Decker's Favorite Story of the Day

"Disappearing"

The day he first told me he was starting to disappear I didn't believe him & so he stopped & held his hand up to the sun & it was like thin paper in the light & finally I said you seem very calm for a man who is disappearing & he said it was a relief after all those years of trying to keep the pieces of his life in one place. Later on, I went to see him again & as I was leaving, he put a package in my hand. This is the last piece of my life, he said, take good care of it & then he smiled & was gone & the room filled with the sound of the wind & when I opened the package there was nothing there & I thought there must be some mistake or maybe I dropped it & I got down on my hands & knees & looked until the light began to fade & then slowly I felt the pieces of my life fall away gently & suddenly I understood what he meant & I lay there for a long time crying & laughing at the same time.

Be Alright

Photo by David Bollt.

"Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you," sang Bob Marley. "You just gotta find the ones worth suffering for."

The Bodyworker

She rubbed his head, running her hands through his hair. I remember running my fingers through his hair, just to capture the pain he bottled up in there, pulsating and livid. He teared up as she placed pressure up and down his body, and my heart ached watching. He groaned as she turned him on his side, the upper leg falling forward. She pushed her weight on his hip. Tears slipped down his temples. "I -" he started. She waited. Moments later, she prompted, "yes?" He couldn't say. She prompted again. After frustration and clear derision of his lack of expression, she convinced him that any story, whether true or just a story, had to be let out in order to make room for the truth. He nodded, sighing loudly from his wide chest. Blubbering in pain, he spoke of having little power around women, of being used, deceived - and also, of having no to little access to being fully open with them without resentment and closing off. I choked at this. I've heard the story before. But seeing him, being held down by a petite but strong woman, feeling his body and his pain as he said this, the impact became real to me. I started weeping. Becca looked up. "What's wrong, mama?" I shook my head. She gave me the same frown she had been giving Andrew in his moments of suppression. "Say it now," she demanded with astute sternness. Shortly thereafter, I was lying in his arms - he was putting pressure on me while she put pressure on him. I couldn't stop crying. All of this pain that I've been feeling around him - has been his. I've been feeling his anger. And I've been feeling my own anger - that part of him that hates me because I am a woman - is - unfair. I have been feeling shame around my very own femininity. Imprisoned by his very own containment. And because it has been repressed anger, I've been scared. I've been scared of the discharge that will explode like a cork coming off of a champagne bottle - aimed at my heart. I've been scared that he wasn't taking care of himself. I've been scared that he would tear me apart with his massive hands. Yes, I was angry. But I was also terrified and in love. My body became wracked with sobs I couldn't let out. Knowing this, I now have another choice to make, and one of them looks like I can choose to break my own heart.

Paying for my Individualism.

I'm grappling with my attachment for attention. I'm hiding, feeling gusts of jealousy and longing, wanting to die because it occurs as so much pain. It doesn't feel as familiar and serenely self-defeating as it use to - this feeling now feels like a hindrance to me being as transparent and as free to open as I truly want. Even in this truth, I tear up. This pain - it's shame - and it won't let me breathe.

As I write this, I lie in wait, praying that someone will find me. How desperate, how pathetic can I be?

ilythia, part one, age 24

Photo credit: David Bollt

Tonight.

I have discovered.

That nothing truly matters.

I knew this.

In my brain.

Somewhere in books.

When I am present with someone.

And I'm enjoying the fuck out of them.

But tonight.

I laid in bed with Andrew.

And as I celebrated him.

Celebrating his warm heart.

That gives so much to himself.

It allows me to give to me.

So.

I celebrated myself.

I celebrated my giving.

My heart.

My intuition.

My sensitivity.

My fine tune perceiving.

My love.

My gifts.

Then I thought about my "kryptonite."

My pitfalls.

My blindspot.

My bullshit that bullshits even me.

Why can't I figure out what it is that I do?

I paused.

Can I celebrate this too?

And so what?

I can't grasp who it is that I am.

Sure.

I keep landing on pads of what I think my identity is.

So.

If none of these masks I'm putting on are mine.

Where did mine go?

How would I know which one is mine?

And.

Which one is most true?

I paused.

These are the questions that keep me in the spiral.

Of my pitfall.

My hall of mirrors.

So.

So what if I don't know who I am?

I choked.

The familiar pain of existential darkness sets in.

Who am I?

No.

This is not the familiarity that I seek.

The question is: who am I not?

Andrew lit up at this.

He exclaimed.

That's your question.

I felt it.

This light.

This is real.

I celebrated.

Yeah.

That's my question.

I can be in celebration.

Of catching myself grasping onto an identity.

When really.

I am free of it.

I don't need to realize my identity.

Which mask is mine.

I am who I am.

Without one.

If the question of.

Who am I?

Heaves me into the spiral.

Bouncing around the hall of mirrors.

The question of.

Who am I not?

Will give me enough clarity.

To ground me.

And that clarity.

Will at least give me a cleaner sense.

Of who I am.

Suddenly.

I am free.

To be whoever I want to be.

Until I hit the borders of.

Who I am not.

Choice is available to me.

Possibilities emerge.

As cliche as my ego observed.

As endless infinity.

I am freed of my bonds.

I am able to hold each of these masks.

The drive.

The creativity.

The curiosity.

To try each one on.

With consciousness.

Without having the attachment.

Of holding onto one.

I began giggling in bed.

I opened my arms to the Universe.

Which seemed to cry.

Welcome back.

I held onto Andrew and cried and laughed.

There was so much clarity.

So much choice.

Everything was story.

And I could make myself anew.

And I could identify.

Parts of myself.

In that moment.

That were open.

And loving.

And.

Without warning.

The flood of Realization.

That I am a human habit.

Of Love.

Of liking and disliking.

Wanting and unwanting.

Of faults and pride.

Am of all things.

At any given moment.

That although I like someone witnessing me.

Come to this place.

I don't "always need."

Someone to be here to witness me.

I breathed.

I cried.

I laughed.

I drank water.

I felt the air I breathed.

Being pulled in.

Love filling my lungs.

My loving the air as I pushed back out.

Caressing the area between my nostrils.

And my upper lip.

I know.

In the morning.

I will wake up.

And there will be guilt.

The pain.

The management.

The numbness.

The entire human experience that is me.

But.

I will have more consciousness around Me.

I will be okay.

I will see that it is a part of me.

And also separate.

I will own my experience.

So I can let it go.

Infinity
is
open
to
your
sight.

Sweetness, Clarity

Poetry by friend Robbie Carlton: http://art.robbiecarlton.com/10-poems

A lot of things are happening right now.

Last weekend, I spent two hours on the bathroom floor crying, kicking, screaming, banging my head. I was being witnessed the entire time, and episodes like that are releasing, but exhausting. I don't imagine that the people who are holding me will have much tolerance for that much longer - and suddenly I'm in relationship with what has me go unconscious like that. Several days later, we did mushrooms - doing it intentionally to explore what comes up. I was a mess at times that night, and after some hours of support from Jason, that passed too. However, that brought up some things by my other friends/supports/participants. These are part the consequent conversations addressed to most of the participants:

Subject: sweet clarity

Something became clear to me this morning as I integrate the last journey, a piece around "tolerating" or appreciating where people are unconscious. I have an 90 year old aunt who I certainly catch in unconscious patterns, and I can (albeith sadly) appreciate her there. Ninety years in, it seems harsh to point out things that haven't already become self evident, though I do try and make gentle points when she is suffering.

With Cindy I have less tolerance for it because she's choosing to live in a community and surround herself with friends that are explicitly getting in relationship with their unconscious parts, and who make no show to hide it. I hold her to a differnet standard. (Cindy, we were discussing what to do/how to act with you in these states, while you were with Jason.)

What I would be wary of is the slippery slope of spiritual bypass. For example, I was feeling annoyed and disappointed when Cindy left the room and was holding that as best I could for myself. Appreciating her where she was at would've been leaping over my actual experience and would've served no one, least of all myself.

xokeli

In reply:

Keli,

Thank you. I feel called and held in the standard that you have for me, and I have a lot of respect for you wanting that in the quality of our relating.

I want to riff what I think goes on for me - and in wanting more/betterment for myself and for the people around me, I want us to relate in continuous "mutual benefit." Here goes.

The awareness that I have around my unconscious victimization is riddled with shame. To have "tolerance" for me in this place is obviously not something that I'm wanting. I know the particular work that I've been practicing for this is to love myself, understand what it is in the moment that triggers me to go unconscious, and to accept that there is really nothing wrong with me in the present - to let it go. And while I want to hold myself in this place, I have only discovered this lifelong patterning in relationship with others, and support - the kind that won't have me spiral into further emotional blindness - looks like loving me from the abstraction of "okay, she's in it." This may be lovingly acknowledging that I'm hiding something underneath the emotionality - and making fun of me, or whatever it is to not buy into my spiral. This will help me break out of the victimizing thoughts that are running. When I think that I'm under attacked or not cared for in the acknowledgment, anger gets introduced into the victimization, and I'm replaying the felt memories of baby Cindy crying and crying for someone to come nurture her and never getting held. I want to practice enough to be able to do this for myself - and as I'm getting there and slowly allowing myself to be present to it with others, I'll appreciate the support that I *think* will benefit me - if you're willing.

Muchos amores for you, sister.
Cindy

Currently, the third Train the Trainer weekend is occurring at the Annex. I had the first circle, and the worst parts of me - the anger, the judgment of others not being able to hold me all streamed out. I think I'm very challenging to circle - a "hall of mirrors." Or "catch me if you can" - a challenge that is even there for myself.

I'm also moving out of the Annex - around the block. I won't be living in a conscious household; these people are my college classmates, who I have a lot of social triggers around. I'm excited to leave my warm, incredibly safe cave to a place of severe unconscious impact. I'll have my own space, practice living out in the world instead of a cave, and also to return to the cave whenever I want to. I am only a three minute walk away.

I need to make a list of things that I want. Post TBA on Bird Gehrl.

Love.

Saying Yes

I thought that all I had wanted was that my heart be freed to all of life's longing.

Closer to love, closer to hurt.