at first i wasn’t quite sure what i was feeling. now i can sort of name it: exhausted. but not quite. there are threads of overwhelm attached. a dash of the unknown. fear. loneliness. confusion. excitement.
emotions are messy. humans are messy.
truly the words assigned to the feeling don’t matter so much. i wonder whether my drive to communicate & explain how i’m feeling is sometimes a way to protect myself from feeling it. (yes- the question so often begets the answer). but i’m aware of it and always recalibrating and that’s what matters. that’s how we (or at least i) learn.
at some point in the past few years i briefly took on the conditioning that intellect is in some way “bad” or “inferior” to intuition/feeling. but the truth is,
we need both. they inform each other. we live in a world in which communication is necessary and rewarding and has the potential to create great depth. and intellect offers a way of translating that which often seems ineffable into a relatively tangible form - words on paper or a conversation with a friend or lover or a song or a painting. it is in our nature to desire connection through shared/sharing experience.
communication is an art. a balance. intellect can only go so far before it begins responding with the same patterns to a situation that likely does not warrant them.
creativity is innate and necessary for our evolution - for our ability to transcend our conditioned responses.
when we don’t allow ourselves to feel & experience the truth of what is present in our bodies, we limit our ability to respond from a place of integrity to the truth of our hearts and instead default to the conditioned response. because yes, creativity can be terrifying. vulnerable. showing your true colors is a greater risk than showing what is and has always seemed “safe.” not that lying to yourself and everyone else is safe in the least. honesty and safety are inextricably linked.
i used to shut it all down and pretend everything was fine. pay no attention to the truth of my body. it’s not that i didn’t still feel it. looking back i can remember how i felt everything so deeply. it was torture. i felt frozen between two worlds. my internal knowing - the intuition that was always there - and my conditioned response to life. the mechanism that told me it wasn’t safe to feel what i felt. funny, my response was: don’t respond to the stimulus - respond based on what “you” (ego) believe is safe and acceptable and won’t rock the boat or draw attention.
so i distracted myself by placing physical pain, hunger, discomfort of all sorts on top of the deeper sensations i (still) felt. molded myself into the image of perfection. and it worked for years and years. i totally lost touch with the truth of my heart and body in an endless abyss of perfection-seeking and an infinite list of things to fix and ways to become more perfect.
what the fuck. that’s my response now. what. the. fuck. and heaps of compassion for all those versions of myself who didn’t feel safe to be me. it’s wild to reflect in this way sometimes. to sit down thinking i have nothing to say and ‘find myself’ (haha), two hours later. letting myself wander is often the way back home.
i used to fight so hard against the part of my mind that loves to wander. that is absolutely not linear and rather walks in spirals and eventually gets back to the “point” if there was one. sometimes the point is just to explore. there is no final destination. i’m here to experience THIS. sitting out in the sun with a cup of coffee and sweat dripping down my face coming deeper into myself than i knew i could because i had no expectations about where i should be going.