So there I was, about three years ago…
My six-year-old was half his age. I was still knee-deep in
stuff that was killing my system. I was four years into sensing the Angels and
starting to make some headway on the things in our systems causing all of our
difficulties internally, and it was painful still.
I’m wicked “energy-sensitive,” which translates to: anything
that stings a little, stings a lot. And for us energy-sensitives, an emotional
pain usually has a stinging physical component.
Did I mention the world “sting” in the same sentence as “energy
sensitive?” Good.
So, I’m sitting there, worried about the things the world worries about –
whatever is on the news, plus whatever is stinging the hell out of my system
from the absolutely abject breakdown I was still recovering from...
And I give my three year old…NOT the beating of a lifetime
(not like he didn’t deserve it more than once or twice)…NOT the evil eye…BUT..
Chocolate milk.
And then, I learned, from the wisdom of a three year old
who was dancing to the beat of chocolate milk pouring down his throat after raining
sugary goodness all over every one of his taste buds, that the economy, gas prices,
terrorism…none of that could hold a thing to chocolate frickin’ milk.
Because to that three year old, it was as if all of the
things, all of the “problems” in the world that we adults were so “powerless” against…they
all just got unapologetically danced on like they were ants being stepped on by an elephant.
So what did I learn from that very special day three years
ago?
That it’s not gurus or presidents or gluten-free anything
that’s going to save us.
It’s Chocoalte Goddamn Frickin’ Milk.
It’s potentially true, that my three year old (at the time)
is of different preferences than you, as to what would make you dance all of
the problems in your life away for whatever amount of time something equally
endearing is doing as some sort of slow-dance with your own taste buds.
Mine is blackberries. Time stops when I eat blackberries.
What is yours?
And why the hell don’t you have more of them, more
often?
And for God’s sake, don’t comment with “orgasms”. Time always
stops for those. It’s just how we’re wired.
(If you have to put that , then you’re really not getting
enough of those, are you?)
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