Here, not There

I have been so committed to “the path”.

For so long it has been my primary dedication, my passion, my conviction, almost my obsession, as I pulled at a thread that started unravelling a construct, and discovered that it never ends.

And if I wasn’t unpicking, I was seeking – seeking truth, healing, evolution, purpose, missing pieces. Tattooing this concept into my identity, I changed my surname to “Sheridan” after my first marriage ended, which in Gaelic means “to seek”. Must be in my blood somehow, as it was my Great Grandmother’s maiden name, but it has become the privileged lens through which I experience myself in the world.

And I wouldn’t change any of it. I like the lens. I love, respect and believe in the path. But when you hold this particular hammer in your hand, there’s an endless supply of nails.

But tonight, I caught a glimpse of myself in this seeking posture from another angle. The way that the intention sets my sight on something “over there”, and my neck stretches out a little, my body leans forward and my centre of gravity is no longer truly “here”, but is hovering somewhere in the direction of “there”.

And There is a convincingly worthy place to lean towards! Over There I am more open, less contracted, I have softened and am more able to feel the flow of the river of life that carries me. And in this sensory security I can relax into a place of awareness rather than vigilance. I can trust my body, trust the current and enjoy the aliveness, the beauty, the enlightened truth of my being as intertwined with all beings…

Who wouldn’t want to be There?

But while part of me leans forward, the parts of me that are actually Here, have lost My true presence and are saddened in their sense of abandonment, this time by me. Yet again.

So I pause to stay Here. And the truth is, right now I feel so tense, tight and contracted that I have heart palpitations and pain that shoots across my chest and a sense of the tears and screams shoved so far beneath the surface by well-intentioned protective hands, that the pressure is breaking through as physical pain. And something’s gonna give. Especially when the additional response to all this is a desire to not be here. Not feel. Not stay. And of course I want relief, and I want them to not have to feel this anymore. It’s been long enough. Long enough.

I can see more clearly that my intention for change, even if that change is for healing, short-changes my patient, devotional, loving care and attention - my attuned love - for these painful, wounded parts of me that are still waiting for this core need to be met.

So right now, I will do my best to stay right Here… not try to breathe more deeply, or stretch out my chest to try to create more space, or think any words of mis-attuned care, like “you’re ok, we’re ok”.

No. Clearly she’s not… really not.

This vice is locked so tight – ribs being cranked into twisted, painful contortions. My breath squeezed up into shallow almost-breaths, as if this flood of … fear?... has taken up all the space, filled my lungs and left just a sliver of air at the very top. Muscles cry out in sharp pangs of pain from collarbone to diaphragm and I start to feel a gathering of spit and sick sensation in my throat, at the base of my tongue, and crampy spasms start flickering through my legs.

I’m here… I’m right here with you, just exactly as you are… What do you need me to do? Nope, sorry, not offering doing, just presencing, open to understanding, open to being shown, open to feeling more, holding space for more… just right here with you, not making it better, just helping to make it real, and known, and felt.

Concentrated pressure in the middle of my chest / heart centre, like all the strings are held in a fist and being pulled sharply inward… hunched over, concave, head in hands… feels like I want to throw up but even that has no space to move.

What is it sweetheart? What has you this terrified, this contorted? You don’t have to show me, but I’m here if you’d like to…

Tingles, teeth gritted, exhausted…

Hand to heart, I’m here.

27th Sep, 2022