The little girl stood nervously at the foot of her father's imposing golden-red throne. Despite its grandeur, the throne seemed to loom over her, a towering symbol of his power and authority. She claimed her short stature with a lifted spine and steady eyes, yet her heart raced with apprehension. She breathed as deeply as her tiny lungs could manage, gathering enough courage to pose a small question - one that burned within her, a query of monumental importance. She so desperately wanted to understand her world, this strange place she found herself in, and so she spoke, slowly and deliberately, for she had already felt the horrid sting when her father's response had snapped any trace of connection from her heart, severing their fragile bond.
She craved connection while so deeply needing to avoid the loss and abandonment that had already carved a wound within her - this polarity played out in the very consciousness of her nervous system, as deep and primal as the two, tiny sits bones that bore her weight. There was a pregnant pause before he spoke during which she felt the familiar dance of both hope and despair. Her father's brow furrowed just before he finally opened his mouth only to express his eternal impatience in short, thick words that instantly negated her power, her existence, her very right to seek understanding. Her courage fell, along with her tiny eyelids, and in these fleeting moments, the lifelong critic within her was born and bonified - a harsh voice that would forever question her own worth. As the little girl grew into an adult, she was acutely aware of this deep loss, this breach in attachment that showed itself in striking ways, especially in her relationships with lovers. Her ability to disconnect from the grief that still resided in her little body was remarkable, in fact, a kind of genius - and this made the pursuit of power enticing in equally striking ways. She became aware that this dance of polarity, so deeply ingrained in her nervous system and infused with the consciousness of abandonment, might always be something she would have to live with. A vibration, a buzz, a cycle of grasping and running away. In her deep internal practices, however, she had evolved into a state that lifted her above the dance of polarity, into a spacious, empty, nothingness without disconnecting or becoming dysregulated at all. In fact, it was a level of consciousness that offered peace and ultimately a wellspring of light and love. She learned to connect with this energy, this luminous source that held and healed the wound that had been lodged deep within her hips. And so, in those later years, she was finally able to visit her father free of judgment or protective strategies to hide her vulnerability. She was his daughter, yet able to honor his limitations as she had learned to honor her own. And in the masterful holding and healing of her own despair she had also experienced the true meaning of forgiveness.
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Abbey was certain of at least six past lives—five male, one female. In each, she recognized a pattern of failure, rendering her predecessors impotent, gullible, and incapable. The lone female, Kat, had been a slave worker turned potential entrepreneur. She had been utterly oppressed by the patriarchy of her time, which condemned her to a long, lonely life filled with waste, regret, and shame.
In this lifetime, Abbey enjoyed a charmed life of privilege, higher education, and countless possibilities. Yet, despite her efforts, she felt unworthy and incapable in financial matters. She called it the "wounded masculine," a part of her existence she had come to despise. Dark thoughts of ending her life to escape these lifetimes of despair haunted her, but she knew that would only perpetuate the cycle. Determined to honor each of these lifetimes—one soul, one lesson—Abbey clearly saw them all: a Roman Empire citizen, a Venetian merchant, a 1920s shyster, a successful financier murdered after losing everything, and an arms dealer who lost his inventory to warring armies. Overwhelmed by this knowledge, Abbey felt alarmed yet compelled to acknowledge their struggles. Her enthusiasm spent, her nervous system fried, and her vitality low, she had just emerged from a week in bed, immobilized by a deep despair associated with a loss of respect. Rising from her malaise, Abbey gathered seven small, special rocks from her collection—six to represent her past lives, and one for herself. She added an eighth to symbolize failure. Arranging the six "souls" in a circle with herself and failure in the center, she stepped back to reflect. In this moment of clarity, Abbey realized she was doing the right thing. She honored each person for carrying this familiar archetype of failure, assuring them they would no longer be forgotten or judged. Then, she had the courage to ask which one would offer a blessing for her future. The Roman Empire stone called to her. Moving it before her own, Abbey heard his message: "You are the one, Abbey. You see us for what we were and what we tried to do. You know our castrated efforts, yet you have a future. I give you my blessing and permission to do it differently. Succeed where we could not, for us and for yourself." Abbey placed all six stones behind her own, feeling their presence supporting her with appreciation, love, and enthusiasm for the unfamiliar path ahead. Looking forward, she felt both supported and lighter, beginning to sense what life might be like if she could attune to her higher self and leave the past behind with grace. With renewed purpose, Abbey dressed and began her day, embracing a freshness she had never known before. Adam sat in the driver's seat of his car staring out the front window at the lake in front of him. The lake before him mirrored the frozen stillness of his despair, its surface a deceptive calm hiding depths as turbulent as his own psyche. His entire life felt like it had been run by a demon that he believed lived in his spine and his soul. This entity, as he called it, was tenacious and equally vicious as it berated his very being nonstop, all day, and every day for four very long and difficult decades. This entity and its behaviors had ruined all his relationships, his physical and mental health, his happiness, and caused several mental breakdowns, including the one he was presently experiencing. He believed, through and through, that he was possessed.
He gazed at the water with glazed eyes, empty mind, and numb body as he considered driving directly into the lake to end the relentless struggle and pain. He was, in truth, so frozen that he could not even hold the steering wheel. Instead, from somewhere very deep within his inner body a teeny, tiny voice exclaimed "no!" And then, "NO!" It was as if a long-dormant seed of self-preservation had suddenly sprouted, pushing through the dense soil of his despair with surprising vigor. In truth, Adam was a gentle soul riddled with a deeply exiled shame that he embodied from a father who made sure that he knew how disappointing he was. How Adam, his only son, could never measure up to his standards as the father he was meant to be and the son he was meant to have. That shame became the young boy's identity as he gave it deep meaning within his measly sense of self. This became his relational trauma with self and others and caused so much firefighting havoc, that in retrospect, it was amazing that Adam still lives. In his adult years, Adam had grown to enjoy a pleasant relationship with his father, and this confused him further. The irony wasn't lost on Adam - that the man who had planted the seeds of his self-hatred was now tending to a garden of reconciliation. Yet, the roots of shame ran deep, nourished by years of internalized criticism and disgust. He could appreciate his own father's trauma and dilemmas, but what Adam could not understand, and what drove him to desperation, was that his attachment system, nervous system, heart, and body were in concert with each other and habituated to expect and receive the familiar shaming. He shamed himself and then hated himself for that too. This encoding of a distorted chemical reality was intolerable and unconscious, so his mind could only identify it as a deep disturbance called an entity, like a child looking under the bed for a monster. On this day however, after hearing that 'no,' Adam realized that he needed more help. Epiphanies, Adam mused, had a cruel sense of timing – arriving just when one foot was already off the cliff's edge. But perhaps that's when we're most ready to hear them. He turned the key, started the car, and slowly, as if in slow motion, drove away from the lake. Adam attended weekly meetings with his therapist from his car as it had become a place of safety as much as it was a potential means to flee. He discovered the entity was not an entity after all and as he began to unmerge from the core emotion of shame, neutrally observing it with a rare softness, he began to see and appreciate how intolerable it had been for him as a child. Unraveling years of emotional knots proved to be a Gordian task, but Adam approached it with the patience of a man who'd glimpsed the value of his own life. He knew, just like all of us, that he came to life, to his family, to be loved, and in the absence of this care, he lost connection with his purity and innocence. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes of his former self, Adam emerged not unscathed, but beautifully scarred – each mark a testament to his resilience and growth. He now lives with a vitality that only love and forgiveness can provide. His demon likes to visit less and less, but when that happens, he can relate to it from compassion and skill as he had learned how to depotentiate the harsh emotions with ones that he favored. He could even look back at all the broken bridges in his life and love himself the same. Adam's recovery was nothing short of remarkable, and his life began to reflect this transformation in ways that he had only dreamed of. |
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