Let Your Fingers do the Talking...

Have I mentioned the pattern that has emerged since writing The Everyday Anthropologist? I begin writing on Monday, save Tuesday for the cooling period, and then edit and post on Wednesday. Bam! Something new arrives on Wednesday evening or Thursday morning and I’m given several days to process the new, usually painful experience by Monday, when the whole process starts again.

Phew! This can be exhausting. Perhaps if I stop writing about energy and healing I can stop inviting it in and having to learn these lessons firsthand. The idea was to write about healing and forgiving, not have to live it and discover how it works on a personal level. Sheesh.

Oh, so you want an example? Fine, I’ll tell you. I woke up Thursday morning and the middle finger on my right hand was covered in red, angry bumps. Hmmm, you’ve heard the expression, “a little bird told me?” Well, what is my little birdy finger trying to tell me? Let’s see if we can suss this one out. Skin, the largest organ in the body, is expressing itself with inflamed, red, swollen bumps.

The right side of the body is said to represent the giving, masculine side compared to the receptive, feminine left side. We hold onto things with our hands, we pick them up, let them go, grasp, clutch, caress. We count with our digits, focusing on details. We gesture, sign, point fingers, make a fist; there’s all kinds of things to do with our hands.

Apparently I’m holding onto something in my energy field that needs releasing. If I had paid closer attention to my feelings, I would have had the opportunity to preview coming attractions, because what goes on inside our heads and hearts is a precursor to what we’ll soon see in the physical realm. I might have been able to express the energy in a healthy manner instead of having it stuck at my fingertips. Well, I suppose that is for me to figure out, but I did learn of a treatment that might fall under the category of “old wives tale.”

Rumor has it if you get a potato (and no, I don’t think it matters if it is a russet, a Yukon gold or a shiny new one), and cut it in half, you can rub what ails you and then bury it in the backyard under a full moon. I told this to somebody on Saturday and she asked if it would work on her mother-in-law? Ha, very funny. It’s a full moon right now, I wonder if she’ll try it!

If she does decide to approach her “loved one” with a half-potato and rub it on her, I hope she has a good excuse handy for her experimental behavior. I was simply mentioning the use of this organic method of healing for something irritating on one’s own body, but as a friend says, who has her own share of charming relatives, “Family, you can’t live with them, you can’t kill ‘em.”

Red is the color of anger, of passion, of the first chakra, otherwise known as the root or Tribal chakra. This is where our family-of-origin stuff hides, I mean resides.

Last night, as the full moon appeared on the night stage, I washed a potato, offered thanks for the situation, gestured fully with my red, bumpy, inflamed middle finger, then rubbed the freshly sliced potato all over it and buried it in the back yard. Uh, the potato, not my finger.

Speaking of red, February is all about red and pink and hearts and candy. Love is in the air. I know this to be true because the Greeting Card Guild and the Chocolate Factory tells us so. But the love I’m interested in riffing about is the much neglected topic of self-love. Group think tells us it’s selfish. But, to quote a local fishwife, “What’s so wrong with being Ish about one’s self?”

When I broached this subject with someone recently, they immediately told me I was vain enough. Wow, ouch. Okay, let’s get that elephant out of the room… Considering how awesome I am and how much I have to work with, I’m actually pretty humble. Wait, that was funny. C’mon, I was joking (was not).

Kidding aside, having genuine love for one’s self is NOT vanity. It occurred to me awhile back, if what the everlasting forecast says is true, then no matter where we go, there we are. According to spiritual traditions, whether you believe in reincarnation, the eternal barbeque or the sweet hereafter, we are the only ones we’re guaranteed to be with for all time. Shiver.

If we are our own perpetual companion, then why all the internal conflict? As much as you might love your sister, sweetheart or Uncle Floyd, there’s no promise that you’ll end up in the same place at the same time. It might happen, but when it all shakes down, we’re stuck with ourselves, so we might as well deal with it and come to terms with ourselves.

We can divorce, fire, ignore, or move away from people who bug us, but what happens when we tire of ourselves? I’m going out on a limb here, but is it possible that the number one cause of health-risking obesity, addictions, illness and other forms of misery is self-abuse? Yes, people have caused other people mountains of hurt, but once that pain stick has been dropped, do we pick it up and continue to beat ourselves? I’ve heard it said that we do not allow anyone to treat us worse than we treat ourselves. Shocking.

In this light, perhaps that bottle of liquid courage, chocolate overdose or layer of belly fat isn’t a barrier protecting us from other people as much as they’re a barrier from ourselves. What do we whisper to ourselves in the dead of night? And what about our pathetic quest for the approval of others? Why do we even need approval from others if we’re cool with who we are? Since we have access to ourselves 24/7, we have the most influence. What’s our self-talk? How do we really treat ourselves when no one is looking? With contempt, disappointment, abuse? It’s written all over us, our secret is out.

Our bodies belong to Mother Earth. When we die, she gets them. But in the meantime, they are the only possession we have that’s guaranteed for a lifetime.

We’re told that our bodies are “temples” for our spirit. What if we substituted the word sanctuary for “temple?” Our bodies were designed to be a safe refuge for our spirits, not a mound of flesh we’re ashamed of and abuse.

Wisdom tells us to love God and others as we love OURSELVES. We are the vessel, the channel through which love flows. If Love is a drug, then what are we cutting ours with? When we are blocked by guilt, fears of not being “good enough,” general disregard, then how genuine will our love be toward the Creator or how good will our love feel to others?

Well, I’ve been on my soapbox long enough. My legs are tired from standing and my voice is going hoarse from trying to convince me. We all know by now, that whatever I’m preaching about, I get to live and experience for myself.

As this week contains Valentine’s Day, how about joining me in a moment of vanity, oops, I mean self-appreciation? Yep, I think that’s what my little birdy is trying to say.