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Dec 122014
Reading Time: 4 minutes

Friday Story

The Healing Tears


healing-tearsShe was seating under a willow tree, remembering what he had said. How could he had been so cruel?

A tear ran through her cheek. Normally, she would have wiped it out and played strong. But her pain was too great to contain it. She did not want to contain it.

“Let it flow,” she thought. “Let it run through me and overflow. Let it flood my life. Let it pour from me into this earth. Mother, take my pain and heal me.”

At that moment the place transformed itself. There was a shift in light and the colors began to glow brighter than ever.

The wind stopped blowing and everything was quiet. The birds stopped singing. The leaves stopped moving.

Yet, there was a leaf in the rose bush in front of her that kept moving.

It moved steadily, while everything remained still.

It caught her attention and she forgot about her pain.

“Finally!” the leaf said in a soft, tiny voice. “At last you allow your tears to flow. I thought you’d die with the poison inside.”

“What… what do you mean?” she asked.

“You’ve been carrying a truck load of old, poisoned emotions,” the leaf said. “And we’ve been trying so hard to help you release it!”

“Are you saying that you made this happen?” she accused.

“Don’t ruin the healing,” the leaf warned.

“I don’t understand,” she stammered, realizing that she was indulging her proclivity to blame others as a way to use her favorite coping mechanism: struggle.

“Haven’t you read enough fairy tales?” the leaf laughed in a soft cacophony. “Tears have magical healing powers.”

“I thought that was a fantasy,” she rebuke.

“No, it’s an archetypal truth,” the leaf replied. “And those have a big grain of reality in them, if you are willing to see it.”

“So why do you say that I’m ruining the healing?” she insisted.

“Tears have healing power, but only when they are the expression of true pain and sadness,” the leaf explained. “When they are made of soap operas and dramas that mask your truth, they add poison instead of clearing your toxins.”

She breathed deeply and a long sigh escaped her chest.

“I didn’t know that leaves could talk,” she said, smiling softly.

“Oh, but I am not a leaf!” the leaf said.

“You are not?” she asked skeptically.

“No more than you are a victim,” the leaf said.

“I am not a victim,” she protested, angrily wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“You think you are not, but here you are seating in the place of the Victim,” the leaf said.

“I am not!” she argued. “I am seating under the willow.”

“You are seating in your old soap opera, blaming others so that you can get angry with them for how they wronged you, so that you can focus your energy in fighting them instead.”

She lower her head. She’d been read.

“Instead of what?”

“Instead of allowing your tears to cleanse the poisons, the old toxins gathered in years of repeating the same pattern… and once the poison is cleared out of your system, finding out how you keep bringing it back in every new relationship.”

“Ouch that hurts!” she whispered. Her heart was pierced with a lance of light that transversed it all the way to the back.

“Good. Bring back your healing tears and let them run,” the leaf said. “The Earth can drink them without damage to itself.”

Big copious tears ran through her cheeks.

She cried and sobbed and howled with pain.

The pain of lies. The pain of betrayal. The pain of callousness. As she cried this pain, she felt deeper layers of pain underneath. The pain of abandonment. The pain of rejection. The pain of conditional love, a love that she had to earn by sacrificing pieces of herself.

“Brilliant!” the leaf said. “Now you can look at the pieces of yourself that you have been sacrificing in this relationship.

She opened her mouth in amazement.

“How…how can you possibly know?” she asked. “I myself did not know!”

“Oh, but we did!” the leaf said. “We’ve been watching over you for a long, long time.”

“You? The leaves?” she laughed even in the midst of her tears. It seemed funny.

“Why not the leaves?” the leaf replied, and it leaped into the wind.

“You have wings!” she shrieked in delight.

“Of course,” the leaf said in a tiny laughter. “I am Butterfly.”

And it was then she saw the wings fully unfold into bright greens and incandescent crimson.

“The butterflies have been watching over me?” she wondered. “Why?”

“Why not?” Butterfly said. “You are one of us.”

“I am?” she said. “How is that possible?”

“Now that your tears have healed you and cleansed you of old poisons, can you feel your true colors?”

At that moment, she unfolded.

She released her long spine, stood tall under the willow and extended her arms.

She felt a strong urge to dance and as she did, she felt her wings opening, her colors illuminating the world.

“Welcome, Butterfly Woman!”

A flight of butterflies danced around her.


The End… or just the Beginning


If you want to unfold into Butterfly Woman, join my Butterfly Waves Movement.

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About Maria Mar

Maria Mar is a Sacred Storyteller and shaman who champions you to change your old limiting story to create the new story of your brilliance illuminating the world. She helps you awaken your magic, express your creative genius, embody your purpose and live your potential now.

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