This afternoon my child self and I did some gardening – tidying up the garden as the autumn leaves are everywhere (but not until we had kicked about in our boots to make that gorgeous rustling sound first); cutting back things that now need to sleep for the winter, and picking twigs laden with berries while constantly having a conversation about how we still love doing the things we always did outside with the wind blowing in our hair. But that led me also to be having conversation in a different language… that which I use to talk to my parents who both left this lifetime many years ago.
Our conversations remain loving and sometimes very funny, bright with memories, sometimes soft with sadness, but almost always comforting and beautiful. Sometimes they are spoken out loud – a joyful shout into the wind; a soft whisper before I go to sleep. But more often they are spoken in a silent language which is equally powerful. I ask my father for help when I’m stuck with something too heavy to lift, a jar too tight to unscrew. I ask my mum to remind me how to make a particular cake that she made so well… My parent self talks to my child and encourages her, helps her feel less alone, tells her that we can do anything if we try.
Often our inner language – our self talk – is underestimated in its power and sometimes goes on as a background chatter that we are hardly aware of. Sometimes of course it can be powerfully destructive too. And often when it is, it’s someone else’s voice and language that we’ve integrated. So listening to it is very important and sometimes thanking it but saying we don’t need that language any more.
Now I’m listening to the language of my body which says it’s been waiting far too long to have supper. There is more about this on the forum. Meet me there.