Ho'oponopono and the Lesson of Dead Tomatoes

I have some planting beds in my backyard, and can grow tomatoes and other delightful treats. The lettuce and basil this year have been wonderful so far too.

Only I went away recently for a homeopathy meeting. During my few days' absence, our Arizona summer arrived with a vengeance.

Seriously, you might leave one day with temperatures in the 80's, and return a couple of days later to 100+. It happens that suddenly here. The air shifts from inviting and warm at noon, to searing the skin from your face.

Imagine you are a tomato plant, trapped in your spot . . . and the drip irrigation fails. Your human isn't there to know it, and the sun beats down full force too. You are toast in short order.

So that is what greeted me when I returned. Dead, brown, sad tomato plants -- yet still bearing some tomatoes. It was eerie; it was as if with their dying gasp, the plants gave up their last red, shiny progeny. "Go forth, make seeds, let us be remembered," they might have been saying.

Or so I imagined. :-)

Perhaps the same can happen with us, without Ho'oponopono or some other regular spiritual practice. For me, Ho'oponopono is like water. Blue solar water, in fact. It helps me connect with Divinity within.

Without that, I am toast.

Consistent practice and meditation are needed, especially the part about working with my inner child (unihipili). In Ho'oponopono, this is the part that contains our memory banks, runs our bodies, and houses our emotions. It is the connecting link between the mother (Uhane) part of us and our higher self (Aumakua), which is always in direct contact with Divinity.

No connection, no juice.

Unfortunately, sometimes I have neglected my inner child, and maybe she looks like the human form of a wilted, dry tomato plant or worse. The connection between us can grow very thin, and this puts us out of rhythm.

I don't know why I don't listen sometimes, or sometimes think I can't spare the time to take care of us.

I do come from a long line of people who lack good self care. Learning to do otherwise is coming only gradually. It doesn't help that I also trained into another group that collectively has poor self-care: physicians. So I slip back into these old patterns sometimes. I hope my unihipili is patient with me when that happens.

"The real Secret," Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len has said, "is that the most important relationship is between the mother and the child. The mother can choose to help them not suffer; she can engage in the data or can teach the child to let go."

"If you don't get the help of the child, the cleaning will not work," Dr. Hew Len continues. "The child holds all the problems, all the memories. It could clean all the time, even when you're sleeping. Encourage the child, say 'I love you.' If the child felt loved by you, it would work with you."

I love when Dr. Hew Len talks about caring for this inner child, and teaching it to let go of data or memories. "The data runs us," he says. "If I wake up with a backache, I can talk to my inner child. 'We're experiencing this backache now -- can we please let go? Let's say 'I love you'", he explains.

From Dr. Hew Len's article, "Who's in Charge?":

When your Soul experiences memories replaying problems, say to them mentally or silently: “I love you dear memories. I am grateful for the opportunity to free all of you and me.” “I love you” can be repeated quietly again and again. Memories never go on vacation or retire
unless you retire them. “I love you” can be used even if you are not conscious of problems. For example, it can be applied before engaging in any activity such as making or answering a telephone call or before getting into your car to go somewhere.

Our inner child can help us with this. But it won't happen unless -- through gentle acknowledgement, care, and concern -- we connect with him or her first. Without this connection, our sense of aliveness dries up -- like my tomato plants without their water in searing summer heat. Thank you, dear memories, for showing up in my self-neglect so I can let go of you. I love you.

I'm planting new tomato plants, with water that will nourish and sustain them.

Peace begins with me,
Pam