The first one or two wishes that I wrote were easy to write. They were straight forward wishes and I could look easily at myself and write about what I wanted. Confidence. Perseverence. Self-control. All easily asked for and all obvious needs.
This time I feel like I am being asked to see the small frightened creature, the soft inner animal, that resides within - deep deep within my body, hiding from the world, hidden in among the curls of my intestines, making its home near the beating of my heart; feeling the whishing and swishing of blood through my veins, hearing the thump-a-thump of my heart all the day and night with every breath that I take. It holds one frightened hand on my heart and squeezes every time I try to take a bold step forward making my blood pressure rise and my fight or flight response kick in.
I am afraid to look too closely at this creature inside me. I am afraid if I shine the light too brightly upon it, it will become blind with rage and anger and frustration and dig more deeply into my bowels hiding from my probing thoughts. And what is the point anyway? What does that little frightened creature want? Apparently it doesn't want to be seen, it doesn't want to be out in the light. It hides. It is ashamed. It is fearful. It clings to what it already knows and does not wish to be challenged to try something new because it might fail. It might not be so perfect. It might not be so proud of itself.
Or is it sitting inside my being, nagging me to move forward. Needling me from within to try something new. Is that little creature the one who tickles my stomach when I get nervous, and jumps up and down on my heart to pump it up and get it beating faster and faster until I have to speak, to sing, to write, saying what is truly within me? Is it that little creature within me that goads me on to new things?
How do I feed that little creature within? What does he seek that will make my life better? I know if I feed him the steps toward being a better musician, a better singer, a better friend, a better writer, a better mother and daughter, in small bites he hums gently within me. It is only when I think of taking those giant steps forward that he groans and moans and wails, sinking his claws into my innards and making me stop my forward movement to regain my ability to breathe.
So, what does my soft inner animal wish for? I guess both of us are wishing for small and true steps toward the greater goal of being better at what I love: A better writer, a more creative and thoughtful person, a more confident musician and singer.