Welcome.
Before we begin,
You don't need to close your eyes.
You can if that helps you turn inward,
Or you can keep them open.
And you may even want to have a journal nearby.
There is no particular state we're trying to achieve here.
You don't need to become peaceful,
You don't need to clear your mind,
And you don't need to know exactly what's going on.
Throughout this practice,
You get to decide how deeply you want to go.
If anything begins to feel like too much,
You don't have to push through it.
Open your eyes if they're closed.
Feel your feet against the floor or notice the surface supporting your body.
Look around the room and remind yourself where you are.
And if it feels supportive,
Simply come back to my voice.
I'm here.
You don't have to go anywhere you're not ready to go.
Maybe something happened today that triggered you.
Someone said something.
Someone didn't say something.
You felt rejected,
Overlooked,
Criticized,
Disappointed.
Or perhaps you can't point to anything at all.
You simply feel loved.
Something in your body.
Something in your emotions.
Something in your energy.
You may simply recognize that something is there.
And for these next moments,
Rather than trying to fix it,
Explain it,
Or make it go away,
Let's meet it.
Turn your attention inward.
Establish the witness.
And notice what's here without immediately moving into the story about it.
And you don't have to find perfect neutrality.
Just see if you can create a little space between the part of you experiencing what is happening and the part of you capable of noticing it.
What are you feeling?
Now what do you think about what happened?
What are you feeling?
And before accepting the first answer that comes from the mind,
See if you can bring your attention into the body.
Where do you feel this?
Your chest,
Your stomach,
Your throat,
Your jaw.
You're back.
Somewhere else.
Perhaps there is tightness or heat,
Heaviness.
Movement.
Numbness.
Maybe you don't feel anything particularly noticeable.
That's okay,
Too.
We're not trying to manufacture an experience.
We're becoming curious about the experience that's already here.
And from that curiosity,
Perhaps ask yourself,
What am I actually feeling?
What might be underneath this.
What does this feeling want me to know?
Don't rush an answer.
Just let the questions land.
And you might ask these questions silently and simply notice what arises.
Or perhaps writing feels right today.
If so,
You can pause this track,
Take out your journal,
And write one of those questions at the top of the page.
Then write.
Not to produce a beautiful answer,
Not to solve yourself,
Just write.
And while you're writing,
Pay attention to your body.
What happens as the words come?
To something tightened.
Does something soften?
Does a feeling begin to arise?
Maybe something you weren't expecting.
And if something does arise,
Can you stay with it?
You don't have to understand it yet.
You don't have to decide whether it makes sense.
Can you simply acknowledge,
This is what I'm feeling right now.
And perhaps we can go one step further.
Can you accept that this is what you're feeling right now?
Acceptance doesn't mean that you like it.
It doesn't mean that what happened was okay.
And it doesn't mean that every thought you're having about this situation is true.
Acceptance simply stops the argument with what is already here.
Whatever is here.
Can this be here?
There's a phrase I use often in my own practice and my teaching.
If any emotions want to arise,
I will welcome them.
I will give them a safe space to land.
Try those words on for yourself.
Not as an affirmation you have to believe.
As an invitation.
If any emotions want to arise,
I will welcome them.
I will give them a safe space to land.
And notice what happens.
Perhaps nothing happens,
That's okay.
Perhaps something moves.
That's okay too.
Or perhaps part of you immediately says,
No,
I don't want this feeling.
Can that part have a safe space to land too?
We're not trying to become perfectly accepting.
We're practicing relationship with whatever is actually here.
And now perhaps ask something deeper.
What happens if I don't leave you?
You don't need an answer,
Just notice.
What happens in the body when you ask that?
What happens if I don't leave you?
Maybe there's a younger part of you that doesn't believe you.
Maybe that part is still learning whether it can trust you to stay.
Maybe they expect that as soon as this becomes uncomfortable enough,
You'll distract yourself,
Or judge yourself,
Suppress what you're feeling,
Or go searching outside yourself for someone else to make it better.
You don't need to convince that part of anything.
And you don't need to promise that you'll never leave yourself again.
Just be here now.
Stay.
And if staying begins to feel overwhelming,
Come back.
Feel the support beneath your body.
Open your eyes.
Look around you.
Listen to my voice.
There's nothing you have to uncover today.
We can stay right here.
Sometimes staying with yourself means staying with what you're feeling.
And sometimes staying with yourself means knowing when it's time to stop.
Going deeper doesn't always mean going further into an emotion.
Sometimes going deeper means recognizing this is enough for today.
And knowing when you've had enough can also be an expression of love.
That makes me wonder.
What if love looks like this?
Not an emotion you have to create,
Not warmth,
Not affection,
Not forgiveness.
Not even compassion,
If compassion isn't available right now.
What if love can include anger?
What if love can include fear?
What if love can include grief?
What if love can include the part of you that wants absolutely nothing to do with any of this?
Maybe love isn't determined by what you're feeling.
Maybe love is found in the relationship you're willing to have with yourself while you're feeling it.
I've sometimes said in my teaching that,
For me,
The opposite of love isn't hate,
It's self-abandonment.
Because I can be angry with myself and stay.
I can be disappointed in myself and stay.
I can be frightened and stay.
I don't have to feel loving toward myself in every moment in order to practice love.
Perhaps love is the willingness not to leave.
And maybe there's something underneath what you've discovered today.
Something you can feel but can't quite see.
You don't have to dig for it,
You don't have to force yourself back into childhood,
And you don't have to find a wound to explain every reaction.
Sometimes we simply don't know yet.
And when I don't know,
I've developed another practice.
I ask,
You might call it god or source,
Spirit,
The universe,
Your highest self.
Use whatever language feels true for you.
And perhaps ask.
Please show me what I'm not seeing.
Please show me what it is I need to see.
And listen.
I've asked those questions many times in my own healing.
Often something became clear later,
Sometimes within a day.
And once the answer came almost immediately.
But over time,
Something more important than getting a quick answer began to develop.
Trust.
I learned that I could ask without hunting.
I could ask and remain open.
And when something did arise,
I could stay curious.
I didn't have to immediately decide that it was the answer.
I could notice it,
Feel it.
And C will continue to reveal itself.
Some of those answers have come to me in nature,
Not while I was sitting at home trying harder to understand myself.
While walking under the trees with my feet on the earth,
Feeling the wind and hearing the birds,
Living my life.
Nature has become another place where I listen.
So if nothing becomes clear today,
Perhaps take this question with you.
Go somewhere in nature that feels supportive or familiar.
Walk beneath the trees,
Sit in the park,
Go to the beach and feel the sand beneath your feet.
Listen to the movement of the ocean,
Or sit beside a river,
A lake,
Or a stream.
Feel the sun or the wind against your skin.
Rest your hand against a tree.
Or simply step outside and look at the sky.
Find the peace of nature that's available to you.
You don't need nature to give you an answer.
You don't need nature to heal you.
Simply allow yourself to meet it.
And perhaps allow it to meet you.
Maybe this becomes another opportunity to experience love.
Not only love for yourself,
Love within life.
The earth supporting your body,
And sand beneath your feet,
And water moving around you.
The wind meeting your skin.
A tree beneath your hand.
A bird flying overhead.
And the enormous sky above you.
Life meeting life.
And maybe for a moment you remember that you are participating in something larger than the trigger that brought you here.
You were still here.
Life is still here.
And perhaps love is here too,
Not necessarily as a feeling.
Perhaps as relationship,
Perhaps as acceptance,
Perhaps as your willingness to remain.
Before we finish.
Notice what is here now.
Not whether you're better.
Not whether the trigger is gone.
And not whether you've figured everything out.
Just what is here now?
Maybe something shifted.
Maybe nothing did.
Maybe you discovered something.
Or maybe you're leaving with another question.
All of it is welcome.
Whatever you discover today,
And if you discover nothing at all,
Can you stay?
Can you accept this moment exactly where it is?
And can you allow yourself to become a safe space for whatever wants to land?
You don't have to solve yourself today.
You don't have to transcend what you're feeling,
And you don't have to turn this into a lesson.
You can simply remain in relationship with yourself.
Perhaps after this practice you'll write.
Perhaps you'll rest.
Perhaps you'll continue with your day,
Or perhaps you'll step outside.
Take your question with you.
Walk beneath the trees.
Sit beside the water.
Feel the sand beneath your feet.
Look toward the sky.
And let life meet you there.
Because maybe a deeper love isn't something we finally learn how to feel.
Maybe it's something we practice.
Every time we listen,
Every time we accept what is here,
Every time we know when enough is enough.
Every time we return.
Every time we choose not to abandon ourselves.
Until perhaps,
Somewhere inside,
Something begins to know.
I'm still here.
