Spontaneity and Withholding, A Paradox

Things feel that they are opening up for me. Feeling lighter. Allowing laughter and dance in. Moving the way my body wants to move.

It’s been a bit of a go, these past weeks, months. This space that has been holding me since mid-October feels like it is loosening its grip, its bind and I am able to move again.

There have been a few thoughts that have been percolating that feel relevant to share here, for me to leave traces of that which has been unfolding and undoing, for me to arrive here in this space, to greet this which is arising.

I have a jade plant. It was gifted to me as a thank you from someone who I mentored while I was teaching. Over the years it has grown, the one stem birthing more. I have had this plant next to my bed and I noticed that it began growing towards my altar rather than towards the light of the window.  Around this time last year, a stem died off. I noticed that it became wrinkly and stopped growing. I cut off that part. The same thing happened with a different stem in December. And again, this week.

I brought the plant downstairs. My intention was to cut off the stem that was shriveling up and place it in water to see if that would support its growth and rejuvenation. My mom took one look at it and shared that it looked like it needed a bigger pot.  My dad said that he had soil outside and they both recommended to use the pot I had grown marigolds in this summer.

I took my plant outside, prepared the pot for its new inhabitant and lifted the jade plant. The soil was dry and brittle, the roots were in a tight ball.  All resembling that the plant received what it was able from this space. The soil offered its nourishment and nutrients, the plant received. Now, it appeared ready to move to a new environment, receive new soil, nutrients, nourishment. An opportunity for more growth.

Mirroring for me to accept that which once was. Acknowledging the death, the drying up, that which once supported my nourishment and ability to thrive. And welcoming new.

I have also been dancing. Literally dancing. I have been dancing back and forth, in a dance with acceptance and resistance, being fluid and resisting, being open and being closed. I have been sitting with the idea of my practice, my commitment, my fixed mindset and feelings of have to and get to alongside the of feeling like I have to do things certain ways. And a softness came, a softness that came on an invitation to move the way my body wanted to move. To move rather than sit. My body has not wanted to sit, it wants to walk, to move, to dance. So, I have been going on long walks and I have been dancing.

I made a commitment to dance with myself and whoever else is interested in joining me, at least once a day. One dance. One song. Each day.  It is fun. Fun. So fun to move the way my body wants to move. The way my body hears the music, the way my body receives the music. The way the music invites my body to move.

I have danced in the sun, with my shadow, in the light of the candle, inside, outside, on the grass, on the concrete, in my bedroom, in the kitchen, barefoot, with shoes on, in the tent, during the day and at night. I have danced alone. I have danced with friends. I have danced with my nieces. Dancing. And it feels so good.

I have also been laughing. A lightness feels as if it is upon me. Catching me by surprise. In delight. Spontaneously. From jokes, to life’s experiences, being giddy and silly. Laughing. And it also feels so good.

A few months ago, I watched a documentary called Good Night Oppy, on Netflix. Within the opening moments something happened that resonated so deeply. So deeply.  Oppy was traveling along on the surface of Mars and then it stopped. It sent a message to NASA on earth to share why it stopped. “I’ve detected a hazard.” NASA replied, “Go ahead, Oppy, it is only your shadow.” Oh my. The shadow as a hazard. This resonates so deeply. Shadow as a hazard. Something that makes one stop and no longer proceed.

Oh, the shadow aspects. The ones I do not want to look at. Do not want to be with. The ones I have ignored and turned away from. This is what this past cycle, this cycle that I have been with since mid-October has me engaged with. This stuff that I am tired of seeing, dealing with, having to deal with, face, encounter. I am tired. Exhausted.

While I have bouts of deep, healing, rejuvenating sleep I am also encountering hours of wakeful, mind racing, unable to stop thoughts running.  Sometimes these thoughts leave me breathless and sobbing, wondering why am I here. What more is needed and necessary for me to do, to endure.

And I am reminded that it hurts when the hooks go in, it also hurts when the hooks are removed.

I am also reminded that there is no one outside of me making this hard, making me, making anything. No. There is only me. My stories, my experiences, my interactions, my projections, my baggage. Life is not out to get me. Neither is anyone else for that matter. No one, being, experience, moment is out to get me. None of them are bad or good.

I’ve been exploring this place of judgment. Of thinking, wanting things, events, encounters, people to be a certain way, to unfold in the way I want, in the time I want, within the parameters that feel good and safe, in a way when I am in control.

When I am in this space, thinking that my way is better or wondering if really folks are doing the best they can my thoughts heavy with judgement. These feelings of better than cloud my compassion and acceptance of others, anyone other than me being themselves and my ability to meet them exactly where they are at.

I see how this is mirroring what is on the inside, as I too have been asking myself, is this your best? Are you stepping up, stepping in and taking action? Or are you shying away, avoiding and making excuses?

I am reminded that the times when I feel most alive, excited, surprised and engaged are the ones in which I have had no idea, no plan, no thought, no control. The spontaneous moments have always been the ones that I cherish, the ones I want more of. The spontaneous moments that arise from my full participation and engagement, from a space of presence and co-creation. Meeting the moment in the moment and greeting what it is offering for me to sit with, be and receive.

This is not always easy though, as I have a strong tendency to be in control. Control for me is a way to curate moments and environments so I can show up and feel safe to be, not on edge of hypervigilance.  Letting go of the need and desire to control, the stories that have led to my feeling that I have to control are interconnected and woven in with safety and protection, both of which are dear friends, loyal companions with wanting to know.

Ah, wanting to know. The constant running of my mind, its questions and incessant desire to know.

I was introduced to “fog vision” the other day. I have referenced fog and fog that surrounds, clouding and obstructing my view. And then I heard a different perspective that got me thinking as fog being supportive. Fog as a friend rather than a foe. Fog as an ally.

Fog allowing me to see that which is relevant for me to see. Fog which focuses my attention on the near objects, the ones that are in view. Rather than all of the other stuff -the stuff that is “beyond” and on the “other side.” What is that anyway? This notion of other side, beyond the veil. This is what often gets me tripped up. That there is more to what is unfolding that I cannot see. In some way I receive this as me not being worthy or good enough to “see beyond” or “know” the larger picture and purpose… So I am working on accepting the fog in support of where I am and what I am doing, rather than something that obstructs and blocks. Rather than something that is withholding. 

Withholding. This is a notion that appears, that comes as I write. Withholding. This is something that is arising and coming to the surface through this writing. Withholding. As if someone, something, somewhere out there, anywhere other than here is doing something that is stopping, blocking, hindering me.

This notion that there is some sort of separateness. That I am separate. Not a part. Not included. Not on the inner loop or know. Not on the inside. That I do not have access.

Isn’t this a paradox. A conundrum of sorts. Here I am, typing in this same piece, saying that I love spontaneity, the pleasure that arises from being surprised and meeting the moment in the space of the unknown while simultaneously feeling there is stuff that I am supposed to know and that it is being withheld from me.

This is something to sit with. To be with.

Hum. Interesting. I am going to be with this. Allow myself to sit with this. To see what else wants to arise in this. To meet what is being offered here.

Sitting with you in this.

With a hug,
S