8/26/2020

Finding the way back

It starts, as David Whyte might say, close in.

Sure, it seems like I can’t figure out the problem. It sure feels like I just don’t have the tools, like I’m somehow not up for the task. Sure, that sense triggers all of the voices — learned to call him the inch worm’ in one of my (many / many / many) men’s group processes. You know the ones (lucky you if not).

You don’t understand.
You’ll never quite understand.
Who, exactly, do you think you are?

It’s tempting to be in this space and assume that this is a problem of knowledge. Of information. Of skill. But, not really. Sure, those things are there, but where does this actually…start? We’ve established that now, haven’t we?

In a moment of clarity (thank Gods for this), I remember the body. What is closer in? I remember the nervous system, and the way that trauma lives inside it. I remember that there are ways back — back to present, back to clarity, back to the humility of knowing what I know and not knowing what I don’t.

I wrap myself in a blanket — giving myself a warm hug from shoulders to belly; as tight as can be. I can feel the edges — ah…the edges! When trauma visits in the infant years, the edges disappear. We fall into an endless abyss. What but fear could survive this space? But the edges provided by a $50 yoga blanket provide what wasn’t provided all those years ago. The possible collapse softens. The edges emerge. There I am.

There I am.

There I am.

It feels nice. So I fall into a deep sleep. First rest in a couple of days.

And, now? The problem feels like less of a problem. I see the tools I have and, more importantly, the willingness to step into what I’m stepping into. I’m in love with the idea once more.

Start with
the ground
you know,
the pale ground
beneath your feet,
your own
way of starting
the conversation.


s_d_p


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