Vulnerable open eyes

So, I lay with an old friend last night.

He used to lay with me all the time. Right at my side. Scratching into my skin. Sometimes making me so claustrophobic, he’d drape himself around my body. Pressing into the corners of my mind. Pressing down too strongly on my chest. Making it so hard to breath. So very hard to breath.

Insomnia.
My cruel bedmate.

I wrestled my shadows for a long time. A long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. And with the help of the force, and some Jedi mind tricks, my saboteur became my friend. And like so many friends of mine, insomnia – it seems – was out of mind for a bit. But never too far from my heart.

Never far away at all.

So when he started to call again recently, trying to lay with me again, I did what all the teachings said would work.

But Twinnings didn’t.
Inversions didn’t.
Washing my nostrils with salt water and taking alternative breaths in and out didn’t.

But at least I felt like I’d had a surf…

I got up, went back to bed. Got up, went back to bed.
Over.
And over.
Again.

Until last night.

He lay over me again. Heavy on my empty belly. Hammering into my too full mind. Filled with too many unanswered questions.

Too scared to ask any more.

So I gave up on what I thought I should do. I gave up on what his heaviness pressed. I surrendered into the sticky, thick darkness with my eyes plastered open.

To realise, no-one was there.
I don’t know if anyone ever was there.

Anyone except me.

Think kundalini mediation, forward folds and long warm baths.

In denying our pain, we can deny the experience if humanness. Because again, some teams cop more than their fair share of penalties. But in surrendering into our fears, we surrender into a place where essence has more of a chance to find us. And in doing so, we can be reminded of our process within the mystery. Our place within the mystery.

And of the beauty of the mystery as well.

Even when the mystery is downright ugly.

In giving ourselves permission to be vulnerable, in giving ourselves permission for self care, we can still have a head full of unanswerable, unfair questions. Intuition can infold into compassion. Compassion can unfold into wisdom.

Because wise old owls don’t need to sleep much at night.

And they don’t mind sleeping alone.

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