I’m having a really hard time putting into words any of my internal musings of these last weeks. And it’s not for lack of musings. I’ve been stewing in a strong brew of self-healing since returning from my southwest road trip for my one-year shamanic studies program. The healing work has included uncovering needs and childhood wounds and their impact on my intimate partnership. Subsequently, I recently traveled to Peru and spent about 11 days on my first dieta with the Shipibo. While there, the self-healing and partnership work continued with heart-opening lessons around trust.
Ironically, it’s hard to pinpoint one thing to write about as the work has been so deeply personal. Yes, I could tell you about trust (of self and others). I could tell you about uncovering unmet childhood needs, attachment theory, and the impact on one’s primary partnership. I could tell stories of the jungle. I could muse about my soul’s inclination to wander and chart a new path forward. All of which is deeply present for me.
But for some reason, I’m having a hard time taking any of this and putting it into something worthwhile to read. It’s as though it’s not quite ready to come out of me in this format yet. Even though, if you showed up to sit down and have a conversation with me I could share a thread here and there based on what I felt resonated most for you. But without that resonant thread, nothing feels like it wants to be shared.
It makes me wonder, how do I create that feeling of intimate conversation in my writing? When is what I’m sharing meant for the whole world to hear versus when is it meant for only you, sitting on the other side of this screen, to read in the privacy of your inner space?
I’m an intimate person. My best musings, most profound insights, and deepest wisdom emerge within small containers like in a tightly held back and forth between me and a friend. In a place and space where nuance can be picked up on, subtleties are welcome, and attention and presence fertilize and nourish the emergent threads. How do I create the safety of small containers with my writing?
It is about safety. Right now the learnings of my heart feel tender. They require a warm, soft, and safe place to come out from hiding. They have to know that they’ll be seen in their truth without the warped perception, judgment, and projection of others. I can’t control how other people perceive me and what I share. And yet, the musings of my heart and soul nearly demand clear receptivity as a prerequisite for sharing.
What surfaces for me now is the truth that in reality, it’s me who has to give this to myself. I’m the one who must honor these tender parts of self. I’m the one who must generate a container of safety and security. How?
What I know is that it starts with honesty. The honest truth. When I speak truthfully one small word or phrase at a time then truth will naturally be elicited from another. Like weaving a tapestry. I speak my tender truth in brief. Will you respond in kind with tender, truthful resonance? Resonance then gifts a small amount of safety. Then another nugget of tender truthfulness feels willing to emerge. And the back and forth continues.
I need to sit with this more. I sense there’s something here that points to a deeper and more honest and truthful way of being for me. Similarly, I need to sit with this tenderness that’s still very much present and the safety it needs.
What’s alive in me today? My tender vulnerabilities. The inquiry of safety and security. Truthfulness and honesty. Intimate conversation. And the inspired, deeper contemplation: how do I create deeply intimate containers for the raw, authentic, and honest truth to emerge with utter gentleness and safety?