Forgetting And Remembering

We all slip away from ourselves without meaning to. We get busy, or afraid, or we move too fast, and somewhere in the middle of it all, we wander a long way from home. In that space of forgetting, the voice that says you are broken or not enough can sound so certain. In this meditation, we aren't trying to fix the fact that you forgot. We are simply practicing the return. Because the way home is always the same: you just notice you've been gone.

Transcript

I invite you to come sit with me for a moment. You don't have to be anywhere else right now. You don't have to have arrived having figured anything out. Just come as you are, Whatever that looks like today. And let yourself be here. Take a breath in. And as you let it go, See if you can let your body just settle a little bit more. Not performing settling. Just letting the day loosen its grip on you for a few minutes. Let your hands soften. Let the weight of your face release. I want to talk to you about something that you already know. Something you've lived your whole life and keep forgetting. And yet keep finding your way back to. A leaving and a returning. Forgetting and remembering. Over and over. We all slip from ourselves without meaning to. We get busy or afraid or we move too fast. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, We've wandered a long way from home. And the world of forgetting seems so solid and so true. The voice that says, Not enough. Too much. Something here is broken. It sounds so certain. It's easy to believe it's just telling us the facts. Feel that place in your body right now, If it's there. The tightness. The low hum of something unresolved. The part of you that's been a little contracted today. Or for longer than today. Just feel it. You don't have to change it. Just let it be known. And here's what you can sit with. Just sit with. You don't have to believe it yet. But that the contraction is not the truth of you. It's a weather pattern. It moves through. And underneath it, There's something that has never once shifted. Something whole and intact and tender. The part of you that reaches and feels and tries and loves. It was there before the world taught you to be afraid of yourself. Place your hand on your chest, If that feels right. Feel the rise and fall of your chest. This has been happening your whole life. Even at your most lost. Even in the shame of something. Even then, This breath was here. Keeping you. Tending to you without asking anything in return. Let yourself be tended to right now. If shame is close. If there's something you've done or left undone. Some version of yourself you keep. And keep returning to with such harshness. I'm not going to ask you to release it or reframe it. I'm just going to ask you to feel where it lives in your body. Your throat. Your chest. The place that goes dense and heavy when you've wandered far from who you are. Stay there. Let it be felt. And notice in the staying that you are still here. You are meeting it. That something in you is large enough to hold it and not be destroyed by it. You don't have to believe that either. Just notice that it's happening. You're here. And it's here. And you have not disappeared. That feeling, As uncomfortable as it is. It's trying to bring you back somewhere. Back to yourself. Back to your own humanity. Back to the knowledge that you are not broken. You are not the exception. You are just a person. A full, Tender, Trying person. Who forgot for a while. And is now in this moment. Remembering. Let your breath deepen a little now. Without forcing it. The forgetting will come again. Of course it will. You'll get pulled back into the current of things and lose the thread. And when you do. It won't mean you're doing anything wrong. It will just mean that you are human. Living the full shape of a human life. Which has always included leaving and coming home. The way home is always the same. You simply notice you've been gone. That's all. The noticing is the return. No work required. No accounting for how long you've been away. You just look up. And you're already on your way back. Rest here for a moment. Rest in the knowledge that you are whole. Not because you've earned it. Not because you've healed enough or figured it out. But because you always have been. Because that's what you are. Underneath everything. And nothing that has happened to you has changed that. Not even a little. Let your eyes open slowly. Carry this tenderness with you. With yourself. Back into your day. You don't have to hold on to it tightly. You'll forget and then you'll remember. That's the whole shape of it. And that is enough.

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