My force field this morning smells like freshly baked rolls.
But only the people who need to come in contact with my world can find the scent. Like you. I think. Hi!
My force field is guarded by eight penguins wearing bow ties. Just kidding, they’re wearing chain mail. But it’s still super cute.
Sometimes there are twenty four of them. Today I only need eight.
My force field leaves sparkly trails and sometimes it makes a whooshing sound.
Sometimes it doubles as an invisibility cloak too.
Today my force field is filled with:
Wonder. Playfulness. Silliness. Grounding. Spaciousness. Trust. Experimentation. Curiosity. Discernment. Congruence. Sovereignty. Possibility. Sweetness.
But mainly it’s filled with the culture of me.
This jumbled thing we call culture lives everywhere I go.
I bring culture along with me inside of this circle of me-ness.
The culture of the pirate ship and the Playground and the Kitchen Table and Rally and all of it.
The culture holds me and the force field. The force field holds me and the culture.
And I wear my crown and dance my dance and stomp in my stompy boots. And take my penguins to rally.
This is my force field this morning.
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Thank you so much for being wonderfully, awesomely, unapologetically You.
Wow! I could smell the rolls as soon as you mentioned them!
Sounds like the Rally is going very very well.
Love!
Uummmmm…. fresh rolls. What a wonderful image for your force field. And the penguins. I gotta get me some of those chain-mailed penguins. And maybe a dolphin or two. Oh! And a couple of sea turtles for underneath me! Yeah, Definitely! Love this imagery–thanks for heading me in this direction.
Mmm, freshly baked rolls.
My force field smells like freshly-cut grass. I love that smell.
This was wonderful to read. For one thing, it helped me to remember that I can have a force field, and that I can craft it in any way I choose.
Hmmm timely. Thank you!I got my Dvd today – weeeeeeeee! excited. yes i am.
I need to rebuild my force field. “Just teasing” was a HUGE trigger for me this week.
I’m thinking of an arbor of tomato leaves. Something about their scent — subtle, yet so distinct, and so promising.
And they require what sometimes feels to me like an inordinate amount of water, but why should that be a bad thing?