I have been fortunate enough to have been reintroduced to my roots lately.
I see the deep, harrowing loneliness and isolation of my childhood and teenage years.
I remember how I would have given all of my reflective capabilities, all of my depth for just a few moments of belonging, of being able to immerse myself in a drunken appreciation of the rowdiness I saw all around me. Instead I saw it all, as through a glass wall, the observations, sensations and emotions around me swirling into my brain. There was a clear eyed, calm voiced witness inside of me that commented on everything, including my own actions and motivations.
This experience of being, through no conscious choice of my own, shut out from the pack, outside of something that everyone else could partake in, left to my own overwhelming sensations and interior landscape, gave rise to this deep yearning to find authentic connection. To somehow explore what I saw, express it, see if I could find someone else who recognized what I was sensing.
As I took a longer walk back from my children’s school this morning, I took time to stay with each footprint in the snow, a drop of water swaying this way and that on a pine branch, the particular scent of bared asphalt and snow that melts when it hits the road.
I see my isolation differently now.
The eyes of self-compassion see myself as an adolescent in a new way. I was practising my future life in a way, those difficult years. Something inside of me knew that my life, my heart path, lay elsewhere. No matter how I tried, I could not fit into that which was not of my soul. Something inside of me was stronger than my will and I just could not squeeze myself hard enough to fit into the tiny space that was offered to me.
Have you ever felt it? That no matter how you try, you just cannot make yourself convincingly fit into the roles offered to you?
My sense of being on the sidelines fills me with this deep silence, a spaciousness that can contain and give birth to new universes. This otherness in me makes it possible to stand the distance between myself and the world. It is also from this gap that connection is born; the active, compassionate, loving reaching out to you, there, on the other side of silence.
The deeper I paint myself into this exploration of self-love and self-compassion, the slower and more silent I become. It doesn’t feel like a punishment, anymore. It feels like coming home.
So I wanted to write a bit,
just a wordy wave,
to you out there,
where ever you are and
wish you a day of self-compassion with all that you live with, today.