William Blake, The Wandering Moon (1816 - 1820)

Sometimes it’s easier to believe the lies we tell about ourselves, than to accept the love that others have gifted us.

At the end of my retreats, I ask everyone attending to give each person a note describing the 5 most beautiful things about that person, so everyone leaves with a satchel of love notes. Two years ago, at my retreat in Italy, a woman handed me a mason jar filled with folded pieces of paper and said, “Here’s a jar of sunshine.”

They were notes addressed to me. I have never read them. I’ve let them fester. They still sit unopened in that jar on my desk.

Next to the jar is a card that says APPRECIATE WHAT YOU HAVE: I appreciate my anti-depressants. I appreciate this desk I found at The Salvation Army for $100. I appreciate all the cans of beans in my kitchen cupboard.

It’s easier to follow the advice on that card than to open that jar of unknown. I’m afraid to look. Am I am monster? I wonder. I worry that’s what the notes might say. Sometimes it’s easier to believe the lies we tell about ourselves, than to accept the love that others have gifted us.

But we’re in the middle of something big. Not dental work. Not a drill. A full-scale global pandemic. And so . . .

I open the first note: “So grateful to you for creating a space where each of us can be fully seen, loved, and transformed.”

(Okay, I am apparently NOT a monster.)

“You have a sexy tiptoe walk,” the next note says.

(I have walked on my toes since I learned to walk. I thought I outgrew it, like biting my nails or sucking my thumb. I still suck my thumb, so there’s that lie.)

I keep reading. There is a note from a woman whose husband died from cancer while she was giving birth to their child. She played us his recorded goodbye message as he lay in the hospital. Gasping for breath. The beeping of machines louder than his voice.

I open another. I see “just peeing in your presence” but realize it says: just BEING in your presence.

And then one more: “Jen pulls out the pain and makes it her own, then releases it.” - Jennifer Pastiloff

Prompt:

Write a love note to yourself. Write it from someone else’s point of view. It can be a real person or a made-up person. Start with the line: Dear [your name], If you could see what I see, you’d see that you are ______.

Write about what they see in you, what they find beautiful. I call this practice “In the Voice of Someone Who Loves You.”

Amanda Marquette

Location: Austin, TX
About: Oftentimes, I can see the brilliance in the being and the becoming of the people around me, but cannot recognize that same marvel in my own present self and my growth. I'm quick to speak towards beauty for others, and quick to imprison thoughts on my self with silence and doubt. I want to notice myself as I notice the wildflowers.
Age: 25

Dear Amanda,

If you could see what I see, you’d see that you are becoming something brilliant.

I like the way you notice the wildflowers around you.

How you aspire to grow beautifully and authentically as they do -

in a way that benefits the world,

even if subtly.

I like how you hear the leaves dance and jingle in the wind.

How you listen intently to the world around you;

whether it be the songs or the tears.

You're always expecting self-growth,

Never going to settle where you're at,

In a good way.

But I think you also deserve a break.

Continue to learn, and grow, and rest.

Beth McKie

Location: Massachusetts
About: I'm self-conscious about all the ways my body's changed due to cancer treatments. Brain tumors affected my speech and short-term memory, and I feel embarrassed if I can't get a sentence out correctly.
Age: 32

Dear Beth,

If you could see what I see, you’d see that you are magnificent. You’re strong, even if you don’t always feel that way. Your laugh echoes in every space. Your wit and humor have not deserted you despite the changes in your brain. Your body is perfect the way it is—and we’re so happy it continues to propel your spirit through the world. You are capable of whatever you set your mind to do, although you really need to cut yourself some slack. And don’t forget, you are a lighthouse in a stormy sea.

Love, A Person

Emily-Rose Klema

Location: Raleigh, North Carolina
About: These prompts freed up space inside of me; gave me permission to make peace, unravel old patterns, outlive the past, and deserve the new. I have been changed by this 100 day process I committed to. Now I am ready for what lies ahead.
Age: 30

Dear you,

Numinous, inimitable, tremendous, YOU. You who grew used to believing you

could exist only just slightly above a whisper... you who used to look up into the pine

trees wondering if someone was watching you grow up. Well, I was. And you're now

braver and more fully alive than ever before. I know. I've been keeping vigilant. I've

been watching you raising your voice, raising your spirit, raising your son and raising

yourself.

I watched you wake up, excited for each new day as a little girl, totally body UN-

aware, fully conscious in Spirit-aware; chasing the fog on your bike, making a town out

of empty boxes and inviting your brothers, sister and neighborhood kids to come and

play. I watched you the day the pine tree fell in your path, almost crushing you. I

watched the Spirit float into your eyes as you beheld the fallen beast in front of you;

you were alive in wonder, instead of fear.

I watched you every night you snuck out your bedroom window, climbing the hid-

den ladder onto the third story roof with your sister to lay on your backs, contemplat-

ing the Divine circling above you.

I watched you every night you didn't think your soul could possibly go on living in

your body with all of the cruelty around you.

I watched you trying every danger you could get your fingers on, just to prove that

you were alive and in some manner, indestructible, worthy of being alive.

1

I watched you embrace every ugly "frog" who appeared in your path because

you've always believed that somewhere, hiding beneath a mask, there is a prince who

is worthy of you.

I've watched and applauded your every ascent back up the mountain from which

you've slid. I've watched your arms, back and legs become stronger as your spirit and

psyche persevere.

I've watched you forgive the unforgivable, even yourself.

I've watched you come Home.

I've watched you wrestle with angels and come out the other side.

I watch you even now, stepping into the breathtaking first dawn of a brand new

story. A story which is too fresh now to even write about.

I'm watching you tonight, typing by candlelight while the little boy you're soulfully

raising falls asleep in bed, cradling a willow statue of a boy and his mother.

I'm watching you and I love you... always.

14. Love Note – Jennifer Pastiloff