I love history. Decades ago, I read a book by James MIchener called The Source. Since then, I have loved the image and metaphor of an archeological dig as it pertains to our personal and spiritual growth.
There is something about taking off a layer of illusion and false self as we get closer to our true self. You know, that self that was touched by the Divine at the moment of our birth. That true self that carries our DNA as we were created to be from our soul’s beginning.
As we grow and come into our adulthood, we recognize so much, so many layers that have been shoveled onto us by culture, time, family dynamics, self perception, trauma, misunderstandings, expectations. We are loaded with it. All of us. Yes, some worse than others. But we all would benefit from our own archeological dig.
So we begin by telling our story. OUR story. Not the perpetrator’s story. Not our parents’ story. Not our 3rd grade teacher’s story. OUR own story. We tell it. We get to know every corner. We take a finely crafted brush and slowly, achingly, attend to each grain of the story, each clump. Only when we fully own the site (our selves) can we start looking at the clumps. Our clumps, other’s clumps. We begin to brush and brush away the debri and see that something bigger has been going on here. We unearth houses that have been submerged for 2 millennia. We unearth powerstructures and puppies that were buried. We unearth art and belief systems we didn’t even see because it was covered or just such a part of who we are that we couldn’t differentiate.
We work our way through our layers of silt and dirt, muck and dust, dirt and broken shards. The closer we get, the more exhausted we get of our own story. We might give up, convinced we’ve seen it all.
But keep going.
For years.
The dig referenced at the top of the post began in 2007. 12 years long. They have uncovered a city. Bit by bit, clump by clump, brush stroke by careful brush stroke.
Yes, it takes a long time. Years. Decades.
We get better at it. We don’t have to get all the way down to our mosaics to reap the benefit of self discovery, compassion, forgiveness, and personal strength. We reap the benefits of our becoming with each difficult conversation, task, decision. We note that we are not who we once were. We note that we are more skilled in knowing our own landscapes. We notice that we have grown up while we’ve been growing into.
And then we discover our beauty. A beauty that is spread out for the whole world to see. We hear the gasps of amazement when we move through struggle with calm clarity and truthful tenacity.
We are works of art. We are a belief system. We are a mosaic of colored pottery that can withstand the pressure of the whole earth on top of us until we come up to breath once again. And then we work on our preservation, just like a priceless vase, a priceless painting, a priceless story.
You are priceless.
Even now. Before the dig.
Even now. As you dig.
Even now. As you discover you peaking out at you from under the last vestiges of cover.
To that, I smile.
Peace and Love,
Amy