Begin Again
There will be countless trials and tribulations that greet us in our life. Two steps forward, one step back. Or sometimes, few steps forward, many steps back. I now have a new name for this—the Spirit Dance. At various junctures, we will be challenged. (As an aside, if you do not enjoy dancing, this movement may result in an arduous experience of life.) We can view these challenges as misfortunes, karma, tests, blessings, etc. or simply not make any meaning out of them, and continue dancing. Perhaps the latter phrase may bring up some reactivity in you. To ask that we not make meaning may pose a greater challenge. Our minds want to know and figure things out. For many people, we need to find meaning in our suffering. And sometimes, in our anguished search, our mind subconsciously makes meaning out of its own interpretations. What caused…? What does it say about me? What does it say about them? How do I…? Essentially, in not accepting suffering as a part of our human condition, we keep trying to answer the question, “Why me?”
What if it is not about you? Never was. Will that lead to something else that may be harder to swallow? Would you rather be insignificant and live with ease, or self-important by making it about you? I just laid a polarity here for you. It is one of the rabbit holes our mind can get lost in.
What if all your trials are acts of love and providence by something greater? Curse or blessing, the revelation comes in time. Do not get too hung up on that.
Of course, like Rilke writes, “Do not assume that he who seeks to comfort you now, lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good.” Remember, I am spirit-dancing with you—expanding and contracting, breaking apart and reconstituting.
In fact, I am feeling vulnerable and shaky now. If you have read my previous note, you may surmise that I was in an expanded state. I was experiencing myself as bright, open, soft, and full. A few days ago, I received news that shocked my entire system. It was less about the nature or content of the news. Rather, it was delivered when I was in an open and vulnerable state being in-retreat. The impact of the shock on an innocent and undefended heart shattered my soul in some way. Hauntingly beautiful, to consciously experience and witness the fragmentation I had undergone as a child, and my body still shudders. For that entire afternoon, post-shock, I felt disoriented and dispersed. My chest felt tensed; my solar plexus, being gripped tight; my stomach, sour and acidic. I could not even squeeze out a tear. System shutdown. Human instinct at its finest. While my sense of self was being blown apart by the shock, my body had locked my vital parts (heart and stomach) in efforts to preserve itself.
There was a silver lining though. I was no longer that child. My inner work thus far has served me. I was still aware despite being locked down in my body, and fortunately, I remembered to breathe. I had lost the sense of my legs too. I knew I had no means to support myself without another, and I was in need of kindness and ground. Yes, shock needs a gentle presence and grounding to support its gradual release. Fortunately too, I could speak and ask for help. I was able to work briefly with my teacher who supported me in settling. Over the next couple of days, tears flowed now and then. My system was thawing, relaxing its hold. More presence returned.
Am I anywhere near the state I was two weeks ago? Not at all. And I do not have to be. Every state offers something to be digested and learned. My attention is scattered every few minutes; it is harder to anchor in my belly, so I move slower. Tears fall involuntarily out of the blue without a story. My process seemed to have been set backward by several steps this time. I am still here, awake to what is happening. My system has reset and is taking the time it needs to feel safe again. And it calls for me to be my gentle guardian.
You see, this is part of growth too. Learning what is truly important; learning to wait; learning to nurse and nurture; learning to guide and protect. In some way, we are invited to practice, and become the parents that we once needed. We are invited to truly become an adult who will watch over us. When we fall or falter, we squat to our level, sweep the dirt off us, and with a gentle embrace and guiding hand, say, “It’s okay, darling. No hurry. When you are ready, we will begin again.”
And begin again, I will.
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Hello & welcome — I am glad you are here. I am Rosslyn Chay, an inquirer, poet, and coach. The Dandelion Notes are field notes on my process and learnings through my human journey as I go on a quest to mend our fractured relationship with our nature.