Coming Back to Myself
Over the past few months, it has felt as if something within me was missing. I recognize the impossibility of this as I am aware that everything we are is always right here, perhaps some element simply muted or unharnessed. Nevertheless, it felt as if I was missing something - some connection to my sense of spirituality. To trust. To wisdom. To depth. To purpose.
Since the beginning of this pandemic, much of my focus and energy has been pooled in the mind space. I’ve been trying to make sense of a world that appears, now more than ever, to be at war with itself. And in trying to make sense of a world like this, I became entrapped by it. I became caught up in the war, battling for team ‘truth’ over here while the other team fought for their side (a side they refer to by the same name, I might add).
And yet despite something calling for silence, I resisted letting go. I resisted making space to listen - to discover, ‘What is my place in all of this?’
On Sunday, something happened and the controlling mind was left with no choice but to surrender. To tune in.
The Shift
That was the afternoon that something shifted. I attended a day retreat that explored yoga in the morning and breathwork in the afternoon. I had previously experienced a breathwork session with Michelle, and just as that first time, I felt subtle yet profound ripples of insight and clarity wash through me. Grief came and went, after which I was touched with humility, confidence, vision, and a soft current of peace.
For those that have never experienced an intensive breathwork practice, it is difficult to describe what occurs. Three-part breathing through the mouth for upwards of thirty minutes sparks energy flow throughout the body. Different areas tingle and contract according to who we are and what we have going on in our energetic body. The mind that claims control softens as emotions, insights, and messages rise to the surface. Just as things rise, things clear as well.
One vision that rang through with clarity was a sense of my purpose. It did not come like a lightbulb being switched on in a dark room; it was as jf I was now seeing something that had been sitting in a dusty corner all along. Later, I would connect this to an earlier conversation with my partner during which I lamented,
“I don’t know what my purpose is, what my vision is.”
He reminded me then that in fact I did. And yet it seemed that I was grasping for something certain - or for permission perhaps. Perhaps I was waiting to be ‘enough’ in order to feel ‘ready’ to do what I’ve been gifted the skills to do.
And yet during Sunday’s breathwork session, I realized with clarity that my purpose has been with me all along. My gifts have been here all along, even if left unattended - even if left to collect dust in the corner of my soul.
The Calling
Putting into words what I sense my purpose is feels surprisingly difficult despite being a writer. But it comes down to this very act of writing - to this mode of expression. I feel called to share myself as I used to. To pour my heart into words and into poetry. To express the soul as best as I can, and to ask the questions that beg to be asked. In a world that does not unanimously celebrate uncomfortable questions and unconventional lenses of reality, expressing the soul and diving into questions and answers that live within shades of grey seems more important than ever. To my own soul anyway, and perhaps to yours.
And so the calling is for me to express myself - to not shy away from probing life’s complexity, even if that stirs discomfort in some. Part of my purpose is to inspire another seeker’s journey into the dense, dark woods, knowing that in its richness and in its depth, peace, beauty, and life’s fullness await.
The Dusting
I share this as a way of dusting off those neglected skills of sharing my truth - and to inspire anyone who might be reading this to make space for little nuggets of their own truth to rise to the surface. A string of words wove their way through my consciousness last night in alignment with this:
We say we want something different, but do we make space for something different to arise?
In the same way, when we go off in search of ourselves, we might look for new skills or trainings to acquire. We might grasp for something novel, something different, something more. And yet what if we experimented with going for less? What if we tried slowing, stilling, and quieting down, tuning into what is already here? The mind might argue relentlessly at the prospect of this, but the way I see it? This is a matter for the heart. This is a gift to your soul.
For reference