I am a young toddler learning to walk and taking my first steps. The divine joy I feel in my body cannot be contained as I explore what it feels like to move my body in such a way that my legs are holding me up and as I move them -I move. Having spent the past twelve or so months adjusting to being in this amazing body of mine I am now ready to move into the world around me.
My family surrounding me is full of love and joy as well, their beaming smiles reflecting this back to me and our laughter intermingles and fills the room as they encourage and support me in taking my first steps. The love in the room is palpable and I feel how my joy and love of being touches the same heavenly place within them.
Over the following months and years, I experience sadness for the first time as my family’s openness to my joy-filled and deeply loving way of being slips away and a stealthy disconnection and hardness settle back in. These were some of the last moments where I felt my family express such unbridled joy and the marker stays with me as I move into life longing for this level of joy naturally flowing through me to be reflected back to me. Instead, what I begin to feel is my connection to the joy and love I naturally am slowly slipping away from me, too.
I am a teenager struggling to find my feet with the unsettled sense that I am being walked. My walk, I have learned, risks exposing others in their lack of joy and love: that unchecked joy of my first steps is no longer welcomed or appreciated and I am a quick learner when it comes to conforming and staying under the radar as much as possible. My movements and my walk have come to mimic those around me as it’s the only way I can figure out how to live my life in the reflection of those who long ago lost touch with their innate joy and love for life. Although I put on a similar mask to the ones I see those around me wearing, I have not forgotten the joy and love I came into this world with, I have merely learned to pretend I have forgotten.
Deep inside is a restlessness that occasionally tries to call me back to the love that I am from, but I have learned by now that allowing myself to be called back to this love is a dangerous and futile exercise. So, I establish and build upon my wall of protection, layer upon layer, year after year to keep me in and everyone else out.
By the time I leave my teenage years behind, I have mastered the art of living in disconnection to my true self and even manage to convince myself and those around me that living life like this is where it’s at. I busy myself with all manner of distraction, believing that the next ski run or exotic beach, the next boyfriend or job or house will deliver me from the restlessness I feel festering just below the surface, no matter how much I try to distract myself from it.
I haven’t forgotten the stupendous love and joy I entered this world as, but I have taken on the belief that my way back to this love and joy is lost to me forever. I spend the next 30 years being walked, rocking the boat only when the truth of my being absolutely has to be expressed, no matter the cost or consequence, only to cower back into my being walked-ness as the resulting wrath coming towards me through others for speaking the truth is unleashed.
I am a 50-year-old woman taking my first steps toward walking my own walk again. The path of return to walking my own walk has been a long and arduous one, yet pales into insignificance when I look at where returning to walking my own walk has led me to thus far. Walking my own walk, I am re-discovering, is about me in the fullness of life, exploring the grand love that I am, and am from, and my inner constellation that is reflected back to me in the stunning night sky. It’s about me deepening, walking my own walk every morning along the river before going to work where the light of the early morning moon playfully dances along the water’s surface, reflecting this playfulness back to me in the cold, dark but embracing winter months, just as the rising sun and shimmering blue sky reflect new life and beginnings brought on by the rhythm of the spring and summer cycles.
Walking my own walk has seen the dawn of me leaving my crippling self-doubt and unloving ways behind, peeling away those protective layers so carefully put in place in my younger years. Walking my own walk again sees me touching on the joy and love I came into this world as, reminding me of who I truly am and how every returning step, regardless of how daunting or painful some of the steps may seem, is a step closer to re-turning to the joy and love I felt in my body as that young toddler taking her very first steps. Walking my walk to re-discover that the re-turn to the joy and love we are, each and every one of us, is not lost to us… covered up under layers of protection and neglected, yes -but never ever lost.
I have been hugely inspired since attending the Walking Therapies sessions presented by Serge Benhayon. Several years before Serge introduced the Walking Therapies, I observed him walking across a courtyard towards the building I was in and I remember being struck by his walk. It felt like he was walking at one not just with himself and his surroundings, but also with the universe – walking without disturbance or imposition. This feeling felt foreign to me and yet, oh so familiar. Serge being Serge, holding nothing back and walking in full transparency, he is now sharing Walking Therapies with the world as a way of presenting how supportive, powerful and life-changing a walk can truly be. What a man, what a walk.
What a gift!
Although my daily morning walk felt supportive before, it incorporates purpose-full-ness now as well: it is my daily re-connection to me and my surroundings, and to the universe and my place in it. My walk has become the foundation that supports me as each step I take, not only on my morning walk but throughout my day, confirms my purpose and provides me with a platform of clarity and connection that supports me in my every movement throughout my day – the simplicity of walking my own reclaimed walk to deepen my purpose and reflect to others the all that I am.
By Brigette Evans