursued a preliminary diagnosis of Hirschsprung’s Disease in infancy I almost hoped that this would be “it.” As awful as that illness is, it would have been an answer, something I could fight, something I could heal, something with a definitive end; either healing or death. That, I could survive. It was the not knowing that was causing me emotional pain. I celebrated when the diagnosis of Hirschsprung’s Disease was negated, no mother wants her child to be ill, but privately I braced myself knowing that we did not yet know what was “wrong” with my son.
His walking was delayed, maybe that would be “it”. . .His speech was delayed, maybe that would be “it”. . . His social skills, maybe that’s “it”. . . What is “it?”–Please tell me this is where it all stops!
Only, it’s not as simple as delayed social skills. Some children were afraid of him. Other parents were wary of him. His own sister struggled to like him. And I love him fiercely, but could not always connect with him. I just wanted everyone to only focus on the good and loving aspects of my son and ignore those that caused them the feel unsafe, cautious and tired at the end of the day. This little guy who at age four could do first grade math, explain how a butterfly forms a chrysalis, who played soccer with all his heart and had been singing the continent song since age three. . . . This ray of sunshine who woke up happy every single morning, who greeted me with a “Hellllooo Mommmmmmmy! How was your sleep last night?” This sweet child who when you asked if he had a good day at school replied, “Why yes, thank you.” This is the same child who was so out of control that I threatened to sell him to gypsies on occasion.
This is also the same child who could not remember from one minute to the next that flipping over the sofa was not OK, who barreled into people like a locomotive and knocked grown men to the ground. The same boy who destroyed other children’s works of art or Lego creations without understanding the consequences of his actions. This child who could only speak in one volume — ultra loud. This terror who shook a lady’s chair for no apparent reason and then refused to apologize. This child who could make me feel so powerless and out of control that I contemplated a life of drinking away the pain.
Again, taken individually each of these instances paint portions of a picture that look like a few bad moments in time. When you step back and look at the entire picture all at once and admit that it’s not happening once a day, but all day, you begin to see a child who has issues, who does not fit in the box! People who knew him were unsure of him. They used to shy away and wait as patiently as possible for the moment he would leave their home and peace would reign again. I am eternally grateful for those who have commented on how loving he is. For those individuals who rewarded me, as his mom, for his displays of kindness, affection and gratitude. For those kind souls who see and acknowledge those rare moments when he is “normal.”
In May of 2004 my son was tested and diagnosed with Sensory Integration Disorder. He is Hypersensitive to light and sound, hypo-sensitive to touch and motion. We now have a reason why he could not stand to hear people sing, “Stop it the singing,” he would shout. We know why he screamed when the car window was down, why he preferred darker hours to lighter ones, why he knocked people down, why his energy exploded but never recoiled. As his mom I had mixed emotions. We had a diagnosis — the big “it.” Occupational therapy has a wonderful track record for helping children with SI and I found a great therapist. And yet, I could not seem to make peace with this. I wanted a diagnosis that I could surgically remove. I wanted to know with one hundred percent certainly that I could make this go away, that I could make my child look like everyone else. . . I wanted my life to stop spinning out of control. I wanted to feel my feet planted firmly back underneath me. I wanted that feeling of powerlessness to go away!
And so began my journey as a parent who had to redefine normal in order to function. Today I am eternally grateful to my son for teaching me how fabulous life can be outside of the box. When I’m exhausted I realize it’s because I’m fighting too hard for appearances sake instead of allowing my heart to dictate my place in this world.
I have had to face my demons and those of my children while challenging others who are inflexible in their definitions of normal. I continue to offer support to those who want to bend but are faced with the same feelings of powerlessness that I had to overcome — that I still struggle through sometimes. That process begins with information and understanding and ends with a critical inward search for help and healing and finally the application of love. But it is possible, and so is a wonderful and whole new life with my newly defined “normal” family.
What box have you been trying to fit into? How do you curb yourself in order to be accepted? We would love to hear from you!
All information posted is the original work of Teri Johnson, unless stated otherwise, and may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of Teri Johnson. Information provided represents intuitive impressions and personal experience. Particular results and outcomes are determined by your application of the content of classes, email or this website, and is completely determined by you and your individual and unique journey. If you are experiencing physical or psychological issues, please seek the consult of a medical professional.
