“The White Rabbit” a spiritual recovery writing exercise


Today is a day out of my rabbit hole.

Thank you, Jim McAllister of iNation for helping me venture out today.  I’m nearly out of hibernation.

 

THE WHITE RABBIT

Envision a small white rabbit, furry soft, venturing from the snugness of the Safe Tree that used to be a safe place, but now is old and rotting from countless horrible storms.

She’s stroking her whiskers, breathing fresh spring air, her pink gaze lingering on the low-growth dandelions dotting the tender cool moss that contrasts the azure sky.

She wriggles her rabbit toes into the moss sprouting around the rotten Tree, delighting in the Now.  She sniffs the air, her nose distinguishing the Past from the newness of Now.  The Past smells old and stale, just like her rabbit hole.

Her fur reeks of the Past and she rolls gaily about over the moss, giggling like a youngster, washing it away, kicking her strong hind feet in the air.  The rabbit sits up and rests for a moment, breathing quickly, feeling completely safe.

She plucks a four-leaf clover and chews it thoroughly for luck and courage, tasting the dewdrops that cool the palate.

She plucks a dead dandelion full of Wishes and stands on her haunches, turning the stem thoughtfully between her paws.

Clearing her small throat, she begins talking in a quiet feminine tone- not quite standing on a soapbox, but more so a general musing to everyone and no one- to the Sky, the Earth, the Wind, the flowers; her inner bunny and the Universe. 

“Bad memories of the past, like any other memories, ought follow the general pattern of the stages of grief and loss.. Shock, denial, anger, acceptance…”

The rabbit gently blows the Wishes, asking the Wind to accept them.

“To fade with time and be replaced by the warmer glow of the “good ol’ times” mingled with subconscious programming hard at work not to repeat the same mistakes… and as we rebuild our life, the dust settles.  We call that moving on, healing, spiritual growth.”

The Wishes softly sparkle far across the horizon as the rabbit asks the blue Sky to accept them.

“The past was yesterday, the present is today, and tomorrow is..an adventure or a tragedy, who knows?”

As the Wishes fade beyond her vision, the rabbit asks the Earth to accept them. 

“Today is the gift of Living in the Now, living in present time.” 

Her soft eyes catch upon baby dandelions already growing in the Now that glow against the green pasture of the Earth.  “This is the natural course and this is how it has always been.  Time continues onward and this is the process of Life as We Know It.”

“For many of us though, the past lingers.”  

Her brow is furrowed in a sad frown,  for one Wish clings to the dead dandelion stem tucked in her paw. 

The rabbit blows, and blows even harder, and shakes the stem until frustration wells within her bosom and her soft pink eyes glow an angry tulip hue. 

The Wish is stubborn and even though it  clings to the Past, to Death, it will not let go, not for anything.  And under no circumstances for her.  Especially not for her.  In fact, the Wish seems to be taunting the rabbit.

The rabbit sighs heavily, knowingly.   “I’ve often wondered why the past refuses to let go.  Perhaps there is something there that demands to be acknowledged and addressed, something we need to learn from it.”

She thoughtfully turns the withered stem this way, and that way, upside down and then right side up, staring holes into the rigid old Wish, wondering why it is behaving so ignorantly, why it refuses.  There is nothing more to learn and it can grow no further.  It must let go.  It is the natural course.

“Or perhaps, the past needs to learn a lesson to let go of us.” 

Tenderly, the rabbit plucks the protesting Wish off the dead stem and buries it in a shallow hole.  She thanks the Earth for accepting it (even though the Wish is still arguing in muffled tones), and as the heavy rainclouds begin to rumble in the distance, the rabbit thanks the Wind and Sky for doing their part. 

Finally, the Wish is quiet and accepts.

Her speech done, and her eyes tired, the small rabbit curls up under protection of scotch broom bushes laden with bright yellow buds as the patter of soft rainsong lulls her to sleep.  She has outgrown her stale rabbit hole and quite frankly, it stinks of the Past.

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