For my birthday, my kid recorded The Velveteen Rabbit onto a CD. As I listened to it, first amazed at the pristine clarity, inflection and heart in her voice (this could be a new career for her), I started to remember that I’d forgotten the story. As the threads of the story’s tapestry unfolded and I met the characters one-by-one, the story took shape, the boy took ill with Scarlet Fever, and the Velveteen Rabbit was lying in a pile of discarded books and toys, at the back of the shed behind the house, waiting to be burned. And I was breathless to hear the ending.
A theme for my yoga classes leapt into my heart but my mind was struggling with it. What makes us Real? Where does our authentic voice live? From where is our Truth born?
The nursery horse answered the rabbits question that someone needs to love you to be real. “Boy’s uncle made me real,” he said. When Nana’s failure to tidy the nursery yielded Velveteen Rabbit a quick substitute for Boy’s bedtime toy of choice, love blossomed. Bunny was made real. I struggled here. There is a part of us that feels real (the boy) but that part isn’t the Heart of us. We can feel real by our choice of education, grades we make, places we work, people we knit into our heart. Vacation memories recorded in the books of our lives. They’re real but are they Real?
Luckily, Bunny grew very sad (just wait!) waiting in the pile of discarded toys to be burned. He cried. A real tear fell from his eye onto the ground and where it landed, an indescribably beautiful flower grew. This flower grew into the Nursery Fairy. (more…)