Every morning I sit my butt down on the word “TRUTH”. I sit on truth for ten minutes, doing my damndest to breathe in and out through my nose, deep into my belly, and quiet my thoughts, or at least not attach to them, or at the very least, think positive ones.
So goes my morning meditation a minimum of six days a week. I give myself a day off because sometimes waking up and checking my email first thing in the morning just feels good even if its not the most enlightened way to start my day.
My boyfriend Mike bought a plush blue meditation cushion with “Truth” embroidered on the top in golden thread. I love sitting down and connecting my bum to truth every morning. Any bit of wisdom I can absorb through any part of my body seems like a step in the right direction.
I meditate on truth every day to keep it real. I meditate on truth every day because telling the truth has yet to become habitual for me so I still have to make it a conscious practice. I’m not a liar; I just have a well-worn pattern of keeping the peace. I was raised in a beautiful WASPY family where we never raised our voices and rarely confronted others on anything for any reason. For a long time I thought the truth was scary. I thought it was unsafe. I thought that if I told the truth I would hurt people. So I didn’t tell it. I just said, “That’s okay,” instead and tucked it away.
But, as does any compartment that we overstuff, the place where I was storing my truth began to overflow and little by little it began to seep out. One of the first seepage incidents I recall was in January of 2010. I had a dream that I had died. But I was also still alive. (You know how cooky it can get in dreamland.) I needed to conceal my dead body so that no one would find out that I was dead. I don’t know why nobody could find out I’d crossed over, but I know it was critical to keep it a secret.
So I put my corpse in a body bag and sealed it up. Then I sealed it even more in plastic because I didn’t want anyone to find out I had died from the smell of the body (disgusting, but true.) Then I put the body bag in a FedEx box and taped it up. I had to go to a trade show to exhibit at a Team Northrup booth that weekend and for some reason I had to take the box with my body with me.
I showed up at the booth to set up with a big smile on my face so no one would suspect anything was wrong. I then proceeded to cover the FedEx box with my dead body inside with glitter and incorporate it into the display so no one would find out what was really going on. And then I stood all weekend with a plastered, fake smile pretending that a part of me wasn’t dead.
It’s amazing how our subconscious begins to knock louder when we’ve been ignoring her for a while. I don’t usually remember my dreams, yet I can still remember every scene of this one with vivid detail. There was a lot going on in my life at the time. I was in a position in Team Northrup, a business I’d grown with my mother and my aunt, that no longer felt right. Yet I was terrified of telling anyone because I thought I would hurt them or let them down. I was going around pretending everything was perfect, covering it in glitter and a fake smile, while a part of me was not just dying, it was dead.
After having this dream I mustered the courage to tell my team, specifically my mom and my aunt, that our arrangement no longer felt good. And you know what’s amazing? When a situation is no longer serving you it’s not serving the other people involved either. Trying to remain in a role that I was outgrowing was keeping other people small too. My body bag dream and subsequent truth telling allowed us all to grow in ways that have been breathtakingly expansive.
In the last two and a half years with the help of practice, heart opening, faith, and some amazing coaching, I’ve gotten better and better at telling the truth. Now, most of the time, instead of manifesting illness because I’m afraid to speak up, I have the courage to say what I need to say in the moment. Though I have the occasional tell-tale dream still, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, I’m far more aware of what’s going on in my life, what needs to change, and who I need to say what to in my day to day life. And I actually say it now, with grace and love, instead of stuffing it.
I’ve learned that the truth isn’t scary. Instead, I realized that the truth changes lives. It heals us. It opens us. It reveals blessings and new doors of possibility. And it sets us free.
So I continue to meditate with my butt on truth every morning. I ask truth what she’s got for me that day. Some days I obsess about my to do list. Some days nothing comes. And some days she’s extremely generous and I get a big old wisdom bomb either on my little truth tuffet or at some other point in the day. And every time I do I’m grateful.
Find a way to sit your ass down and get in touch with the truth. Find a truth tuffet, go for a walk in the woods, do a little dance in the stillness of your room, get out some paper and let your words flow, or simply ask. The truth is there for us anytime. We just have to be willing to sit with, or on, her and ask. Then tell someone else the truth with love and grace. Rinse and repeat.
P.S. Today is the last day to hop over and get some inspiration gratis from Bec Robbins’ Secrets to Lasting Happiness interview series that I participated in with some of my favorite girlfriends and teachers. Click here to grab it while you still can!