We have to feel

I posted a story on Instagram this morning stating that I am about to be ramping up my offering of retreats, not as a way to escape, not as a spiritual bypass so that we only see and feel the pretty parts of the world, rather so that we can tend our nervous systems, come back into relationship with our feeling bodies that we have so often learned to numb in order to not feel the overwhelming pain of the world. I held back tears as I shared, and I felt the need to post this because I also feel odd about marketing retreats when the world feels so tragic at times.

But if we want to change, if we want to see something shift, we have to FEEL, we have to be present, we have to learn to sit with ourselves as we want to vomit from grief, because grief is the other half of live; we have to learn to be with each other’s tears and not look away, because in looking away we can ignore how our actions affect each other.

But we cannot be in despair at all times, and we cannot flip a switch that enables us to hold ALL of this at once. We must work the edges of our nervous systems, stress and rest, activate and settle, just like we work a muscle to help it grow. We must learn to carry more, but to do so we must nourish ourselves. Sleep, nutrition, exercise, connection in safe relationships, enjoyment of the beauty of the natural world.

We must become sensitive to the language of our wise bodies… they have so much information for us. They tell us when it’s too much. Can we honor this message? Can we turn off the screen, go to bed early, call a loved one, stop work at 5pm, hold boundaries in order to recover, in order to come back to what matters with renewed energy, in order to call our representatives, in order to hear the stories of those who have been hurt, in order to show up, in order to be the change we wish to see in the world.

We must slow down and actually listen in order to make space for the hardships AND the love.

Below is a poem about stepping away, and my hope is that we can come down from the watchtower of worry not in order to numb ourselves from pain, but rather to ultimately free ourselves into the actions that enable more collective healing.

Uncivilized

-Laura Carrithers

What if I came down out of my watch tower of worry,

left the watchful room empty,

alone with its great fear,

and bent my head

to the soft landing

of earth below.

What if I were to move away

from the supports and ladder

of the tower of watchfulness

and make my way down the steep

sides of the canyon to the wide river

at its base, press my ear to its surface

till there is no chance of hearing

any sound from the outside world again.

What if I then closed my eyes,

stopped taking notice of whatever of my fear

might have followed me down the ladder

and down to this river,

turned away from the possibility of some

unknown waiting for me in the brush

or behind the patient trees.

What if finally my hands

were not always ready to grip

or push, if the feeling

were all but gone from them

as they grew to hold only

wind and sun, knowing no

resistance or measure,

not even usefulness.

How tragic would it be

if one woman out of millions

were to come out of that nest

the generations built for us,

refuse the food of our time,

and live only for listening.