The Deep Movement of Autumn

                                                   
                                                                                ~

It's been awhile since I've written here, almost a year and half.  In all honesty, I can't really say why I stopped.  Nor can I say why I've kept this blog alive, dangling here in the internet air.  Oh, there were times I considered deleting it - perhaps starting over with a freshly created blog site - but something in me said, "No.  Keep this one."  So I shrugged my shoulders, and without any inclination to write more here, I let it sit.

In the past week, I've re-read some of my published posts, and even my unpublished drafts - things I said, and things I just couldn't bring myself to say publicly at the time.  The contrast between the two actually speaks volumes to me, and sheds a light on what was transpiring within me.  There was something within me aching to be born, to be expressed, held out to be revealed in the light of day, and like a tender babe just making its entrance into the world, it was I who needed to be the first one to see and to embrace it.

Oh, it's not like I haven't been writing.  I've been hanging out and doing some writing on Facebook.  I do know I needed to make friendly relations with the whole social networking thing.  Now I see that I was also, partly, testing the waters - putting myself out there, expressing my ideas, my ways, to see how those things in me were received by others in a more...immediate, or direct form of communication.  The reception has been a bit mixed, which doesn't surprise me.  People are nothing if not predictable, and in some ways, I suppose, that's reassuring.  So in the past year or so, I've watched as people come and go from my friends list, watching and waiting for things to unfold as they would.  My friends list is relatively short, which I like and prefer because I'd rather keep things on a somewhat more intimate level.  For me, keeping things small and simple helps me stay more grounded and real.  I felt...that too many people would be too much like an audience - impersonal.  One that brings with it a temptation (for me) to perform, which naturally creates a kind of image or persona that a person eventually feels they must uphold.  Me?  I've always felt that kind of thing is a trap for my soul's full expression.   I don't want to feel *stuck* within a certain image.  I don't want to have to maintain it to keep my audience.  I find it too much work, and rather limiting.

So, along the way in my adventures on Facebook, I've encountered folks for whom I am truly thankful exist in this world.  I now recognize fully that I was in great need of being aware of their living and being in this world.  Being aware of their existence has bolstered my confidence greatly, because I now know there are those whose ways of being and perceiving the world are much like my own.  I am not as alone in this world of humans as I originally thought, and quite frankly, that feels awesome.  I now have a rather eclectic group of fantastic human beings on my list, and ever so slowly, I've watched the connection I have with some of these people take shape and form, and to also wing its way out to connect others who weren't aware of each other until they came together from our connection.  Frankly, it's been an astounding thing to witness, this network of connections being made, and how it's impacted folks for the good, and to know that with a few of these people, I am the bridge that connected them. 

Which brings me back to the subject of this blog of mine...

In the past, I often asked myself while writing on this blog, "Who am I talking to?"  I honestly didn't know half the time.  There were times I felt as if I was talking to an impersonal sky.  Was that big sky listening?  Did it give a shit what I had to say?  Other times, I spoke directly to a person unseen by any readers who happened along.  And then other times I spoke to many who had fixed themselves to a belief system, (*any* organized religion), trying to speak their language to somehow break through their unopened minds.  Because it is certain I was having my fill of their ways, and being negatively impacted personally by their extremely limited and set beliefs.  But mostly, I talked to that Big Sky.

So in considering what to do with this blog, I periodically asked myself, "What if folks read what I've written here and judge me on the basis of one or two posts that just happen to talk about God or have some reference to the bible?  Like I said, people are nothing if not predictable.  And the very moment someone says or writes the word "God," it evokes in too many the slamming of the door to relationship.  There would be no questioning, no understanding that I was, during those times, dealing with, and trying to find some reconciliation and/or understanding within *myself* with this christian line of thought and belief because of the people in my life who were impacting me and mine to a great degree.  The very same practice of slamming the door to relationship can be said of those who are Pagan, or into more occult religions.

Within the encounters I've had with others on Facebook I am acutely aware of that dividing line.  When I post things from my Pagan or occult friends, my more christian inclined friends don't "like" them.  Hell, they won't even give it a second glance, much less actually read what the other wrote!  The same thing happens with my occult friends when I post something along the line of thought that might be misinterpreted as stemming from a more christian belief system...namely, anything having to do with *Love.*  One is viewed as dark, shadowy, or evil, and the other is viewed as light, shiny, and good, no matter which way you flip it.  There has always existed in humans that division, that duality between what folks consider good and evil, and here I am again, walking the line that is perceived by others as being between light and dark, with folks trying to figure out where I stand - where to place me so I make some sort of sense to them within their own divided framework of belief.  I can no more be categorized, or filed into a nice neat box with a pretty bow than Nature can.  That is to say, other than saying I am a female human being. 

I see no such thing as a dividing line of light and dark.  I don't even think in those terms, and for those who do, it can be rather mind boggling to them, I suppose, to try to comprehend and accept that yes, there is another way of viewing the world and each other besides in black and white, and either/or.  It is in my thinking that therein lies the very issue - with the *two* needing to be brought together.  For the most part, folks believe in separation.  There is no separation, and this Earth and Sky aren't divided.  And neither are we.  Only in our beliefs do such things take shape and form through us.

Division.  Always attempting to divide into *two* what cannot be divided.  We try to divide our mind from our emotions.  We try to divide our past from our *now* or our future.  We try to divide ourselves up, separate ourselves from suffering, or from what we consider to be unpleasant, or uncomfortable.  We divide love and hate.  God and Satan.  Good and Evil.  Right and Wrong.  Up and down.  Left and Right.  As if one side of the scale doesn't exist for the other.  Balance cannot ever, and will never be had in such a way of seeing things.

There is no separation.

So in considering what to do with this blog, I decided to keep it just the way it is, with posts written in the past remaining, and let people think what they will of me.  If one word written here of mine has people judging me on such a surface basis, turning themselves away from me, well, so be it.  I cannot control, and don't even want to try to control, the way others see see me.

I've changed in the course of this past year and a half.  Some of the things I wrote here in the last few years, I see now as a developmental process to help me arrive *here* with who I am today in this moment.  And I give myself chances, room, space to develop, to express what and who I am in any given moment.  Life is fluid, and imperfect.  I seek no perfection.  I don't believe in endings.  Just a continuous process of change, and metamorphosis.  Like the changing Seasons, or the Earth and Sky, never expressing themselves - ever - in the same way twice, although we can always depend on their continued Presence.

The Seasons change, one into the other, oh so subtly, ever evolving, morphing in some new way.  Not *evolving* as in "more" or "better," but evolving into some new means of expression.  And I find the same thing can be said for each of us.  Past Seasons aren't forgotten, but begin to fall like the leaves of trees, or like the gentle rain drops that have their season of weeping from the sky, to be gently embraced by the Earth, and eventually absorbed into the wholeness of being during the dark of Winter, only to be reborn and expressed in another way or form in the Spring, and then anchors it all in Summer through our living and experiencing it - through our dancing.  Again, in Autumn we begin to reflect back, sensing the movement to let go and say goodbye to that last cycle of seasons, embracing it all, and then burying it into a loving, living memory.  All of it, past and present...all the seasons of our lives, still live while we walk.  Wherever we walk and have our being, it all morphed out of past seasons. 

So this...this blog of mine represents several past cycles of seasons.  Seasons that I embrace.  Seasons that I am forever grateful for experiencing, and I carry them lovingly into this Autumn, letting them fall to be absorbed into the ground of my very being... and in me they will always live, for from them I learned, and from them I evolved into what you see today.

~

When All Else Has Been Stripped Away, One Shining Dream Remains (Finally...Part Two)

I show up every morning, ready to write.

I show up in the same manner that I show up for my other job - ready.  For that other job, as soon as I put my uniform on at home, I'm mentally, emotionally, and physically prepared to do that job.  As soon as I arrive at that job, I dive into the work.

During that time, I am unavailable for anything or anyone else, other than what pertains to that job.  I don't take personal phone calls, or do anything outside that job, unless it's an emergency.  Everyone I know respects that, and understands - I'm at work.

Setting a time and space to write, however, is not quite viewed the same way.  It's not seen, nor understood as being "at work."   I do understand the challenge.  If I were actually published, and making some money off this work, then it would probably be easier for folks to understand.  "Oh, she's writing.  She's working."  Because what it actually looks like from the outside while I'm writing, (working), is that I'm just sitting around, doing nothing. 

After I wake up, I slowly turn my attention toward, and tune in to the Muse.  I listen to what bubbles up from within me.  I mentally sort through what I "hear," or "see," which requires no outside distractions.  If I have to hole up in my room for the space to do that, I'll do it.  If I do not have a room to hole up in, I'll be outside...sitting and listening.  I will not take personal calls while "doing" that.  In fact, most of the time my phone isn't even near me.  I don't know where it is.  I don't care.  I'm at work.

After I'm done mentally sorting through what I hear, and I've finally focused on what I'll be writing, I put it into action in that very moment.  I get up, go to the computer, or grab my notebook, and I write.  Now it's more of a transcribing of what I "hear," and you would think the transcription would come easily, but in actuality, it doesn't at first.  There is, for me anyway, a kind of atmospheric layer of "debris" to fire through before reaching "The Zone," which is the place of flow.  It is where self is completely moved out of the way, and any and all resistance is dealt with and gone - when hands and paper, or keyboard, and page become one. In that Zone, the outside world disappears completely.  I don't hear it.  I don't see it.  I'm in the Zone.

If you knew the level of commitment, dedication, and discipline it has required for me to show up every morning to write, (just like my day job), you would probably be astounded by my absolute resolve in doing this line of work.  I ain't messin' around.  I don't treat it, or even see it as anything "fluffy," or as "just a hobby."  It is a form of expression I have decided on, and whether I "make it" or not remains to be seen.

Yet to make it happen requires doing it - showing up and working it, going through the steps, no matter how achingly small they are.  There is no dream, no goal, no vision, that manifests over night.  Of course, there are some rare exceptions, but the majority of folks start at the bottom. We don't build a house without first building a strong foundation, then build it up brick by brick.  It isn't easy, building a dream, a vision from nothing to something.  I don't believe anyone ever said it would be.  And most likely, with all the rough terrain we must walk through, whether it's on the inside - plaguing doubts, etc. - or coming from the outside - no one taking you, or what you are doing seriously, etc. - it will either make or break you, depending on your level of commitment.

The majority of people who really know me are acutely aware of the sometimes annoying characteristic  that I have called Persistence.  It's only annoying to them when it is going against what they want, or think I should be doing instead.  I've had some people become outright enraged, or believe I am betraying them and their dream, over what I am doing - which, remember, is simply sitting quietly writing - and  I've been called lazy, worthless, a piece of shit, and a no-good fucking bitch, (and the horrible and horrifying list of those labels goes long).  I've been asked who it is I think I am for even remotely considering I might have anything of value to share - all of this because I have persisted in my personal dedication and commitment to my dream, and won't budge from showing up every morning to work toward manifesting it.  I've even been thrown out on my ass from places I dwelled because of this block of time and space I have for my "work."

Yet still, I persist.

Because when you have a dream, that's what it requires.  If I could do it all day long I would, but I recognize there are other folks to deal with, another job to go to, and other things that need my attention.  The mornings and my days off are the only time I have to give to my dream, my work.  I've tried writing at night, but by the end of the day I'm too exhausted to even think, much less write. 

As I mentioned, I began committing myself to this venture a few years ago.  I realized then that if I don't actually schedule it into my day, make time for it, and do it, then it will be constantly put on the back burner for "some other time."  The time is now, and if "Writer" is my dream, then "writing" is what I need to be physically-sitting-my-butt-down doing.  And...no one else will take it seriously until I do.

Yet, I think some of the problem is no one else can really see what I am building.  Not yet anyway. Other than right here on this blog. (*Waves*...Hello!). While they believe I'm in my cave doing nothing, I'm actually doing a rough draft first...if you could call it that.  I'm not sure it is even formed enough to be called a "draft" when it first comes out.  Then the piecing together, and fine tuning that rough piece of work comes later, which also takes work, and attention to detail, and a focus on cutting, or keeping, or re-wording.  It's work, and there are times I've felt I've wanted to tear my hair out, or throw my monitor across the room.  I've actually done that with notebooks, then glare at it, splayed across the floor...then I feel bad, and I'll go pick it up gently, take a deep breath, and try again, with a little more patience.

This dream has not been easy for me to begin, or to set a foundation of habitually showing up for it so it can be manifested, while at the same time walking through poverty, having to move a gazillion times, and struggling to care for and support myself in all ways that matter.  Not only have I gone through major changes and challenges, and trying like hell to adjust to them, but I'm also making major adjustments as I go, and adapting the best of my ability.  And, frankly, with age, (because I ain't no spring chicken anymore!), and with my other job, and the daily stresses of life and living - I'm feeling all of it is exacting a price.  I don't like admitting that, even to myself, but it's kind of difficult to ignore a fatigued body in pain.

I recently told a friend of mine that I'm literally having to drive myself beyond what my body is screaming it's capable of doing. I also feel driven to manifest this dream of writing, and I'm willing to pay the price it is asking of me. 

I get up.  I show up.  I'm working it, and the going is slow.  There is rarely a day off from it, but it helps that I also love it.  And I think that is why most folks view it as "play."  They feel and sense that I am enjoying this "work."  I know my energy changes.  I'm lighter, happier.  Not doing it...I get itchy, and cranky - like my roommate told me she feels when she goes too long without riding her horse.

In the past, I've given %100 of myself to supporting other people's dreams, leaving mine on the back burner.  A long time ago, I was once married to a man who loved rocks, and mining for rocks.  His family and friends treated it like play, and thought he should get a "real job," or focus on a "real career." I knew that would have killed his free spirit.  I mention him because he is the very first person I encountered in my life who demonstrated a passion and love for the career of his choice.  I remember watching him, and wanted what he had, but at the time it was a mysterious quality to me.  My dream was still in hiding, veiled beneath a thousand messages of "shoulds."  He had many of those same voices coming from the outside of himself, but he did what he wanted to anyway.  He showed up for his work everyday.  Little by little, step by step, he was building something, a business, a practice, making the daily effort it required.  It slowly paid off.  He now runs a multi-million dollar business.  His family and friends ate their earlier words.

Watching and helping him in his early years inspired me to begin questioning those "shoulds" I had come to obey, and it was only a matter of time that I finally discovered my own passion, my dream, and the voice of my heart.

In every possible way I am leaning my entire being toward the realization of this dream.  There is no one who can take what I am doing personally.  It's not about anyone but myself.  In fact, it took near Herculean effort, and a social worker getting in my face, to turn the tide within myself, and to place value and importance on my own dream.  To wake me up to the fact that I needed to actually practice what I've preached to so many others.  To walk my talk. 

Now it's my turn.  I'm standing up, showing up, and working it.  That's all I can do.  The rest is up to the mysterious workings of the Fates.  But after all is said and done, I'll know I gave it all I had.  And that.. I can live and die with. 

~

When All Else Has Been Stripped Away, One Shining Dream Remains (Part One...And A Half)

 "Where there is no vision, the people perish." ~ Proverbs 29:18

A couple of years ago I wrote this blog post, The Strange, Strange World of Writers, a humorous, (and tiny bit exaggerated), glimpse into the mind of writers.  The point of the post was to give non-writers, or non-creatives, some understanding into the weird ways and habits of their loved ones, who might happen to be writers, published or not.  One of my favorite quotes is by Rudyard Kipling, and states, "Gardens are not made by singing 'Oh, how beautiful' and sitting in the shade."  In other words, for me personally, as a writer, I must sit my ass down and actually do the dream I desire to manifest.  That takes time and dedication and work.

Two and half years has gone by since I fully committed myself to this act of writing publicly.  It was the very act of creating this blog site that anchored that decision to the ground. We must act to anchor a decision, and get the ball rolling toward its outcome.  A decision made without action following to fulfill it will eventually die a painful death.  For me, thus far, it's been a long hard road, but not because of the practice of writing itself.  Frankly, if not for this practice of writing, and the striving toward a vision, I'd probably be a basket case by now. 

This morning, I read this blog, How Hard Is It To Turn Pro?, by Steven Pressfield.  I can't even express how much I needed to read these words.  Because it isn't just about the act of writing, but about making any real personal change, and the sheer mountain of resistance a person can sometimes face when enacting that change, from both the inside and outside of oneself.  If I was merely dealing with my own resistance, I'd be alright.  But what I didn't anticipate was also having to deal with, simultaneously, the resistance I've faced from the outside.  Frankly, I've been in a sort of shock over the reactions from this decision I made several years ago.  Because in the end, it's about me, and a vision I have, and the road to its completion.  It's that simple.  How folks can manage to squirrel it around inside their mind to make what I am doing over here about themselves, taking it personal in any way, and believing it is hurting them in some mysterious form, is beyond me.  The only thing I can manage to understand about it all is that they grew accustomed to my being a certain way, and when I began making what I felt to be necessary changes to my own life, it somehow threatened their own view of me. 

I haven't changed.  I've changed my ways. 

I had part two of this little series already written before I posted part one, yet I've hesitated over publishing it, (obviously), because it felt a bit raw, displaying a vulnerability I wasn't sure I wanted to share.  You might read it and wonder what the big deal is, but for me, it's a big deal.  It goes right to the heart of what the past several years have been like for me on this road to writing publicly.  And I'm not alone.  I fully recognize I do not own the only corner to this kind of experience, nor that it has only to do with writing.  There are, by far, way too many I have witnessed struggling with this same kind of weird phenomenon.  I understand it might be difficult to believe, because I'm aware there are folks who have the luxury of time and space, money and support, to do exactly the same thing I'm doing.  Frankly, I'm still trying to come to grips with it myself.  I don't understand.  I don't understand the flack, and the complete lack of support for a dream.  Those of you who have it, seriously, thank your lucky stars.  I've always been a supporter of dreams and vision.  The only thing I see differently now, as opposed to what I was doing in the past, is that now it's my dream, my vision, which for so long was left on the back burner, that I am now supporting in full. 

There are some who consider that I am in the financial state I've been in because of this decision to write. What they fail to grasp is it is precisely because of being in, and experiencing this state of impoverished affairs that led me to this decision.  Particularly after standing in a line, with other financially impoverished souls to obtain free groceries so my family and I would have something to eat.  Standing in that line for hours, watching all those poor people, brought the quote I shared at the beginning of this blog post to mind, and it became for me not just a nice little saying, but something very, very real.  Because the only difference I saw between me and the majority of those other folks standing in line with me was a lack of vision.  I've been attuned to people's dreams they hold secretly within themselves for a long time, and I could see no vision in most of the folks standing with me.  None.  Zero.  And that concerned me, and broke my heart, because I knew that somewhere down the line in their individual lives, they'd given up on a vision, or had it beaten out of them.  A vision, a dream that once lived and breathed inside them. And I also knew I was this close to doing the same thing.  I felt I had nothing left to me except for this vision, this dream.  So instead of letting it die, I took a step toward it.  Then another step...and another.

Perhaps, when all is said and done, it will end up being a good thing, all this flack.  Because what all of this has evoked in me is that famous stubborn streak inherited from my family line, with me doing a very good impression of making like a tree and taking root.  It's driven me underground.  And as Steven Pressfield pointed out in his recent post I linked above, "You turn pro in secret. Not even the NSA knows you did it."  This approach might come back to bite me on the ass later, but now I'm in the mindset that I don't really care how long it takes me, or if I die trying, and it might be messy, and appear abstract, but come hell or high water, I'm doing it. 

Why am I sharing this personal journey here?  Because I'm not alone in it.  And it's truthful people like Steven Pressfield who help me know that somewhere, out there, are more people who struggle to change their lives for the better.  Who struggle with bringing a dream or vision to manifestation.  Who, for some ungodly reason, are bumping up against a non-supportive culture, whether it's within their own family, or in society at large, who are in many ways anti-visionaries, and desire everyone to stay within the status quo.  For people who might be comparing themselves to those who only give you the "up" side, or the nice, shiny version of bringing a dream to life, or who might be trying to sell you an "easy-how-to-guide" for manifesting them.  It's for those people who might be comparing themselves to others who make it appear, or who like to say it's easy.  But IF it was easy, everyone would be doing it. 

I know those precious, beautiful dreams tucked inside of those I've met along the way, and those who gave them up, or let them die, and while some dreams must go as we narrow our field of vision along the way, there is one shining dream that does in fact remain, and that our souls have been silently leading us toward.  And it wasn't until I began to commit fully to the one tucked inside my own heart that my eyes and ears were opened to just what so many people were talking about when they said it wasn't that easy, and why they felt such a huge temptation to let their dreams die.  We don't often hear about the shadow side that the majority of us deal with to even begin to enact these necessary changes.  And that is why Steven Pressfield can truthfully say, "I know how hard it was. I know the price you paid. I know the guts it took. I know how scared you are, and I know how weird and alone it feels.  I salute you. You are one in ten thousand. You have done what many, many talk about, but damn few actually do."  

I'm sharing this journey with you in hopes that it will give you the Umph you need to be "the one in ten thousand."  A dream...a simple vision...is sometimes all we've got to pull ourselves up out of the mud, when we've got nothing left to us, and it gives us the will to live, a reason to get up in the morning.  That's why it doesn't matter if I "make" it or not, because it is the thing I'm living for, the very fuel that keeps me going.  It's the magic spark within that says yes! to life, and living, and it is the true gold worth going after.  If you don't have the support coming from the outside, do it for yourself.  Support your own dream. 

Part two of this little series will be posted tomorrow. 

Stay tuned...

~

When All Else Has Been Stripped Away, One Shining Dream Remains (Part One)

I'm glad and thankful to be right here, at this time and place.

To witness a dream not only being born, but to also have the knowledge of just how long (years) that dream has been tucked inside my friend and roommate, and to witness its unfolding into manifestation is nothing short of inspiring.  For I know just how hard and long she, my friend, has worked for everything she has and for this dream of hers to finally manifest, and how doggedly determined she has been, how tenaciously she has held onto that vision inside herself, despite the resistance and naysayers, and come hell or high water... it would BE.  She truly inspires me...and gives me hope for my own dream still tucked inside, yet one in which I am steadily working.

I didn't realize just how much I needed to see and be a witness to a dream, and its long years of labor, finally coming into the world to be seen.  And to also witness unseen forces come into play, opportunities open from unforeseen, and seemingly tragic events, to support and help that dream manifest into her life and world, has been astounding.

At a time when my heart and soul were at their most weary, when I found myself literally on the floor, hitting bottom, hanging on by a thread in mind, body and soul, questioning whether any of what I've been trying to achieve is worth it, thinking maybe the Powers That Be aren't with me... I'm brought here, to witness the fruit of my friend's long years of labor.

I don't know if she remembers the times when she'd call me over the years, (and I hope she doesn't mind my sharing it, but it's such a perfect example of the places we find ourselves during the process, when doubts plague us in the middle of the night, when we wonder if our dream will ever be realized, because in that moment they appear so very far away), sobbing with the intensity of the ache in her heart, afraid that what she hoped and believed and listened to, the vision within herself that she held onto for dear life, was just a stupid pipe dream.  That all her efforts would be made in vain, and in the end, it is she who would be the fool.

I listened to that dream, saw it shining brightly inside her, witnessed each achingly tiny step she made toward it, and her refusal to have her arrow aiming at any other target.  I watched her cut a path to it.  I know and remember what she said, the words of her dream, and I'm seeing it unfold now into manifestation.  Oh, not in precisely the way she originally envisioned it, but in much the same way as what unfolded in the story, (and was made into a wonderful movie), "Under the Tuscan Sun," by Frances Mayes, one of my all time favorites.  In the story, she wasn't quite aware either, how a friend of hers, listening to her tearful words one morning, when she felt so lost and overwhelmed, and everything she was doing came into question, until once day he pointed out to her, reminding her of her words long ago, how all that she said that morning was now manifested around her.

My friend and I are alike in many ways.  Oh, the expression and form of our individual dreams may not be similar, (at all), but being born under the same astrological sign, we share similar needs, (like the absolute need for space, or "alone time"), and we both have a tendency to embody the arrow, aiming with determination and conviction, and a profound precision in our focus toward that thing inside us that is the force and source behind its flight.  But not only that, she also came to a place where all was seemingly stripped away, and the only thing left to her was that dream she carried within her. 

This... this first post of two is dedicated to my friend, for I don't know if she is aware just how much she is an inspiration to me, nor how much the witnessing of her dream literally unfolding around her into manifestation, would one day, this day, encourage me to remain open, and keep going with my own.  I cannot thank you enough, my friend. 

And for your pleasure, below is a beautiful little compilation of a few uplifting scenes from the movie, Under The Tuscan Sun."  (via YunaMonos)

The Importance of Touch - A Conversation

“Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body. Your morse code interferes with my heart beat. I had a steady heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut.”
― Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body 

I've been writing.  Oh, not for publication yet, but I've not quit writing.  I've been focusing my concentration on writing a book.

Today, I decided to share an excerpt from the book I've been writing with a small, intimate group of friends I'm involved with on Facebook.  I find the conversation I had with one of my friends, (who I used to live with), profoundly important.  His reactions, (and mine), and the comments to what I shared are honest, pure, and at the heart of what I desire to convey to all who will listen.  What follows is my excerpt, and the conversation that followed:

Excerpt from my writings today on the subject of "Touch:"

Since embarking on this road through the heart, if there is one thing I've witnessed truly lacking in this world, and in people who claim to love, it is touch. For I understand that Love desires to manifest Itself into this world, and one of the most natural ways It does that, without even a thought or reason, is through touch. How many of you automatically find yourself reaching out your hand to touch a baby, or a child, or your pet? But beyond that, we aren't touching. In fact, more often than not, what you'll receive if you even ask for a simple hug, ( I wish I was exaggerating ), is told that you are too needy, or given a distrustful glance, like what you are asking for is suspect in some way. The problem isn't in the one asking. The problem lies in the heart of the one who refuses to give. And truly, what you don't want to hear is all the reasons someone has for their refusal, because more than likely they will make their reasons about you. Somehow or another, no matter how nicely said, they will find a way to point out your unworthiness.

And don't get me started on romantic relationship. Too many associate Love with sex. Sex is sex. It can, and does, happen with or without Love. And for some, the only touch they have in their life, the only touch they will allow, is through the act of sex. Is it any wonder then, that these people will build a hunger for it, if that is the only area in their life they will allow touch?

So, I've asked myself this one question again and again: When did we humans stop touching? And why?

The answers first came to me through directing those questions toward myself. When did I stop touching, and why? Initially, I wasn't a happy camper with the answers. It felt like I was suddenly spun into a dark, tangled web that I later discovered was one of my own making. It was very much like traveling a labyrinth, or a maze to find my way clear, and where that journey eventually led me was to the center of my own heart.

• Ben  We are social creatures that crave the touch of others. I often find that I can sense when I'm encountering someone who has issues with touch. With others, my first instinct upon meeting them is to wrap my arms around them. These people usually seem surprised by my hug; but they seem to settle right into it, and hug me too.

  
  

  Cynthia Fassett Yes, some do. I find people are seriously hungry for it, and don't even know HOW hungry until they are confronted with someone touching them. I experienced the same thing myself. If there is one thing I've witnessed in people's feeling of separation, it is in the area of Touch.

  
  
• Cynthia Fassett Touch brings us back to earth.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Back to each other, and our own humanity.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Which sadly, is a place that too many don't want to go to. Know why? I finally discovered the reason is because touch has them dealing with emotion. Emotion they don't know how to deal with.
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  Cynthia Fassett So the feeling of being brought "down," like I've talked about, is that right there. "Down" is to the emotions.

  
  
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  Ben Exactly.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Which truly can feel like going into "the dark."

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett And it is.

  
  
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  Ben Yes, that inward dark. Touch really does bring us down into that place. But what's even more special about touch is that it brings us down into that dark WITH someone else there to witness it.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Yes!

  
  
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  Ben And that is probably the root cause of why people avoid touch.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett If we could only trust!

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Yes!

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Touch is one of the most healing things in this world! And we aren't DOING it!

  
  
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  Ben It's a place of vulnerability. It's a secret chest that is seen as having the need to remain locked and hidden. The hidden garden within.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Aren't willing to walk through the initial discomfort it brings...but omg, it is oh so healing.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Yes!!!

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett The discomfort is the red flag that we need healing.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett There is no shame.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Why are we HIDING it?

  
  
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  Ben As a client of mine, you know my most powerful secret to a successful healing: Touch. Healing is, of course, possible without touch. But when you add touch to it, you bring a new and powerful element into it.
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  Cynthia Fassett Touch connects, and gives us no way out Ben.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett We can't rethink it, and say, as in a dream, oh, it was just in my mind, it was just a dream.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Touch brings it down to earth, to the here/now, real.
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  Ben  The hiding is brought about through conditioning. People get hurt at the hands of others all the time. It causes people to recoil in horror. They fear that someone else will sneak into their hidden garden, and steal something from it.
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  Ben  And so, since touch is the simplest way in which we can connect with someone...since it is such a fundamental gate to empathy, we become conditioned to retract from it.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Yet there is nothing to be stolen if the love is only yours to give. Only you can give it! I do understand the desire to hide, but what happens is when we do that, in essence, we are holding onto the wound that brought it about. Nursing it.

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Yes!

  
  
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  Cynthia Fassett Ben, LOOK! There are so many who are retracting!

  
  
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  Ben  Almost everyone I know.

  
  
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  Ben Bills Including me.
  
   Cynthia Fassett  Hello! Now you understand my grief.
  
  Cynthia Fassett It was never about me. It was about what I saw.
  

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  (and by the way, you can find me on Facebook here)

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