Receptive and Embracing

- Wassily Kandinsky
My most relaxed moments are when I’m in the bath. It’s a space where I can be completely open and receptive, allowing the water to rejuvenate me. The first few minutes of being completely open is a shock to my system. To help it along, I normally make the water a little too hot, just enough to jolt me into my sensual self, relaxing into the warmth. By soothing my senses, I relax and naturally begin to let go. I am receptive and open in a way that goes beyond my normal daily awareness. I feel a connection that extends beyond my body and the water surrounding me. I work through memories of the recent days in a dreamlike state and notice that creative ideas and pieces of stories come to me, as I let myself be nurtured by time alone.
As creative creatures, one of our greatest gifts is that which exists between the space of the mind and heart, the essence that we call our spirit or soul. It is unique and what gives passion to our work. Like a well, this vessel for our emotions and creativity can be drained and even depleted if not cared for. When a plant goes too long without water, it takes some time for the roots to open up and be able to absorb it again. Too long without pleasure or freedom and we are a bit unsure how to handle it. Like water, we must allow this essence to flow by becoming receptive and embracing. Like water, it cannot be held tight by a fist, only cupped in an open palm.
This isn’t easy at first. Strong emotions, unbidden, can come boiling to the surface. Anger, sadness, fear from old wounds… as quick and hot and powerful as the first times we felt them. They are what lay beneath a daily calm, the fears and hurts that we’ve ignored to silence, a storm we’ve never truly weathered. Part of what makes this re-emergence so painful is the place we have to sit in when we revisit them. Every time we revisit an old trauma, we respond to it as strongly as the first time. If we aren’t strong enough, we end up not only re-experiencing the hurt but also adding pain on top of it. We compound it. Even if we are strong enough, we have to sit with ourselves as we were then, an emotional ghost called by the old pain.
At first, we seem to carry none of the strength or grace we may have built since the experience. We sit with something we may never have accepted in ourselves, certainly never loved. But this ghost is as undeniable as anything about our current existence. Fear and anger and hurt feed on inner denial. We wrestle with it, struggling to beat it into a more pleasing shape. We are compelled to look away, when we should in fact be facing it head on.
We are as unique in our pain as our beauty. It’s rather ingenious. Our pain normally originates from dancing with a demon of fear and is specifically tailored to make each of us squirm. It becomes an intrinsic part of our identity and growth. We can become very attached to it if we’re not careful. We like to think of pain in terms of levels and this comparative understanding tends to put us at odds with ourselves and each other. A friend recently expressed to me that no one’s pain is greater or lesser, only different. We discussed different ways individuals tried to show each other their pain (her using funny voices, me laughing). I’d been spending some time with my own little fear demon that brought me back to a very uncomfortable place of pain. Pain that made me want to close off and at the same time shout “Look how I’ve been hurt! See my pain!” This little fear demon thinking comes from a childlike tendency to want to get rid of pain by passing it on to others or by trying to having them soothe it. Instead, we must understand that we are the only ones who can heal our pain. We must allow ourselves to open become open, receptive, and embracing, or wither away from lack of nourishment. Our greatest ally in this is something that neither turns away nor holds any judgment. We can call on a spirit of compassion, a spirit of love to hold us. This compassion asks nothing more of us than to sit with our pain, as uncomfortable as that first moment may be. After all, our pain defines us as much as our beauty.
Pain isn’t the only the only feeling we try to control by closing off. Pleasure can be as strong as pain, and if we’re not used to it, we can draw back from it just as violently. We aren’t sure what we’re feeling, only that it’s intense, and that intense feeling makes us want to draw away from it. Like pain, the only way through it is to relax, to enjoy, and to let ourselves become receptive to what we’re feeling. This is also how we learn to have pleasurable sex.
In becoming receptive and embracing, we learn to let the tide ebb and flow, let the water carry away what no longer suits us and bring new curiosities and discoveries. We invite the new and mysterious into our lives and relax into the world opening before us. We learn to cultivate, instead of dominate, and work with our own cycles of pleasure, pain, and other emotions to create an adventure that challenges and nourishes us.
