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  • Writer's pictureAnnelisa MacBean

A New Moment

I’m going to stop drinking; stop over-eating; stop watching the news . . . I’m not going to do (fill in the blank) any longer. It will take everything in me. I feel wobbly, unsteady, insecure and uncertain. But I am going to embrace my vulnerability, my deep feelings, the ones I resist and repress. I am going to turn toward that feeling of resistance; the putting off, procrastinating and denying . . . and breathe, receive and even care for the deep vulnerabity from which all these habits distance me. With intention and trepidation, slowly but without wavering, I choose a new way. I will be a friend to the remaining mystery of myself. I will do it now. I am no longer willing to participate in the storied practice of ignoring what is moving in me. Even though I will not be perfect at it and will probably fail at times, I will remain steadfast in my commitment to be attentive, to listen, to no longer abandon myself in a moment of activation. The work shifts to the heart now. I am not focused on clear insight and expanded awareness, somehow safe as a witness on the sidelines. This commitment moves me into a messy, non-linear exploration of the process of opening my heart to my pain, confusion, anger and grief. This is the practice of setting aside a relentless need to understand what I’m feeling, determine its cause, create a context, a story or a mental plan for how to transmute my unwanted or difficult experience into something more desirable. This is a new moment, a different kind of moment. Right now. Can I hold my heart and what is arising there like a mother or father surrounding and enveloping their little baby? Can I make contact with the emerging experiences and feelings, and also be the sanctuary where they can be tendered? This seems radical. I don’t even want to think about bringing kindness or acceptance to the feelings. A bridge too far right now. Rather can I just stay in the room, in my body without filling a glass, filling my stomach or turning on the TV? Can I stay in relationship to the sensations and expressions moving through me and discover the ways the disowned parts of myself are showing up? Untangling and enlivening these parts comes later, shining a warm presence into the experience . . . also down the road. Right now . . . in this moment, I am here. I am not leaving. I am not going away. This is a new moment.

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