From the time I could walk I needed correction. My legs didn’t face the right way. Bowed legs were adjusted by steel braces that forced the correct position moving forward. My jaw was square. It stuck out just out just like Dad’s. Soon braces went on teeth. A retainer became part of my night routine. To top it all off I had been a muscular toddler. My hair did not grow for six months after birth. Stroller walks with Mom revealed that strangers guessed I was male. “What a sweet little boy!” Mom would diplomatically explain how my hair was just coming in slow. I was female. No wonder I was confused.
We moved a lot when I as little. No one really called much attention to my braces. Except when I went to school. All the unwanted comments and attention occurred at a sleep over. In fifth grade, some weird rite of passage for girls was this tradition. You went to stay overnight with some 20 other girls from your class. I brought my sleeping bag, pajamas, a change of clothes, and a container that held my retainer. It was not enough that under bright light my mouth beamed silver. When I put on my neck brace and attached the retainer, they laughed at me. They took out their flashlights.
In the chaos of things happening, we had a prize for guessing number of jellybeans in a jar. Sadly, I won the guessing. They spent more time laughing about how I would look eating them. I took home the jar. I didn’t even like jellybeans.
At the sleep over I lay awake with hardware in my mouth. I listened to everyone’s breathing. Anytime someone turned over, I woke up. In the morning I was exhausted. I still smiled and thanked our host. My Dad came to pick me up. As I dozed off just on the few minutes home, I dreamed of my bed.
Mom wanted to engage me in conversation. I simply dropped the jellybeans in her hand and told her I needed to sleep. I had tossed and turned all night. I wanted to get her permission. She just went back to dish washing. I didn’t want lunch. She nodded in disappointment. I couldn’t worry about that.
When I got to my top bunk bed, I fell into a deep sleep. Still in my shirt and khaki pants, I floated. In dreaming I went right out of my body. Sliding along the ceiling I slid downstairs and into the kitchen.
The family was laughing and eating. I remember thinking it was okay to just observe. The freedom of floating was unbelievable. I didn’t feel anything around teeth. My neck was bare. I felt air on my skin. No one was watching me. I just watched everyone else.
If you talk to people, who are light workers and spiritual advisors, they say that such experiences are called astral projection. At this time of my life, I am not asking for correction. I don’t know anything more than I felt out of my body for the first time in my young life. All the significant peace and contentment I ever accrued in life came from hearing my own voice in my head in stories, songs, jokes.
I conclude that it is much more fun for you to discover and grow who you are. Correction is dull for me. I’m more interested in floating now.
