Ablaze
Leaning into the flame of life
Dear one,
The hearth still blazes in my consciousness. Hot-pumping blood of courage and aliveness paving the path for a burst of sunshine. Warm belly, joyous heart.
“Well, with the red and yellow, you get orange, that’s celebration.” Shared Teacher C yesterday.
“You were radiating orange.” He continued.
What is freshly emerging for me right now? What wants to be written today? — These are the two guiding questions in approaching my Dandelion Notes. I begin writing (by hand) every Monday, shaping, editing, and formatting them on Tuesday, then sending them out on Wednesday.
Mondays are set aside for my spiritual practice, in which I enter a sacred space with myself through sitting, writing, and sensing. I have allowed some flexibility in my recent Monday afternoons to support scheduling with peers, but I continue to fiercely protect my mornings. How about you, dear one, is there a time and space you religiously create and hold for yourself?
A candle is a candle, burning or not. It ceases to be one once it is exhausted by its fire. It can stay almost forever as a candle as long as it does not contact the flame. But its purpose is to burn, and this purpose remains a potential till it is lit.
What will you choose if you are a candle? To ignite and live your purpose, or remain intact as potential forever?
In a recent session with my client, we talked about selfishness. Many of us, like her, grow up with the misperception that taking up time or space is selfish. We were taught to be generous — give the bigger share to others, offering even our time, space, and energy. In the habitual and mechanical giving of our time, we lose ownership of our own lives and we long for freedom.
We may not be aware of the full import of our actions, but our time, energy, and attention are our birthright. We do not have to wait till we are 70 or 80 to earn the right to our time. When we use one hour of our time, that is one hour of our life. If we have 4000 weeks (as shared in Oliver Burkeman’s book), that is 672,000 hours. Perhaps an hour in 672,000 hours seems negligible, but consider its compound effect when we are unconscious of how time flows through us and where our attention goes in that duration.
Leaning into the flame, she ignited.
Omg! I am here!!!
My gratitude for life shifted to a less familiar experience — elation.
Is this what it is like to celebrate life?
Drinking air heartily, she burns.
I do not want to wait for others to celebrate my life when I rest as ashes. I want to celebrate life, the life swelling in me. Also, the life trickling through when my structures are activated and constricting its flow. I write in celebration of the well that I am, trusting the river that flows through me. When it flows, there is always change and freshness. And when I find myself repeating stories or experiences, there is frozen life within calling for my attention, desiring to flow.
In celebration of her light, she burns.
There was a time when I felt tired of writing about my mother. I could not understand why even with years of work, she still shows up in my words. Then I realised that when she shows up, a new aspect is revealed to me each time.
“Mother-issues are the mother of all issues.” Teacher M said.
Daryl once asked, “Must we always return to our childhood to understand our reactivity?” Yes and no. Yes, we want to trace back to our initial occurrences and experiences when we first encountered an aspect of ourselves and what we believed we should be in relation to the other. No, we are not returning to the past for the sake of accountability or assigning blame. We explore our relationship with our first caregiver — most likely our mother or a mothering figure — because that is the first relationship we experienced and held, which continues to shape and influence how we relate to others when we are unaware. The infant being so open, sensitive, and impressionable, learns in its body and soul (even before its cognitive functions are fully developed) about the self in relation to the other through the mothering figure.
Reveling in her existence, she burns.
Using my own example, my mother had a pretty stressful time with me in the first year. She had once told me of a period of time when I would not stop crying throughout the night no matter how hard she tried to comfort me. My father had to be away for military duties while my paternal grandmother was upset with her for having given birth to a girl, so there was no one supporting her. Since my father was the eldest son, the desired outcome was for a boy to carry on the family name.
With this snapshot, I am seeing what a challenge it would have been to celebrate my life. And in present times, it is also an area of work for me to consciously self-remember and celebrate.
I will never have a chance to hear from my mother the entirety of her experience, but as I work on myself, through inquiries, I have been able to catch glimpses and feel what was going on in her through my early experiences. We were after all very enmeshed, merged, and my work has been to feel and discern what was hers and what is mine so as to individuate.
With each layer of unpacking, more insecurities were revealed, along with more love. The deep love from my mother, shrouded by her own structures, resulted in over-compensation, which landed in painful ways for me.
Boldly and brightly, she burns.
“What’s right about not feeling your natural aggressive life force?” My inquiry partner asked.
“I will not be that pretty, quiet girl of hers. I will be separated from my mother.” I responded.
But I never was and never will be her idea of perfection. I was never meant to be. It was never my responsibility. It is mine, however, to become me.
And I am here.
Still here, despite all.
Still here, just because.
I am here — in my nervousness,
Sweaty palms, and speechless,
And here.
Naked and burning, before you.
The Invitation
It is vulnerable to open ourselves to life. At the same time, there is a cost to staying closed. As we honor where we are finding ourselves, I invite you to also consider:
What will you give to ignite and live your purpose?
What will support you in opening 1% more today, to stand at the edge and feel yourself trembling just for a second longer?
May you stay close to your flame.
That’s all for today’s Dandelion Note. If this sparked any new discovery about yourself that you wish to share, please write to me at hello@rosslynchay.me. And please share with people you know who might enjoy this read.