Nobody Needs Saving (2)


I need to say more about this.

Some people, like me, are hard wired to attempt to save others from their predicaments. And there are countless awful and apparently-impossible-to-remedy predicaments we all find ourselves in, so the task is truly endless.

To the degree that my mission is to save others, I am constantly busy, if not in actuality, in my mind, trying to figure out solutions for everyone’s problems.

This is may be exhausting and debilitating, but also serves to make me feel stronger, and more capable than I really am, because, as the savior, I can hide how much, deep down, I want saving myself. This may be very buried as it doesn’t really suit my self image to admit it. And we seem to have the most extraordinary capacity to not see what we don’t want to see about ourselves (even when it is obvious to everyone else!)

The activity saves me from feeling how lost, lonely, inadequate and desperate I feel myself, in fact I rarely need to touch this. It also saves me from feeling the peace, relaxation and ease of being which goes hand in hand with facing feelings I have spent a life time avoiding.

And it prevents me from realizing a deeper calling, which is to live as love.

So when I say, nobody needs saving, I am not suggesting a cold indifference to the suffering of others. Not remotely.

I am calling to my own heart, and yours, I am calling for a deeper realization of love, which is endlessly called to respond to itself and everything. Which wants nothing other than to give of itself to every human being, every creature, every situation, without agenda, without knowing how to do that, or what the result may be. And is not convinced in any way of being indispensible to the flow of life, because it is not separate from life, but simply alive. And has no fear of crisis in myself or others, recognising it as part of a necessary process of revelation. It has no separate compartments for ‘your needs’, ‘my needs’ or ‘the world’s needs’, but more an intuitive sensing of ‘what’s needed?’ which includes it all. And the movement towards that, happens within a flow which is already free, already whole, not dependent on results but responsive to life. And it includes a willingness to feel every feeling from the fear, confusion, bewilderment, emptiness and anger to the joy, wonder, compassion and hilarity (and everything in between) which this extraordinary existence offers to us.


Meeting Death (again)


A dear person named Gordon died very suddenly last week.

He came to many retreats Colin and I offered over the last 7 years, and was a gentle, loving, tender presence in this community.

As happens with sudden deaths, there is a lot of shock. How is it possible, that one minute there is this being, this alive, embodied heart touching all around them in the ways that they do, and the next there is nothing. An empty body, recognizable and yet so not who that person was? No life; no spark, no love, no intelligence, no humour. Nothing. How can the mind truly comprehend this mystery of mysteries? Perhaps for some there is still a tangible presence or essence that can be felt even though there is no body through which it can express itself. And yet for most what remains is nothing. A sense of an indelible bond which was, and is, and yet no longer a feel-able, touchable presence. And the emptiness this leaves.

I first experienced this when my half sister Soph died from suicide 33 years ago. It was utterly incomprehensible to me, even though in theory I understood about death. Unfathomable. Impossible. That she who I had known my entire life was now gone. Many times over the years I have dreamed that she came back to life, or had never died in the first place, but had just been somehow hiding. My unconscious still trying to work it all out.


It seems to be easier to comprehend and allow when the death is more expected, timely, and has been prepared for.

Next week it will be a year since my father died. I was ready for his death and I felt it as a deliverance; I felt waves of grief, but I most strongly remember two days after he died, feeling swept through with a wild joy, as if I could feel his letting go, his freedom, as if he were soaring through the skies. And seeing his body in the casket brought with it a gentle sense of the mercy and the beauty of death even as it seemed strange and incomprehensible.

My father Tim, not long before he died

I have spent most of my life in fear of death. Terrified more than anything of more loss. Afraid to truly open in love because somewhere I’ve always known that everyone I love I shall eventually lose, and this seems utterly unpalatable. Slowly, as I face into my essential aloneness and come to terms with it, make friends with it, soften around it, the prospect of deep loss seems easier to allow for; the dread is easing. Not that the heartbreak stops.

The simplicity of Gordon’s death is heartbreaking – and even more keenly so when I sit with those for whom his death leaves a vast chasm, and feel them as if I were them for moments in time. And more so because he was in a time when he seemed happier, less burdened, more available and brighter than those of us who knew him had even seen him before. He died knowing he was loved, and his love was received.

And more generally, it is heartbreaking that we are all going to die. Each and every one of us. And none of us really know what, if anything, happens next. And that is both awesome in its incomprehensibility, wonderful, terrifying and yes, heartbreaking.

There is so much love. For so many people, for the birds and all the creatures, the trees, the earth itself… and if I am not willing to have my heart broken again and again, I cannot truly surrender to love.

I remember hearing that quote from Tennyson,

“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

It struck me from the young age when I first heard it. It gave me courage even as I questioned it. Really? Are you sure? Can I not protect myself from pain, by loving less??

Well perhaps I can, and have done. But what a price to pay; to love less.

I wrote a song a few years ago about dying and living to the full. In the last verse it says

“…until that day,

I’m gonna gaze into the endless sky,

I’m gonna love and love and love without asking why…

I’m gonna open my arms, and my legs, and my heart so wide,

That I can know I lived, and lived, and lived, until I died…”

So that is my invocation. I don’t always manage to live it, but it is my prayer and intention. For the sake of Gordon, who once again has awakened me to this mystery, and for my father and my sister, for all those who have died and all who are still alive, and because I believe that is what I am here for.



Nobody needs saving


This morning I saw the heron, majestically swooping down through the garden and gracefully landing by the side of the pond where he is now standing, already motionless, keeping watch as the surface of the water shimmers in the morning light.

It is snow drop time.

And as I lay in bed this morning I felt the soft warm glimmerings of tenderness, infused with a quiet, almost imperceptible joy, easing their way through the greyness of my heart.

Nobody needs saving.

Nobody needs saving.

I am being gently released from a lifetime of unsuccessfully – and often barely consciously – attempting to save and be saved.

No body needs saving.

And love can be released from the cocoon it has been relegated to – under layers of manipulations and attempts to do something to change you, myself or the world to make it (or you or me), ‘better’.

Love can be released to do the work… which only love can do


Sunday morning;  it is grey and drizzly as it has been for what seems like weeks and weeks. It fits well with a kind of inner greyness which accompanies me.

I tend to busy myself with all kinds of things so as to avoid that inner greyness which is a kind of slow, melancholy, unremarkable and pervasive emptiness. My life long habit is to fill my life with people, activities, beautiful things, music and lots of thinking (about people, activities, things)… and that neglected lost soul of a feeling just wonders around just behind, just above, just beneath me, gently calling for my attention.

My mind can easily give it names – well this is because the future looks bleak, or this is because I was lonely as a child, or this is because it keeps drizzling here in England and I wish the sun would shine more.

I think I shall drop ‘becausing’ for a bit.

What if there is no because?

So I allow myself to dip in to this ghostly feeling and find out what it is really like.

It is quiet. It tastes of nothing much. There is a sense of aloneness in it. It is undemanding and yet pervasive, like this thick grey cloud which hangs over the Devon world. It is monotone and quite emotionless. There is nothing to feel good about and nothing to feel bad about, and yet the nothingness seems to invite a movement towards both or either direction, just to jazz things up a bit.  Uninspected, even feeling bad seems better than this nomansland.

And yet there is a gentleness to it, a simplicity, a quietness when I let myself abide in it, which is soft and relieving. Oh yes, nowhere to go with this. Nothing to do. And something of my drivenness has a chance to stall and let things be as they are.

And this English winter weather can have my appreciation for simply being as it is, with gratitude for this warm comfortable home.

And all those activities I have created to avoid empty, depleted feelings can be seen for what they are, and be allowed to slow down.

And slowly, maybe, I can relax, allow all of this to be as it is, and every lonely, lost, empty, grey feeling can be invited home to roost.

Grandmother delights


Little Naiagua has been staying for 5 weeks, and yesterday I waved good bye to her and my daughter Lua (her mother) as I headed off to run a group and they go back shortly to the Canary Islands. I saw her passport yesterday. It is a proper Spanish passport with her funny little brown 5 month old face rather crossly gazing out of the page.


She has changed since she first arrived. Her skin was browner then and her face more serious. Recently she has started to talk much more and sometimes shout and screech with delight when she sees us, kicking her little strong legs vigorously, dancing with joy. Joy sweeps through her uncontained and within a second it might change to concentration or a quieter, more inward feeling, or sometimes distress, irritation or frustration. Absolutely nothing is held on to. Her attention moves freely to what is most interesting in any moment. And there is SO MUCH to be interested in!

I love to see the fascination with which she explores objects with her little hands and her lips, tongue and gums. Her mouth is investigating everything and loves to find new textures and shapes to check out, whether it is a wooden spoon, a plastic donkey, a jam jar lid or a spatula. Best if it can fit into her mouth. Sound is also fascinating. She has learned to hurl things across the room which sometimes make a satisfying clattering sound. And she likes to scratch surfaces with her little nails to see how they sound. The sofa is a good linen surface which we sometimes scratch together. And music! Oh, how she loves music! Sometimes she will go very very quiet and simply listen with her whole being. A moment before it started, she may have been winging and bored, and suddenly she is still and silent letting it soak into her. And if it is more rhythmical her little legs kick in time to the music and her arms open and close alongside it. When she is held and danced with she will sometimes screech with delight and properly dance too. She has also learned that she can SHOUT to get someones’ attention.

She likes to explore my face or fingers with her little hands and mouth. She cannot sit up on her own yet but if you put her on her back on the floor she will flip round onto her front and kick her little legs and hold herself up on her upper arms; I reckon she is keen to move and yet hasn’t figured out the muscle groups required to propel herself forward from her legs and arms, so she just kicks and gets easily bored after a while.

I shall miss her. It has been an utter delight to share this month with her in her growing and witness her discovering the world and gaining confidence and dexterity. And to be reminded of how wondrous it is to be born into this world in a healthy body surrounded by loving care. There is so much to discover! So much to enjoy! So much to be upset by!

It also makes me realize acutely how much an infant needs and how often those needs cannot be met adequately in so many circumstances and the consequences of that in the early growing in terms of whether the world appears as fundamentally benign or threatening.

But most of all I just feel grateful for this opportunity to accompany, witness, enjoy and share an abundance of love with this new beautiful person.

The mystery happens now

My mind may be convinced there is something to be realized in the future…

But I know there is only this precious moment

where everything I am longing for is revealed.

It always was so.

This mysterious moment is

quietly whispering,

“Come here…



I am breathing you,


Just for a moment.

Because I am what you are seeking.



Just here, closer than your skin;

don’t look for me,

just breathe me in,

just love this.”


Thank you.

And I don’t know if I am thanking the mystery,

or the mystery is thanking me,

or what the difference is.



What is Awakening?

I realize that I often mention this Awakening word as if it were obvious what I am talking about; it is much bandied about these days, but what does it really mean?

I can say here a bit about what it means from my own perspective as, whilst not presuming to be an expert, I do have some first hand experience from my own life and that of my awakening friends, students and colleagues. It will be what wants to be said today as I allow these words to come through, and on another day I might describe it differently as there are so many ways to come at this and many many aspects to the process which I will most probably not even touch on this time.

In my own experience so far it has been something like this:

I am slowly waking up from the dream of who I thought I was to who I really am which is not a thing; it, or I, is/am indefinable, unformed, ever changing and yet ever present in the midst of this body, this mind, this personality, this life story. Not defined by any of this and yet touched by it all.

For as long as I can remember, I thought I had some idea of who I was and what life was all about and yet I knew something was profoundly missing and out of kilter. I felt displaced and had a sense of being on a search for something which never felt satisfying. I was looking for healing, for completeness, for happiness, for peace. And sometimes I would experience these things and then they would slip away and remain elusive; the more I sought them, the more they seemed unreachable in any reliable way.

Perhaps the most profound lesson was the dawning realization that nothing I was seeking could be satisfied in the world of experiences. (I was searching for myself, and it is increasingly obvious that I am not an experience – or a series of experiences – but the one who experiences all of life).

This has taken years to take root in me, and still sometimes eludes me in all kinds of subtle ways. It is possible to see it, recognize it, and almost immediately find oneself back in the quest to reach certain feeling states as if feeling a certain way, or experiencing a certain thing, were the goal. This goal is based on two principal motivating factors. The first is simply a desire to feel good, at rest, open, alive and connected – and to avoid feeling bad or unpleasant feelings. In a way this is simple and also to some degree natural. Any creature would rather feel good than bad.  And the desire to feel good will mean evolving many complex ways of planning, hoping, imagining or doing what we can to ensure our lives unfolds in such a way to make such feeling states more attainable.  (However successful or unsuccessful these attempts are).

The second is more complex and more insidious. And that is to do with identity. I want to be the kind of person who feels at ease, peaceful, purposeful, connected, alive, etc. I need these states in order to feel good about myself, to feel confident about my place in the world, and to gain the respect, love and admiration of others in my life.

This is tricky. Because it is very easy to delude oneself. I want to do good in the world and be part of the solution rather than the problem; I have always wanted this ever since I realized at a young age that things were seriously out of balance. I wanted to be – in chronological order – a nurse, a missionary, a vet, a saint, an effective political activist, an avatar… And part of this comes from a very pure and real motivation from my heart, to bring a force of good in a broken world. The tricky bit, is that this is – mostly unconsciously – entwined with a narcissistic need to be seen as a good, valuable person of huge integrity (especially by myself). One of the many difficulties here is that my identification with the need to be all of this, means that I will be unwilling to see, let alone fully feel, all the aspects of myself which are out of integrity – which are arrogant, hateful, punishing, dissociated, sloppy, needy, etc. And I will be therefore unwilling to fully take responsibility for the more shadowy aspects of my humanness. If a lot of my energy is being used to shore up the identity I am determined to uphold, it is going to be very hard for me to see what is hiding underground in my psyche in a way which can support it to transform. I will tend to nurse a deep sense of self hatred – more or less consciously – because deep down I know full well that all the ‘good’ stuff is balanced in at least equal measure by the ‘bad’ stuff. And if I have a strong inner critic (which most of us do whether we are conscious of it or not) it will bounce me out of myself again and again. If I am telling myself I am bad for thinking or feeling this or that, it is going to be more or less impossible to have enough space or compassion to see myself in a more spacious way and actually take stock and address whatever disturbance is afflicting me in such a way that I can meet any underlying need, and show up with any kind of maturity. And if my behavior is out of integrity, and I am dealing with a fierce inner critic, when someone addresses me on it, I will tend to either cave in, in a vocal or unspoken expression of my failure and self hate, or I will become defensive or both. I will only be able to take responsibility in a mature way, if I am able to see my own behavior, recognize the effect it has on the other, and relate with any remorse arising with some ‘space’.  (This will also by effect make me less liable to judge others for their imperfections.)

So what enables me to have more space, and to not get over-identified with either a perfectionist self image or that of a failure, both of which are by definition experienced as separate from a bigger whole?

SPACE: I believe it is necessary to have a direct experience of a ‘space of being’ which is not defined by any of the roles I play and is not defined by my body, my mind or my feelings. To experience what it is, however fleetingly, to simply be here without being fixated on anything, available and in connection with a greater beingness. This can be experienced as shockingly different from ‘normal’ reality, or a very subtle shift, depending on where I have been living from prior to that. In other words, if I find myself very lost, disconnected, isolated and/or obsessed by anything, and I suddenly land where I actually am, I am likely to drop out of my obsessive mind and open to a dimension of being which is very different. There will be a sense of peace, simplicity and vividness to experience which is palpable, and in direct contrast to where I have been. There will be sense of resource which naturally allows me to meet whatever life situation I find myself in, even if I don’t consciously know how to do that…

If I have not strayed so far from a more natural state in the first place, the shift will be more subtle, and sometimes not even recognized.

I have witnessed myself and others have dramatic shifts from one moment to the next, as they drop whatever it was they were identified with and found themselves waking up from a ‘dream’ (or recurring nightmare) into a reality which is inherently restful, happy and connected. This is paradoxical, because I could find myself at rest and happy in an experience of agitation – in other words, being at rest does not presume that I am all of a sudden totally relaxed and blissed out (although I might be). I might be full of adrenaline or stressed out but with no resistance whatsoever to that state, and in that there is peace. Not perhaps the peace my searching mind thought it should or could be experiencing, but a profound peace, which is not dependent on any particular feeling state.

I have also experienced, in myself and others, a gradual slowing down of the search, a relaxation of internal effort, and a slow reclaiming of a more natural state of being. This is less dramatic and it is easy to miss the fact that this can be more reliable – certainly more digestible (if less impressive) – because it happens slowly and without any fanfare. The more dramatic shifts often come with an extreme level of bouncing from state to state; the further you fall from a state of identification to the natural state, the more likely the sense of crashing. So people can swing from states of bliss and peace to being utterly lost in their internal dramas, desperately seeking the peace again, dissociating altogether and veering wildly in what, on a bad day, can feel a bit like going mad… It’s a Jekyll and Hyde situation where depending on where someone is landing from one moment to the next they are like two different people. Quite confusing to be around!

But whether it occurs gradually or dramatically, to experience this space of being gives some confidence. Not the confidence associated with being successful in the world or liked by other people, but the confidence that who I am, is not separate from the rest of existence, and is actually not dependent on whether I am ‘good’ or ‘bad’. That on a deep level who I am is not perfectible, is not in need of healing or changing in any way. That although there may be all kinds of difficulties in my body and psyche, and much to integrate on different levels, the essence of who I am is already complete, already at rest, and already in love with all that is. Knowing this – not as an idea, but as a knowing which has been experienced directly – gives enough confidence to be able to safely face into all kinds of neuroses and shadowy aspects.   And it is the fact of being able to face these and feel them in the body which allows them to transform. Not taking it all totally personally helps. The fact is that being human means that each one of us holds vast potential and also huge reservoirs of wounding, and capacity to do harm. If we think we are beyond that, we are most probably deluding ourselves. And it is personal and very particular to each of us, of course, but it is also not personal. It is collective, and borne of generation upon generation of confusion, separation and trauma. Which is why, integrating all of this is no mean feat. And also there is no end point. There is no point when one day we will finally have sorted everything out. It seems that there is a continual process of evolution which is without end.

I often think of the story of the crucifixion of Jesus who took on the sins of humanity to save the world. What if each of us needs to face into our own personal crucifixion in order to find resurrection – we need to face the pain of humanity, the lostness, the cruelty, the selfishness, the need for power and pleasure at whatever cost – we need to know all of these in ourselves, rather than presuming it is all only out there. We need to realize that we cannot transcend anything until it has fully been felt. And that our capacity, willingness and readiness to feel it all, is the greatest gift we can offer to ourselves, all of humanity and the rest of creation.

Sometimes people ask me, why is it this way? Why do we have to feel so separate, or lost, or afraid of life and death?

You could say it is because of early life adaptations and the way we have created a kind of facsimile of who we really are in order to be loved, accepted, or even noticed in the world. Or it is because we are swimming in a cultural stream which is run by social, economic and political forces which need us to be constantly searching for more. Or that the momentum of history has been such that through on-going wars and invasions of all kinds, we are all traumatized (even if we haven’t experienced such things in our lifetimes, but second hand through parents and grandparents) and therefore living in a constant state of nervous system arousal. You could say that our very education system means children are brought up to think that training the mind in certain prescribed ways is the most important thing there is, and that academic achievement is more important than the capacity to love. There is a lot I could say and many have said about this.

But what strikes me is that our extraordinary capacity to live as if we were separate from the rest of existence; to live in dissociated mind states and view the world in terms of us and them, means that when we do come home to a more natural state and actually bring through more of our potential as human beings, the effect of this level of consciousness is profound and very powerful.

I see my little granddaughter who is 6 months old. She is in the natural state. She is present, experiencing each moment as it arises. She has no limiting ideas or beliefs to cloud her perception of life. However she is also a baby and does not yet have the capacity to recognize that she is an independent being in her own right. She does not have the maturity to understand what is happening in any coherent way or make sense of the world. She loves, and opens love in others because it is her nature to do so, and it is delightful. And at some point in the not too distant future she will need to differentiate, to define herself and separate from the state of oneness in which she dwells. This is natural and developmental. She will need to go through phases in which all she sees is her own wants and needs and she cannot have any empathy for anyone else. If she is not made wrong in this or forced to have empathy before she is ready, she will most probably then develop a natural empathy and slowly find how to live in a world in which she exists but also others exist and that this needs to be negotiated.   She will need to experience, at times, as we all do, what it is to feel afraid, alone, separate and disconnected. And then – having known all of this – she will I hope some day come back to a natural state of being in which she has compassion for what it is to be lost because she has known it, and yet has found her way home again.

Perhaps there is little value in being found if we were never lost. It is our very capacity to stray so far which makes the homecoming so precious, valuable and potent, as stories across the ages point us to. I sense that the energy which is unleashed when we step back into the stream of life is so potent that it can move mountains. Even if our direct experience of this may be subtle.

And given what we are facing on a planetary level, I believe nothing less is going to make much difference.



Sometimes the will to show up, listen and find out what wants to come through me, seems to go dormant.

I want to turn a blind eye, and I convince myself that my muse has gone, I have lost confidence, and that it is all hopeless.

Actually I just turned away from myself.

I didn’t want to know.  To listen seemed too big an ask. To distract myself and get busy with a thousand other things seemed so much easier.  And there is always so much that can pull my attention.

So today I sit down to write as a discipline, not because it comes easy.

I am sitting here and writing because I remember how important it is, even though all I apparently want to do is turn the other way.

So here I am.  Not a lot to say, and a streaming head cold which has the effect of making me want to run away from the direct experience of my body.  Even though, when I take time to listen deeper, my body feels warm, tingling, alive, my breathing moves through me like a gentle tide, and there is a sweetness in feeling the touch of my own hands on my body.  There is a sense of weariness, but it is skin deep; and a deeper listening opens me to something which is not weary, but is simply open – life itself tingling, the cells of my body vibrating so quietly I do not notice them unless I pay attention.

It is winter. The trees are completely bare except for the eucalyptus, and the ivy climbing up the trucks of the elder.  The young woodpecker is here, who has finally got the nack of eating peanuts from the bird feeder and now he is an absolute pro, pecking away to his hearts’ content as he curls his body around the metal contraption. Bright red against the grey-green background…

The pond has finally filled, after months of being empty and I can see the blue sky reflected in it.  I wonder if the heron – which spent many an hour last winter, standing silent and motionless as stone and then taking off majestically to circle around the garden and then disappear again – will return.  I loved her still graceful presence.

There is really not much to say.  But I am happy to be here, to be taking this time to listen, give space, and allow little things to surface.  It feels respectful.

Coming through AS Life

I have been exploring the relationship between coming forward and resting back for years. A pulse which involves no pushing and simultaneously no holding back. To support myself to live like that I ask myself, “what is it like, right now, if I let go and allow completely what wants to come through me, without making an effort?” In young children and animals, this doesn’t need to be ‘worked on’ because it is so natural. It is how it is supposed to be. Life moves because it moves and it loves to move.

Memory of a realization : I am looking into Colin’s eyes. I suddenly realize that I am receiving him but not giving of myself to him. I see that I have somehow assumed that relationship equals letting the other in, which means not really letting him in, but checking him (or anyone) out and responding to him, rather than just showing up, and meeting him as he and I show up. Ha, there are two of us here and this is a conversation. It is one of those moments when what I thought I knew, I suddenly knew. It’s so obvious that I hadn’t been aware of it. I don’t have to check anything out in you, in order to be who I am, or to measure up how much of me I can be. I can step in and say hello, as I am, and see what wants to happen.

Many years ago, I asked a tree if he/she/it trusted Life. The tree was somewhat perplexed by the question and responded “I AM Life!”I realized in that moment that I had missed something so fundamental and obvious. I thought I was a character in this big play of life, I hadn’t realized that, whilst this was also true, more profoundly than that I was Life. Just as every other living thing is life. And from that perspective the very idea of being separate from existence, or from another, or from the natural world is absurd, unthinkable, weird.

And as life, movement happens, expression happens, words tumble out, actions happen. Watching my little grand daughter, I see her being life. She has no concept yet of being a separate person with volition and the capacity to choose whether to hold back or come forward. She just does what she does. Life moves her. Hands happen, hunger happens, a breast appears, a smiling face appears. Sounds happen; a loud startling bang, music, the clucking sounds which one day she will recognize is chickens even when she cannot see them. A smile or laugh bursts out of her little body, a cry, a scream, a kick, a gurgle. Her own hand appears in view, or her foot. But the concept of my own foot hasn’t yet dawned. It is all just life happening.
It seems that all creatures are naturally living this immediacy, this impulsive, creative possibility which is never ending.

So what happens to us as humans as we individuate and realize we are distinct from others, and need to survive physically and emotionally in the world?
I will speak personally; I decided from a fairly young age, it was wise and sensible to tone this business down. Not completely, because I liked getting attention, and I couldn’t hold back the life energy which I felt so strongly wanting expression through me in a myriad of ways. – like climbing trees, singing and dancing, telling stories and painting pictures, chatting to people, playing with dogs and jumping in rivers creating emotional dramas and running and running around… But I figured it would be sensible to try and control it and constantly gage all those I encountered, to figure out how much or how little I could let the energy out depending on who I was with and where they were at in that moment. This only became possible at a certain age before which it was impossible to temper my energy. One of my earliest memories is this – sitting in the back of the car with my mother and grandmother who were talking about boring things. I had a lot to tell them about, but I only became aware of this when I was bribed to be quiet for 2 minutes. I’m not sure what the bribe was, but I know I wanted it badly, probably sweet money. But the things I wanted to say were SO important, and holding it all down felt more or less impossible, and what’s more, I remember thinking that they would be badly deprived if I didn’t tell them all this fascinating stuff; I failed to reach the 2 minute mark thus sacrificing my prize in the knowledge that although they didn’t realize it, they would be so much the richer for my offering.

A few years on however adaptions to fit with my environment came easier. This was quite an energy consuming process, because there wasn’t a set formula. For example my Dad (who I most desperately wanted closeness with), would love and praise my unbounded expression one minute, and come down like a ton of bricks on it the next. So there was a constant need to listen, and to measure and determine in every moment how much or how little would be needed in order to please him and get the love and praise and communion I wanted. And of course with each other member of my family and friends or acquaintances this had to be honed to a fine art too, amplified by moving to another country aged 6 where all the rules of conduct were very different to what I was used to. The effect of all of this was that the appraisal of who was in front of me began to become more important than the natural uncensored movement of life through me. This is pretty normal of course, and actually to some degree healthy. We need to attune to our environment and determine how we behave in order to survive, fit in and thrive in our community as best we can. However the downside is that there is an increasing sense of a separation between myself and the natural flow of life through me as I learn to manipulate myself to fit in and control, repress, deny or dissociate from the flow.

It seems to take years to reclaim that spontaneous life movement when it has been trained in such complex ways. And it is only truly possible in my experience, as I start to intuit and then to increasingly feel a sense of being safe in my own skin even when I am not liked or approved of. This gives confidence and safety in letting go of the holding. And as the repression starts to thin, and the movement of life itself is able to come through more freely, there can be a sense of disorientation which comes with the aliveness, and an exposure which comes hand in hand with being less defended.

Another layer of this is up for me, as I start to stick my neck out, and communicate through the written word, without being able to control who is receiving it and therefore adapt to fit my audience…
Ancient, well honed voices pipe up – “Do you like me? Do you approve of what I say and therefore of me? Will I still belong whether I fuck up, I shine or make no noise at all? Will you punish me if I get noticed?”

I won a prize at school for the best painting. I remember it vividly, I was so proud. It was of a man who had just done the grape harvest (or vendemmia) in Tuscany where we lived. He was leaning against the barrel full of grapes with a fiasco of wine in his hand overlooking the Chianti hills. My father was very upset. He told me that I didn’t deserve the prize, and that I had only been given it because he was a painter and that made him sick (he felt ashamed to imagine I was being favoritised unfairly and he thought the painting was mediocre). This was bewildering and devastating. It was one of many incidents in my growing where I started to believe a narrative in which success seemed emotionally dangerous.

I love listening to peoples stories, and hearing the twists and turns of our complex lives and how certain events happen, and we make decisions based on them which go on to shape the rest of our lives. It’s amazing. And not that straightforward to unravel. You could say that although the story we make up is all a bit outdated, tiresome and constraining (at best!), it is an incredibly creative process that we engage in as we fit ourselves into boxes we believe will keep us safe.

I seem to have been making it my business to climb out of my own self-created limiting boxes and support others to climb out of theirs so as to open the incredible potential that life offers us when we step out of the narrative and allow ourselves to be moved. It’s exciting, and daunting by turns, not to mention thrilling and terrifying, or just quite simply relaxing. Very relaxing. And I love that more and more of us are interested in this possibility as the world veers towards more and more chaos and uncertainty. Perhaps the urgency of the state we find ourselves as a human race is part of what is supporting the wake up call. In any case despite the fact that the future looks pretty scary, I am grateful to be born in these times and to be part of a massive global movement towards profound transformation. I have no idea what we are in for, but I want to be here for it all, allowing life to move through me uncensored and alive; available for action whatever it takes, and able to rest back and not act when appropriate.

Sexual Healing

I am twelve years old.
I want to be a good person. I want to be kind and to do something, anything, to save the animals from human selfishness, greed and violence. I want to be loved. I want to have fun. I want to find God and feel loved by Him.

One day my brother brought something back from the dump. It was a place he used to go and play with his friend. There was no rubbish collection in those days in Italy, and all the rubbish would be taken to certain places in the woods and burned. It would smell of burning plastic, there would be lots of blackened tin foil, and a surprising number of comics and magazines with the edges burned. I never really liked those places, but the boys seemed to find all kinds of treasures.

Anyway, one day he came home with a pornographic comic. The image I remember most vividly was of a woman with huge breasts, a tiny waist and big hips on all fours baring her arse to a long line of sailors who had just come off a boat. They all had big erections and were waiting their turn to penetrate her. I looked at this image for a long time. I was horrified and fascinated. I wanted to be sick, and I wanted to keep looking at it. I felt guilty and I felt the stirrings of something in me I didn’t understand, a kind of weird hunger. I felt afraid, and I also wanted to be the woman being raped by all those men. And I couldn’t believe I could want that. She looked like she was fine with it, enjoying it. I knew it was sick; I knew it was wrong; but I couldn’t stop looking. Then I turned the pages and looked at image after image of graphic sex happening. I felt haunted by those images, in fact sometimes I still feel haunted by them. Why did I want to keep looking? What perversion made me feel so drawn to something so dark, scary and unspeakable? Then I felt the shame, and a disgust at myself for looking, for wanting it, for feeling so magnetically pulled, and so strangely aroused.

There was nowhere I could speak about this, or make any kind of sense of it. And over the years I hear this story over and over. Of girls finding their fathers/uncles/brothers’ hidden porn stashes; of the fascination, the arousal, the confusion, the self disgust. And the silence. Something gets sealed off into a pocket of the psyche, like a kind of tumor in its own special container which quietly grows unseen in the body. It grows because it has to be secret. It grows because it is wrong. It grows because there is no way to digest the information. And it grows because, as much as I am fascinated by it, I also do not want to know. And like a monster under the bed, it gets bigger the more I run away from it.

But in this delicate phase of my development as a girl, soon to be young woman, I took on the message, in graphic detail, that it is good to be fucked by a line of sailors who cannot and don’t particularly want to even see my face. My first memory of sexual arousal, happened like this.

I often work with women and sometimes men, who have been sexually abused, once or twice or continuously in their childhood by fathers/uncles/brothers or trusted adults. I have friends and family who were raped. In fact there are few people I have spoken to about this who have not suffered some kind of sexual trauma.

It takes so much to recover some kind of true dignity, self respect and a genuine love of what an alive, unrestricted sexual expression can be, when such horrors have happened. And yet even without being actually physically abused, there are the comics, the magazines, and now the endless on-line availability of pornography ‘educating’ us on what sex is about.

I ask myself, what is needed?
Perhaps the first step is to start having the conversation. To have spaces and places where we can talk about all of this in a safe way.
Where we can take the shame out of the shadows and understand it. And stop internalizing it. And know that it is normal to have conflicting feelings. Including that it is ok that I can be turned on by what horrifies me. It does not make me bad; and it does not mean I want the abuse or the horror or the objectification.
It is ok that, imprinted with what has been so twisted, there are aspects of my psychology which feed on the distortions. I need to come out of the shadows and – if it is true – own up to my hidden sealed off secrets in such a way as to reclaim what is sacred and true and inviolable. I have felt the victim, but I have also experienced the energy of the abuser in myself– not that I have acted this out in any overt way, but I have felt it, and know that what I see ‘out there’, exists also in here.
And yet I only can have the courage to do this if I am in a space where others too are willing to come out of hiding. And, as importantly, if I know that who I am is way bigger than the strange twists and turns of a psyche which has been formed in a prevailing culture which has not yet found its true nature. And which is terrified and fascinated by the power of the sexual drive and has no way to harness it healthily…

I am lucky. I have a man who I feel increasingly safe with, loved by, and attracted to, who I can explore with.
I haven’t always, at all times, felt safe with him, or loved by him, (Just as he hasn’t always felt safe with, or loved by me). These have grown over 2 decades of exploration, honesty, openings and closures. And facing a lot of demons, especially sexual demons. And just as I think I have become simple and happy and alive in my sexual expression, I hit the next hurdle. I find myself ashamed again. And complicated about wanting sex, or not wanting sex. It takes me and us into the next chapter, it takes us to another level of honesty, and vulnerability and aliveness.

I feel blessed in this possibility. And my heart aches in considering our general state of sexual health. I think we need to start again from scratch. I am sometimes asked why I don’t address this more directly in my teaching work and I realize that I feel daunted by the enormity and complexity and strength of feeling in it all. And I am interested in daring to step through the door. Now, I think it might be time. The subject is knocking…

Distortions which have run like fault lines beneath the surface, running all kinds of behaviors and yet hidden from view and played out in bedrooms, offices, shops, schoolrooms and churches all over the place, are coming to the surface. It is all coming out – it is everywhere. Stories of sexual abuse, presidents speaking about pussy grabbing, celebrities being shown up as rapists and child molesters, children sold as sex slaves, politicians using their power to abuse and silence their victims, priests convicted of pedophilia … None of it is new, I don’t believe it is necessarily more than ever, but it is out there. Visible. People are talking. And the movement towards change is also out there. We have no definitive maps for the sexual healing of our world. What is obvious to me is that we need to get beyond shaming and blaming, and start to recognize that there are deep wounds running through the culture and the perpetrators are as lost as the victims.

There is something so sublime, beautiful, alive, life affirming, vital and powerful which is locked up here longing to come through and to flower in every one of us, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. I feel it in my own miraculous body, and I see it in others.

As I write I am remembering being with my father, aged 19, after his girlfriend of 4 years had just left him. She had flown out with me to Malaga where he was living and working at the time on a big commission. How I remember it, is that we got off the airplane, met Dad, she took him to one side and announced she was leaving, and then left me there with him to pick up the pieces, while she promptly flew back to England. He cried a lot and talked a lot as we went from bar to bar through the evening and night . He was in serious shock. I was shocked too, specially because I loved my step-mother very much. But I also loved the intimacy of sharing such a time with him, and I felt honored to be included in his love, grief, regrets and emotional outpourings. At a certain point we sat down on a park bench – it must have been about 2 in the morning and he was pretty drunk. He put his head in my lap and between sobs said, “Darling, don’t you think sex is the most important thing in the whole world?”. I had no idea how to respond. I remembered feeling rather amazed and not agreeing at all but not daring to contradict him, and presuming he must know a lot that I didn’t yet know, maybe never would know. My experience up until then – and I had a fair bit for my age – was that sex was overrated and often downright dangerous.

Now as I write this, I wonder if he was more right than I have ever presumed. If it weren’t that important we wouldn’t be so messed up about it, we wouldn’t be obsessed by it, we wouldn’t be searching for it, we wouldn’t need to repress our urges or act them out. We wouldn’t long for satisfaction and fulfillment through it, or use it as a weapon of hate and control. We wouldn’t be so fuelled by it or in denial of it.
I don’t have anything definitive to say about this here, but I am personally interested in opening the conversation from a place where the love and respect for my own sexual nature – which is increasingly more available to me – can open a more honest, tender and alive dialogue with others.