Girl With The Golden Bumm: Metaphor For Fear Of Imperfection

7th in a series of practices to relieve anxiety. Our fears of imperfection are instilled in us, dysfunctional responses developed years ago, or from a lack of experience. The mind does not distinguish between real and imagined experiences. This story contains embedded metaphoric learning experiences meant to develop in you an appreciation for yourself, your body, and all your lovely quirks. Listen before sleep, once or twice not trying to memorize or analyze it. Enjoy, sleep, and absorb.

Transcript

Girl with the Golden Bum, A bedtime creative visualization with embedded meditations for people who try too hard to be loved and accepted. Only listen to this program in bed before you go to bed at night or while you're taking a long nap. I found an odd figurine in a side street shop called the Two Brothers Shop of Curiosities. It was a figurine of an older woman playing hopscotch. What was odd about this figurine was that she was bent over showing off her shiny golden bottom. Its sign read, Girl with the Golden Bum, For display only. I went over to the counter and I rang the service bell. Two old men stood up from their chairs behind the counter. One was slightly younger, Taller and thin, And the other was shorter with pink cheeks, A white beard, And a little stocky. They looked at me and asked, May we help you? I said, That figurine, Could you tell me something about it? The old men looked at each other and smiled. The one with the white beard said, Oh, That one isn't for sale. It's for display only. And the tall thin one said, It's very special. I said, I just want to know something about it. It's so interesting and it looks handmade. It's a long story, The shorter one with the white beard said. It would take a while to tell it. If you don't have time, It's okay. And if you do, It might be really worth your while to hear it. I said, Thank you. I want to hear it. Good, The brother said. It's closing time and we have time to tell it. See those lazy boy chairs over there by the fireplace? The kerosene lamp on the mantle, The portrait above the young woman in white on the wall. Let's make ourselves comfortable on those nice cushy chairs. The other one said, You two make yourselves comfortable and wrap up in these native shawls. Well I go fix us some hot abracadabras. I laughed. What is an abracadabra? He said, Oh, It's a very smooth and relaxing hot toddy with some really special spices. We heard him in the back room opening bottles, Striking a match, Lighting a fire and boiling some water. Meanwhile we made ourselves comfortable. I kicked off my shoes and wrapped what looked to be a Navajo shawl around me. I felt this texture on my arms. I smelled the kerosene lamps and felt the warmth of the fireplace on my toes. While waiting for the tall thin one to return with our drinks, The short one and I admired the dancing flames and the old fireplace, The carved ivory colored mantle and the old kerosene lamp with the little flicker flame. And of course, The portrait of the young woman in white. We settled ourselves into our deeply relaxing, Lazy boy chairs. The taller brother returned with our hot abracadabras. He said, Let's have a few sips of this. Its golden brown color, Rich fragrance and taste will relax you more and more. My brother's voice is low and slow and it will make our story more and more relaxing and enjoyable, Almost like a lullaby that can rock you to sleep. Just like lying in your bed or on your couch and watching old movies on TV late at night, You can find yourself drifting in and out of dream states. Sometimes watching the movie, Sometimes closing your eyes and only listening to it, Sometimes dozing off, Letting the stories and the dialogue become part of your dream reality. In and out of sleep, Waking to find that the movie has moved on to a later scene or has ended and another movie has begun. So time may fly by. A long time may seem like just a few minutes. And here is the story they told me. A woman found that figurine in a wall of an old mansion her father owned. She was the last remaining child of the two children born to his daughter named Ann. The figurine is a handmade representation of Ann. The woman, Ann's last remaining child, Sold the mansion to the Historical Society and left some of the artwork to a local library. We bought a few pieces from the library. We both liked this funny figurine, The girl with the golden bum the most. The younger brother said, Let's taste some more of our hot abracadabras and we will tell you all about Ann, The girl's mother. Let's take another taste of the abracadabras and relax a little more. And one more. The grandfather was a very wealthy diamond seller. He was known for his precious diamonds and gems. He was a very rich old man who married a pretty young wife like many rich men do. Unfortunately, She died in a skiing accident in the Alps a few years after Ann had been born, Leaving only Ann, Her old father, And their maid in that big mansion. The old man never remarried and just stayed busy with his diamonds. Ann, His daughter, Could go anywhere in their mansion except for her father's office. He always said it was no place for women. In the living room, Ann's father kept a portrait of his beautiful young wife on the wall above the fireplace. A very refined, Classy looking young woman with a big frilly white dress, A feather roa, And of course, A diamond necklace. Ann wanted to be just like her mother and be the perfect daughter. But looking at that portrait, She knew it would be hard to follow in her mother's footsteps. Besides, Her maid kept saying, There will never be another woman like your mother, Ann. Ann's father was always busy, So he didn't have much time for her. Ann thought perhaps he wasn't happy with her. Maybe he didn't think that she was as beautiful or refined as her mother, So he just preferred his diamonds. The maid dressed Ann up for school in super clean, Big name clothes and pushed her hard to do well in school. Ann tried very hard in school to make 100% on all her tests. She wanted to be the best. She felt being best at something would hide whatever her father thought was wrong with her, Hide her flaws. When she did not feel like the best, She would get jealous of her classmates to make herself feel better. She would find fault with them. Ann's mother was supposed to be very good at sports, So Ann tried to excel at games. When playing hopscotch at school, Even though the squares were big, She always wanted her feet to land together, Five and a half inches above the bottom line and perfectly in the middle. She knew her classmates would ooh and aww then. She ooh'd and aw'd them with her grades in hopscotch, But they didn't want to hang out with Ann because she took all of the fun out of it. This continued on through high school. There Ann wanted to be the prettiest in class, Too. She wanted to have eyes like one movie star, Prettier ones than Brooke, One of her classmates. She wanted to have nicer, Better shaped breasts like the ones the cheerleaders had. But oh no, Her hips and butt were starting to spread. You know, Like they do when girls are preparing to have babies. And she didn't want to have a big fat butt like a couple of other girls in her class. Ann also did not want to make any mistakes in front of others. She wanted to go to dances, But no one taught her to dance at home, So she would not go to school dances. She was very pretty and smart, But strangely, She did not feel pretty or smart at all, Not like her mother. So when she did not feel good enough, Which was very often, Ann would find fault with others, Their glasses, Makeup, Breasts, Noses, Voices, Anything. And she stayed home, Alone, To study. She thought she could at least try to be smarter than everyone. However, In the end, At graduation, One of her classmates was invited to give the Val Victoria speech, And got the second place, Salutatorian. And she was so humiliated, She went home, Cried, And threw her salutatorian award in the trash. She thought high school was such a waste of time. After high school, Ann wanted to get married. Her dad only loved his diamonds, And her maid only praised her dead mother. Ann had not been very popular at school, And now she didn't think she was good enough to keep a top-notch husband. She just thought she needed a super faithful husband who would never break his marriage vows, Even if he thinks he made a mistake. So she married the son of a preacher, A good Christian boy. She moved out of her mansion to live with her new husband in a rented house. She did not want to give her husband any reason to complain or leave her. So she immediately got so busy trying to be the world's best housekeeper, And trying to be the world's best cook, That she forgot to watch what she ate. Gaying some weight. Oops. Got pregnant. Within one or two years, She had given birth to a couple of children. She decided to try to be the best mother in the world, Raising them the way she thought her perfect mother and the maid would. Poor kids, They tried so hard to be perfect. They didn't want to disappoint her. Their home was not as magnificent as her father's mansion. She did not have a picky maid either. However, She kept it as immaculate as her maid did her father's mansion, And she kept it very tastefully decorated. The living room had a nice wooden floor, But she covered it with thick, Pure white carpet, And she furnished it with white chairs and a big white sofa. She furnished it with fine end tables and coffee tables, And sitting on top of them were beautiful and spotlessly clean, Clear, Delicate crystal things, Things from her father's house that reminded everybody that she came from money and class. Each decorative object had its own showplace on the tables, Perfectly five and a half inches from the edge, And perfectly eight or ten inches from each other, Depending on the size, Of course. Everything had its exact position. You know, Look, But don't touch. The kids did not dare spend time in the living room because they were scared they would drop cookie crumbs on the sofa. Every time they walked on the plush white carpet, Pushing little footprints into the fluffy smooth surface, Ann would run and get the vacuum cleaner to fluff it back up again. She liked a smooth white surface. It was pretty, Honestly pretty, But honestly, Who wants to live in a museum? Her poor husband, The perfect Christian, Was trying hard to fit into her world, But it was difficult. He would leave a half empty coffee cup out to pour himself a little more later. He would go pee, And when he came back, The cup would be gone. He couldn't even leave it in the sink. It got so bad that he started using paper cups just to give her a break. He would take off his socks, And Ann would be right there with the clothes basket to catch them before he could put them down. She was very sensitive and defensive too. If he mentioned any little problem with her, Like a lipstick smudge, She would blame him for not washing the sink after he washed his hands, Or she would go on and on about his sloppy mother. If he said he didn't like something about something she was wearing, She would cry until he found a way to get her to stop. Eventually it got so bad that he quit one job and took a new job, Requiring him to travel overnight or travel for a week or more away from home. He needed to breathe. When he was home, He would watch TV in the garage. The kids also hid in their rooms. Ann's house began to feel empty to her. She wanted her husband to come home. Ann became afraid that he might meet someone else younger or slimmer on his business trips. One day a woman at church came up to her, Smiled, And pinched Ann's baby-like cheeks and laughed. What I like about you is your big bottom. We big bottom girls have to stick together. We can show those scrawny ones that we can be just as good as they are. Oh my God, Ann thought, Not being particularly fond of women who come up and pinch you on the cheek and talk about butts at church, Ann was horrified. She thought, Do I look like her? Is that why my husband is spending so much time on the road? So at 28 years old and desperate to keep her husband, Ann went on a strict diet to keep herself young and slim. She got scales, Diet books, Full-length mirrors, And a treadmill. She dug out her old high school jeans and hung them on the wall above her bed. She was determined to get her butt back into those high school jeans. She cut out all food items that would make her gain weight or bloat. She would skip breakfast and get right on the treadmill after a meal. She'd spit out her food to stop it before the calories could be absorbed or take a laxative at night to get rid of it the next day. She tried on her high school jeans every day, Checked the scales hourly, And watched her bottom in the mirror constantly. If she overeat, She could always skip meals and run it off. No more church socials. The older women kept trying to stop her with food. They didn't understand. And besides, They did not have the self-control that she did. In fact, Her control was getting out of control. She developed internal vision, The kind of vision some kids develop for pimples and blackheads. She developed it for fat, An eagle eye for fat. Each time she eyeballed an area, She would freak out. She lived in hope of hearing how great she looked and lived in terror that someone might think she had gained weight. Every time her husband came home, She would be a size smaller. Her husband became very worried and thought she was just trying too hard to fix something that wasn't broken. He loved her, But he couldn't talk sense into her, And he was afraid to make her feel more broken than she felt already. There was no way that he could relax around her. He kept his mouth shut, But going home was like going to a graveyard. No life there. The longer he stayed away, The harder Ann would try to lose weight. She looked at her face in the mirror, And while she was glad those big fat cheeks were gone, She was beginning to get wrinkles, And her butt still felt too big to squeeze into her high school jeans. She would pinch her butt here and there to check out the fat, And pinch her cheeks here and there to check out the skin. The telephone rang in the middle of the night. Ann's old father had died in his sleep and left his fortune and mansion to her. She felt guilty because although she loved him very much, She had been too preoccupied with her own problems and her diet to keep in good contact with him. She realized that she and her family no longer needed to rent their apartment, And they could move into the mansion. Excited, She wanted to surprise her husband, So she took an afternoon flight to the town where he was staying for business, And hung out in the lobby of a motel waiting for him. Ann hid herself behind a fashion magazine as her husband walked into the hotel with a laughing, Big-butted, Curvy woman in tight jeans and a black motorcycle jacket. She watched them take the elevator up to his room. She did not confront them. Instead, She slipped out of the hotel, Took a plane back home. I'm sure she felt like pretty little Princess Diana when she caught Prince Charles out with his older, Big-butted girlfriend, Camilla, And filed for divorce. Her husband was sad, But I'm sure he was relieved. Ann decided that she would show everyone how perfectly her life had become without him. She had decorators redo the whole mansion. She cleaned up her father's office. She turned the mansion into a palace. It looked like an inverted wedding cake. The children got their own treehouse far away in the backyard where they could play freely away from their controlling mother and not mess up her perfect house. Ann invited people from all over town to sit in her grand and beautiful, Immaculate sitting room serving the finest of coffee, Teas, And dainty finger sandwiches and cookies. At first, People came, But they did not stay very long. Soon people only returned her invitations with excuses. Ann donated lots of money to a local university, Invited board members and university professors, Especially male university professors, To her home. She was looking for a new husband. She would go out with one guy or another, And after a few times, He wouldn't call anymore. And each time she would try to make herself look slimmer and younger. One day she was sitting in her heavenly white living room with dainty little cookies and white porcelain coffee cups, Ready to serve some coffee to one of the university's finest psychology professors. She had told the university she had a problem and wanted to meet him. Because she had donated so much money to the university, They arranged it. She was anxious to make a good impression on him. So she had dressed up in very stylish beige Armani slacks and white blouse. She put on a very wide and very tight black belt to accentuate her tiny waist, Believing that the professor would just love her Barbie doll look. She also wanted to show him a piece of art that her father had collected. So she ran into her father's study office, Looking over the walls for a small painting she could share. However, While looking, Something caught her eyes. Oh no, Something on her perfect wall. Her vision tunneled into a small spot that looked like a big problem. In the center of the spot was another spot. And in that spot was written some very tiny, Tiny, Almost microscopic words. She found her father's loop, Which is a small magnifying glass he used to judge the quality of diamonds. She got up to the spot. Inside the spot, The words became clear. They said, Congratulations. Welcome to my gallery of secrets to happiness and freedom. To winter, Push your index finger through here. And pushed her finger through, And the spot opened big enough that she could look through the hole at the wall behind the wall. Through the spot, Down her tunnel of vision, Abracadabra, She was surprised to find an old photo of her mother pointing to a Navajo weaving. It was the first photo of her mother that showed her whole body, Not just her face. She was surprised to find her thighs were wide and arms quite strong. And thought, Oh, Dad preferred a girl with a little meat on her bones. Aha. Her mother was pointing to the bottom of a Navajo Indian shawl. Colors perfectly chosen, Lines very clean and straight. It was obvious that it took months of intricate work to weave. Below the weaving in the photo was a written description. It read Navajo Ceremonial Shaw 1888, The Idazzler Period. Master Navajo weavers carefully chose the best materials and meticulously wove intricate symbols of lore and other symbols of nature. The description instructed Anne to take a close look at the bottom section where her mother was pointing. It read, Inspect one little thread left loose near the end of the last row. The Navajo people believed that only God was allowed to be perfect. Navajo weavers believed that they wove their souls into their weavings, Into their work. So they would leave a loose thread somewhere in their weaving and their souls could follow it to escape the trap of their over attention to perfection and detail. The shopkeeper toasted us with another hot abracadabra and as its magic relaxed us more deeply he said, When I think about this description I'm reminded of a nephew of mine who majored in art in a state university, Who later wanted to attend a PhD program at Columbia University. He wasn't particularly well educated but he heard that the university was rejecting super memorizers and were looking for special talent. So he worked for three weeks writing his autobiography and study plan. He added lots of interesting things. One detail he wrote about was very interesting. He said that when he was a sophomore in high school he took so much time getting dressed at home that he was often late to school. His teacher had suggested he see the school counselor. When he told his counselor his problem she sighed with relief. Thank God you're coming to me now, Now before it's too late. My first husband always dressed immaculately in wrinkle free clothes. His shoes shined like mirrors. He spent hours trimming his mustache and combing his hair. His teeth were totally white like a toothpaste commercial. At night when he looked at me and took off his clothes I just imagined there was a big super S on his chest, A Superman S and I hated him. He made love according to the book, Followed every rule, Just the right 15 minutes for foreplay and lasted just the right 20 minutes for intercourse. But you know what I wanted? I really wanted him to fumble a little, Make a mistake and be human. I wanted a man I could feel, Not worship. The shopkeeper started looking a little tipsy, All dreamy eyed as he took another drink of this very relaxing hot abracadabra and he said, That was one of the stories that my nephew wrote in his application to Columbia University. He rewrote those essays again and again until he was sure that they were absolutely perfect. Every word, Every period, Every comma was perfect. Just before he sealed the envelope to mail the materials to New York, He stopped and thought, Are they going to think I'm a Superman? So he went back to his computer and added three tiny grammatical mistakes to his essays, Printed them off, Crossed his fingers for luck and mailed them off to the university. The university called him halfway around the country to let him know that he was accepted with open arms. They loved him as much for his dangling participle as they did for his vivid story. The old shopkeeper said, Oh, I forgot. Now back to the description of the Navajo ceremonial shawl, 1888. At the end of the shawl description that said, Leaving a loose thread to escape the trap of their over attention to perfection and detail was a big period. It looked like another black circular period, But it was empty and put her father's magnifying loop up to her eye and moved in close to that period. And her vision tunneled all the way into and found a Mad magazine cartoon of a famous Hollywood star. You know, The way they used to look like Mae West with large breasts and big thighs holding up a thin little tree branch with a twig and hanging from it was a limp, Low cut dress and a necklace. And looked at the dress hanging limply on the twig like branch and noticed it was the same dress as the star was so gloriously filling out. Underneath the cartoon was the caption, Meet or the dress. Anne's father knew he was all about marketing. The fashion industry had to spend a lot of money to pay Hollywood actresses with those full bodies to model their clothes, But the customers only remembered their bodies, Not the clothes. So the fashion marketers decided they needed a different kind of clothing rack because in the stores, The customers remembered the clothes hanging on the clothing racks. So they found a skinny girl in England, The perfect living coat hanger for their clothes. They cut her hair short and gave her big eyes. They gave her a cute name too, Twiggy. They hung their clothes on their twig to show their fashion in the magazines and billboards. The only thing the public noticed was her big eyes and clothes. In other words, They looked at the clothes and the silly non-artistic public began to think, Oh, Skinny means beautiful. And soon many girls began to become clothes hangers with big eyes, Literally losing their bodies, Becoming the first real fashion victims. Here, The shopkeeper said, Have some more abracadabra. And as I felt myself relax, The shopkeeper continued and said, Anne was really interested in the two necklaces she saw. She saw one necklace hanging from the twig next to a limp dress and she saw another interesting necklace hanging between the breasts of the curvy, Healthy actress. She took out her magnifying glass and looked at the necklace hanging from the twig. Its pendant was a small test tube filled with blue water and inside floating around was a little stiff plastic Princess Diana waving through the glass at the people outside. On the necklace of the curvy actress was a golden pendant of the Venus of Willendorf. This was not the Venus de Milo found today in the Louvre in France. That Venus is a classic representation of distant, Inaccessible beauty of gods. It was the older pregnant Venus of Willendorf, Big breasts, Big thighs, 25, 000 years old, An ancient maternal symbol idolized for centuries to ensure fertility, Health, And nourishment. So some scholars today prefer to call her the woman of Willendorf, Not the Venus of Willendorf. The woman of Willendorf was more human and more accessible, Essential to life itself. The kind you always want to have near you. The woman of Willendorf had a belly with an especially deep navel and looked inside the navel and followed a tunnel leading to a handmade card her mother had given to her father. Her father had written my darling on it. That reminded Anne how people preferred handmade things more than machine-made things in the stores and magazines. How people preferred handmade greeting cards over boring Hallmark cards. How collectors of rare stamps and coins sought after those with little flaws. And this reminded her of how one movie star or singer becomes famous for her enormous breasts while another star becomes famous for his big nose. Or how Lauren Bacall in the old Hollywood movies became famous for her low and masculine voice. Those stars knew how to cash in on the value of their uniqueness. The old shopkeeper said it reminded him of how people pay much more money for jeans with rips and holes than new ones or my funny Valentine. A song about a girl being a guy's perfect imperfect work of art and its message about beauty being in the eyes of the beholder. I was always fascinated flipping through the years and years of National Geographic magazines to see what other people around the world viewed as beautiful. Late light lips, Elongated necks, Tattooed faces, All kinds of fun things. My wife told me that some people think you have to look a certain way or have a certain job to catch a lover and be happy. But once you know they are there, Your eyes cannot help but look on the street and admit that there are all kinds of happy couples of all shapes and all sizes in sweatshirts and sweatpants, Rich and poor, Totally in love and happy with each other. The shopkeeper toasted me with another abracadabra, Looked me in the eye and continued. The saying, Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, Brings up the question of what we behold. I love that black and white optical illusion picture showing the bust of an old woman with a scarf over her head that turns into a young woman with a shawl. It asks the question, What do you see first? It becomes hard to see the old woman after you see the young girl with the Navajo shawl. Reminds me of watching clouds in the sky. One moment you see a horse, The next minute you see a dragon. Looking for people who see different things, Which is why I hate parks and scenic areas, Naming places like Camel Rock or Turtle Mountain, Trying to tell you what you have to see, Like picky mothers and fashion marketers or snotty classmates. All trying hard to show me how I have to see things and looked up and saw a beautiful snow scene painting on the wall. She was looking at it, Enjoying the snowy beauty, Imagining how much fun it would be to be jingle belling or building a snowman in that painting when she read, Find the snow leopard in the picture. So she started scrutinizing the picture here and there, Up and down, Under here, Over there, Looking for that snow leopard, Totally forgetting about her snow paradise. After she found it, She was done with the snow scene. Darn, Her father, She thought, Who wants to go around looking for leopards anyway? People go out to enjoy the snow, They go looking for snow. The snow is what they want to see. Most people don't go out looking for leopards unless they're afraid all the time of something not going to be right. The shopkeeper, Now lying back very far in the lazy boy chair, Taking another sip of his hot abracadabra, Said, Yep, And what is right or wrong depends on what we feel tomorrow and not on what is or isn't. And who's to say what's right anyway? In the summer, The trees are full blossom, Though their flowers had already disappeared for a few weeks before the spring. And in autumn, Those summertime green leaves turn red, Orange, Yellow, And brown. And in the winter, They are all gone. And others are ready to return in spring. But only this time, One twig has died and two branches are born. I wonder what is supposed to be right for a living tree. Should it be taller or shorter? Have lots of leaves or fewer leaves? Be fatter, Pointier, Bushier, Straighter, Crookeder, Though most of the world might say that a tree, Not unlike the woman of Willendorf, Who is just the way she is, The way it is works just fine. So it's all it needs to be. The shopkeeper said, That's the way trees and the women of Willendorf have been since the beginning of time and why we still value them today. Ding dong, The doorbell rang. It was the visiting psychology professor. Anne quickly ran into her living room, Posed herself properly on her sofa, And asked her maid to show him in. And when he came in, He stopped for a moment, Surprised by all the refinery, And then asked if he could sit down. After sitting, He said, I heard you were wanting to talk with a psychology professor. How may I be of assistance? Anne told him that ever since she had moved into the mansion, No matter how hard she tried, Few people visited and almost no one came back. Even her children preferred to spend time outside of the house in their messy little tree house. The professor looked around the room for a second, Put his fingertips together, And looked up toward the ceiling and closed his eyes for a while, And then looked straight at Anne and said, Well, Anne, Allow me to give you some advice. Imagine a beautiful living room like yours with a perfectly snowy white fluffy airy carpet with a smooth surface. Lovely, She smiled. The professor asked, What does that mean to you, Anne? She said, It means that everything is perfectly attractive and everyone is going to love it. The professor looked into Anne's eyes very seriously and in a very kind and penetrating voice said, No, Anne, Notice that your perfectly smooth fluffy carpet has no footprints on it. And no footprints means you are all alone. And Anne, Abracadabra, Got confused. She felt some changes going on somewhere in her body, The flashes of Navajo shawls, Princess Diana dolls, And a woman of Willendorf, Superman husbands, Letting trees be, Adding mistakes to college essays, My funny valentine, The National Geographics, Clothes hangers, And the professor added, And that tight black belt you're wearing around your tiny waist. Anne said, My Barbie waist? Yes, The professor said, No one dares touch it for fear you will break. What, What, Anne became more confused than abracadabra movie stars cashing in on their looks, Letting trees be and happy couples on the street, Enjoying the snow scenes without snow leopards, Being free, Approachable, And touchable, Not a god or a goddess in a bottle, But a human. Anne stood up and said, My butt, That does it. She unbuckled her tight black belt, Pulled it loose, And threw it into the fireplace, And gleefully watched it burn up, And sounding like Betty Davis, She said, There, Now, Excuse me professor. She ran into the kitchen and brought out a couple of coffee mugs and plopped them onto the table. She poured coffee mugs in coffee into the mugs. She picked up one mug and splashed some coffee onto her white sofa. And that, She said, That takes care of that. She picked up her dainty cookies and broke them in her hands. She fed some of the bigger chunks to the now very amazed and delighted professor. She then crumbled the rest over the table, Over the sofa, And yes, She crumbled some onto the carpet too, And rubbed it in with her feet. Again, In that Betty Davis voice, She said, What a dump. What a lovely dump. And smiling big, She said, And now, Dear, You see this rug here? Let's mess it up. And mess it up they did. They talked and talked and laughed themselves into a hot romantic relationship that culminated in marriage. The children were happy. At last, They could live in their living room. And Ann enjoyed her new freedom. Occasionally, The children would peek into the study. And there would be Ann and her psychologist husband laughing and playing psychology games. One time, They caught their mother wearing dancing shoes, Rubbing red lipstick on both of her cheeks, And wearing a pair of shiny gold short shorts, Dancing and shaking her butt in the mirror. And her husband clapping and laughing with happiness. They also once caught them playing hopscotch on lines pressed into the carpets. One cookie for the boxes and two cookies for the lines. The two kids grew up really appreciating the wonderful changes in their mother. To celebrate one year, They handmade a birthday present for her, Something she could place at the end of your tunnel vision. The girl with the golden bum. The two brothers then said to me, Sleep now. It's been a long story. What precious unconscious mind of yours can take all the time it wants to review and learn? What to share with you to make you more comfortable in your own body and more comfortable in your own world? And when your unconscious mind has found them and all the parts of you within you agree on them and agree that they make you feel comfortable, And when they have rehearsed them thoroughly and completely, And when they have all agreed to help you when you need it and when you're tunneling, You can use your own time and your own way to drift off to sleep where you can continue rehearsing these wonderful lessons or come back in the morning with that blanket, That shawl wrapped invisibly around you and feeling free and happy because you know you will be rehearsing secrets to freedom and happiness at the unconscious level in every single cell of your body until you begin living it.