Wednesday Wish (69); Sleep Your Pig

photo by mookfarm via flickr

The little runt ran around in circles as if he were an over-wound preschool toy. He tried to sniff at little clumps of curious bits, but couldn’t stop long enough to take in a real breath. His skin was pink. His nose was brown. His body all covered in dirt. He grunted as well as any tiny pig might do but wherever he went his wiggles stole the show.

“Would you like to hold him?” said the owner with a smile.

I laughed. “Easier to hold a wet bar of soap on a hang glider.”

“Hey, hey, hold on a minute there. No one ever taught you how to sleep a pig?”

“To sleep a pig…?” I was trying not to let my eyebrows reach too high.

But he was already off to try to capture the little fellow.

I followed.

“Ok, now…watch me when I get him into my hands…” He grabbed him like you might a chicken—two hands, locked down, fighting pure muscle. And then, he moved his hands horizontally so the little pig lay on his side.

“You watchin’ now? I won't be doing it twice…”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m watching.”

And with an itch of the man’s finger to the crick in the little pig’s leg, he went completely limp. Right there in his owner’s hand. He just laid there like a lump of dough.

“Is he dead? What’d you do to him? Can I touch him?”

He was warm. I saw his little belly breathing. But his legs and his head…they were still.

“I slept him, that’s all. In a few minutes he’ll be up and movin’ again. You just have to know where to touch ‘em is all. Easy peezy.”

With just a tickle, but in the perfect place, that hyper little pig had found his peace.

*          *          *

My Wednesday Wish for You?

To find that place that turns you to putty, that loosens your kinks, smoothes your edges and makes you feel like a decadent pot of melted butter. First your mind—let it return to where your heart wants it to go. Where the spikes soften and the worries disappear like smoke. Where the hurdles shrink and the fears forget their hardened faces. Close your eyes. Invite yourself to return with the natural pull of the red magnet, the one that begs you, always, back to your peaceful, contented Self.

And after your mind, then find a feather for your heart. Tickle her just so….just so she really knows you are coming home. Let her slow down. Let her take a new breath. One with scented promises of kinder tomorrows, of gentler beginnings, of sunshine on your nose and a new lightness in your being. Feel her start to smile and maybe even giggle. Tell her she is free to fly deep and wide, and as far as the horizon dares to stretch along the sea.

Find your itch spot. Your happy sink hole. That place that makes you feel as if you are home. Go there. Be there. Dwell there. And watch what unfolds. For you see, every happy sink hole that I’ve ever met has been nothing less than pure magic to me.

Sleep your pig and watch your spirit soar…