All It Takes is One — sara lynn lashbrook

These are the words that came to me. The words that have profound meaning and deep implications.

All it takes is one.

I meet this on many levels. Through many lenses and various perspectives.

The power of one is not new, it is just that it is showing up for me in interesting ways. As life has a way of doing.

I found a louse in my hair. One.

One louse. Now, most people think of lice, meaning more than one, but I only had one. A louse. I reminded myself of mice and mouse. Oh, okay, I see. It is like that. Which reminds me of this story:

Right before I go away, to travel or leave for a period of time, I like to clean my house/space. There is something peaceful and calming that I experience when I walk into a space when I have not been there for a while. Gone are the traces of stuff that happened before, wiped away are the lingering reminders of what once was. I also like to wash my sheets, so when I get home, I can shower and crawl in to a clean bed.

Which is what I planned to do in March 2019. I was preparing for a trip that would have me away for a couple of days. I cleaned my house, changed my sheets and had my space ready for my arrival.

After I walked in and showered, I pulled back the cover of my well loved and worn quilt to discover mouse poop on my pillow. MOUSE POOP ON MY PILLOW. I was so grossed out. Of all the places, they had crawled into my bed and were hanging out, leaving their shit behind- ON MY PILLOW. It was late when I got home, I was tired and this added a whole lot more work to my evening. I was getting angry and worked up, didn’t they know that I had to work in a few hours. And then I thought, if there was one, there had to be more. Where were they coming into my cabin from, how did they get in and where else had they been?

It took days to discover they had been coming in through the hole that the internet provider made to give me access to the outside world. See, I had been living in a A-Frame cabin, steps from the wilderness boundary. And the whole first winter I lived there, I lived in a supportive, nurturing nest, or a dark cave. I had my cd player and journals. My closest ‘signal’ was a 15-minute drive.

Back to the mice. I found that they had made a nest in my drawer, chewed the foam from my ski goggles, were taking refuge in my ski helmet and storing up food for a warm, cozy winter in my cabin with me.

Which, really, I would have been fine with. I can co-habitate with many things, until you enter a space of mine that is sacred, special, intimate- which in this case was my bed and at the time, other personal belongings and it felt like an intrusion. They came without me knowing, without me saying yes.

As most things do.

So, when I learned that I had been in a home where lice were and that they were still being found, even after my head had been checked by a professional, I decided to look for myself.

And there, bent over at the waist, with my hair dangling down as I combed my hair, a louse flicked out. A louse.

All I could think of is, All is takes is one.

I combed and combed. I dry combed for 50 minutes. Getting each strand and looking closely with a magnifying glass, locating the nits that were attached, holding on to my shafts of hair as if their life depended on it. I used the special shampoo. I wet combed. I used conditioner. I used oil.

All the while thinking, this one louse, she has been busy. Very busy.

And all it takes is one. The ability to multiply, to spread, to invade, to take over. All it takes is one.

And this time, I brought it into my home!

I laughed; I began to laugh as I witnesses myself turn into a fierce warrior. This louse, she came without my consent. She chose to take up residency on my head and began making plans for a prolonged stay.

No thank you, I thought. This is not how this works.

I know from my time in my practice that it takes work, energy, effort and commitment to rid myself of these invasive thoughts, the ones what dig in and feed off of me, that grow from becoming attached to the root. And now, this was happening on my head, rather than in my head and I was not having it. NOT HAVING ANY OF IT.

All it takes is one to spread. To take over. To infest.

And this is what was upon me. I could see this playing out, the potential for it to take over. Not only on my physical head, but inside as well.

The questions and stories kicked in. I was cleared lice free by the professional, how did one get on my head? From a pillow, from the couch?

And then, “What are you going to do about it?”

Right, this is here. This is upon us. So, what am I going to do about it?

That is the question. What am I going to do about it? What action am I going to take? How am I going to show up?

I got busy. Really busy. I got busy doing. So busy that if I questioned my willpower, my commitment, my stamina here was the answer. I washed everything. I combed my hair out, not once, three times a day. I read and learned. I scoured for every piece of information and detail that would help me. It seemed as if I was on the verge of being obsessed. As my mom saw me, crouched down, bent over combing, she shared, “this is your new ritual.” Yes, it had become that. Morning. Midday. Night. I was committed. Committed to ridding myself of these potential ‘itchy feeders’ that came without my consent and had planned to take up residency.

Things I could not wash I placed on the highest heat setting for 45 minutes in the dryer. This is important to note because when I opened the dryer door I saw a black zipper. Hum, I thought. What is this from? My travel packing cubes that I also washed? Then, I got my answer as I pulled out my jacket, or what was left of it. Pieces that had been cut, one held together by glue at the seams to comprised a jacket, was now held by a few major points, leaving the jacket to have lots and lots of spaces, open spaces, spaces that were once held together by glue, now not.

Which had me delighted to pieces. The nits had a certain gluelike substance to hold on to, to attach to the root of the hair shaft and oil or conditioner was suggested to get them to slide off. In the yog-vedanic tradition, during our fire ceremonies or yagyas, we pour oil on the seeds that we offer to the fire, the seeds infused with our intentions of letting go, all that which we do not want to take root so they cannot grow. And here, at the highest heat setting in the dryer, the glue that held the seams together was melted away. All of this while I was working with the element of FIRE. I know, I cannot make this up.

This is what I wrote in my sadhana journal:

This lice was trying to live off me- without my consent! I am no longer a host. Not having it. I have become a fierce warrior to stop their spread and invasion. And I am exhausted, it requires so much work. And then I soften + surrender… this too is part of it. This grace that accompanies the fierce action.

There is this notion of coming undone. (Just now, I took a break from writing this piece to get more laundry from the dryer and this time, my button came off of my pants.) Literally, the things that hold together, that bond, bind, attach, fasten, close are coming apart, coming undone, no longer attached.

And I am reminded of the words I heard when I watched the ocean. She offered me,

“If we are going to hold on to anything, anything at all, Hold On To Love.”

This mirrors the words I head Krishna Das share last night. He was speaking, sharing that is it not about becoming detached, it is about becoming attached to love. Latching and holding on to love.

Ah, so. As within, as without. What is being shown on the outside is also being mirrored on this inside.

So, it is from this place of deep love, this space of commitment to myself and my well-being, that I am aware that all it takes is one.

All it takes is one to throw me off. All it takes is one to create a brood, an infestation, a full blown spread and take over. And this one was connected to my hair at its root.

AND

All it takes is one to bring it all back. To come to center. To come to the heart. To meet myself at the center, my heart. To listen to my heart. To hear its call, to heed its call. To turn away from the outside chaos, the attempts to pull us in all different directions, to plant seeds of worry and fear. To turn in to our heart. To tend and cultivate the soil, the rich, nourishing soil where things take root and grow.

We can plant weeds and wonder how did they take over and we can plant seeds with intention and tend to them, cultivate and nourish them and they too will eventually grow and spread and take over.

And sometimes, if we are not paying attention, someone else plants the weeds, the thought and it becomes intrusive, invasive. It spreads, it grows, it becomes ground cover blocking the light for those seeds that we want to grow. And it is with our practice, it is with my practice where I tend to myself, my inner garden, and I catch the thoughts, the ideas, the notions, the stories, the views of me and the world that were planted by others, that I allowed others to plant in me. I see them, I tend to them. I uproot them. I rid myself of them, for they no longer have a place or space within me.

While I love weeds, and I do not see them as bad or wrong, in the case of this metaphor, I am choosing to plant intentional seeds and I am aware of where the seeds come from, where they are taking root and what they are feeding off of. This is work, to tend to my inner garden. My garden within. But if I do not do it, who will?

All it takes is one.

And that one is me.

Grateful for the gift of the louse who provided me the opportunity to see.

One breath.

One moment.

One seed.

Hari Om,

PS. Today marks day 9 since I learned of the louse. I followed the protocol with steadfast commitment, clearing my hair of the nits and not allowing them to spread. I am grateful for my inner knowing and myself for noticing the signal to check my head. And am celebrating my dedication to catching an invader, who latched on without my consent and stopping it in its tracks, not allowing it to take root and spread. For I know, our beliefs and habits keep us the same, so I am committed to change.