🪺🌀 P.s. I will be traveling for a retreat, so there will not be any notes for the next two weeks. Meanwhile, enjoy this week's Dandelion Note. 💖
I am in the right hand that grasps the iron and hovers over the fabric. I am in the left hand that caresses the creases, feeling the warmth woven into the threads. I am in the soles resting upon the floor, kissing the carpet fibers. I am in the eyes receiving a fragment of light, which the mind has learned as “baby pink,” I am the spaciousness inviting the quiet. A teardrop follows the fleeting image—young me ironing my Dad’s shirt—as I press my husband’s collar. A time gap of twenty years collapses into a moment. And it was gone. A vapor of memory. Evaporated along with the tear.
The desire to express and be heard arises in the space, yet no sound comes out of the open mouth. The eyes turn their longing gaze toward the plushies that had been arranged to face me. Stifled cries are conveyed to the bunnies I have made real, and they meet me with loving compassion. They know. Or perhaps I know through them. Attunement through intermediaries. The space feels thick with a kind and holding presence. White flowy silk enveloping the body, cool while evoking warmth.
Held.
I had split myself into pieces, locked a few in the basement of my consciousness. At times, the land quakes, as they tussle to be freed. Then, the mind blacks out. A disappearing act, it seems. A reset wiping away the images from the previous moment. I cannot help but question the validity and realness of those images. The effect on the body stays though, the subtle muscle clench from the quake. Don’t erase me.
Our legs dangle over the ledge. She flashes a wide grin, pleased that there is another who is willing to sit beside her and enjoy the breeze. The space between us is lightly perfumed with sweetness and harmony. It takes two to feel intimacy—me and little me—present and past coalescing. Then, she vanished. A vapor too, I see. She appeared, and dissolved. But the chance came for her to show up, be seen and known. Her brightness appears on my cheeks. Intimacy dissolves too.
I catch myself grinning sheepishly. I am shy delight.
Do we desire relationships because they offer us a promise of stability in connection, a foothold for our mind to temporarily rest in the provision of boundaries by which to operate? A connection without a relationship in name feels amorphous, akin to our soul without its ego. Our untrained mind cannot rest from the incessant question of “Who am I?”, nor can it allow itself to not know. At times, not having a definite answer induces the doubt of genuineness. The countless permutations run in our mind. Like a gambler seated before the jackpot machine, we keep pulling the lever, in hopes of striking it rich, refusing to call it quits.
Our need for certainty conflicts with our need for connection.
“See you next year,” she said. To my surprise, the hair stylist was aware of my cadence. I started going to her in 2021, and I see her once, at most, twice each year ever since. Do we have a relationship or connection? Will I miss her the day I move out of this neighborhood? I remember how she feels on my soul, and I remember how I feel to myself when I am with her. Consciousness ejects a flash card of the Japanese way of being of a customer, with the phrase, loosely translated, “I am in your care.” The truth in it is palpable, and the respect and dignity in the relationship with a service provider is exceptionally moving today. A haircut is not a life-and-death situation, yet to put myself in someone’s care injects dignity into both. The implied words I take to be are, “I (have chosen to) trust you, your skill and the care I know you’d put into your craft. I convey my needs to you, and now, I place the authority (over my hair), consciously, in your hands. Please take care of me.”
We can be cynical and approach life with doubt, and most of the times, we will be proven right. Because our minds do enjoy being right. For it is more comfortable to be certain. We cast doubt like magic spells to feel safe. We cast it so often that the spell no longer requires an incantation.
This is the first time in my adult life that I have been affirmed for the health of my hair. Just when I am prepared and open to try on a new style that the hair stylist may recommend—99%, they always do—she tells me otherwise. She lops off a significant amount to reduce the weight—and yes, my blow-drying time—but not my overall length. In prior visits, she had suggested dyeing, perming, and various styles, and now, she encourages me to continue with how I have been with my hair. How peculiar. She seems pleased and approving of the health of my hair, while I, simply fascinated. The idea that when something is in good health, we experience the natural desire to keep it as is captivates me. Granted this may not be her experience at all, yet I am pleased, too, by this possibility.
What might the good health of our soul be like? Unlike hair quality or physical body, which the human race has successfully invented technologies to objectively measure its state of being, how do we know when it comes to our soul? And if we know not what a healthy soul is, how do we assess our actions or corrections?
The mind wanders down new alleys that have emerged.
“True self is a myth,” I hear these words escaping my mouth. Surprise follows. More surprise at my nonchalance. I said it as a matter of fact? Yes, I did. Did the preacher just flip the Bible around? I wonder about the statement—thought-lessly uttered—something in me takes it to be true. A newfound truth? An intermediate disclosure of a deeper truth?
Spontaneity brought me to read up the meanings of myth. There are what we commonly know as a widely held but false belief or a traditional story to explain a practice or natural phenomenon, even a story about divine beings. The Greek root of myth excites me too.
Myth is word. Myth is speech. Myth is a story about divine being.
True self is a myth. Now, replace a myth with those words.
🍯 The Dandelion Notes ~ Writer’s Fund
Appreciate this note? Leave a tip or a comment.
You can send your support via PayPal, Venmo @RosslynChay.
New to The Dandelion Notes?
Hello & welcome — I am glad you are here. I am Rosslyn Chay, facilitator, healer, poet—each of these, a very human attempt to mend our fractured relationship with our nature and free the truth of who we are from the weight of our history. The Dandelion Notes are field notes on my attempts.