Tender Hearted Communion with others and self...

I wrote this three years ago and it still stands today.

Sometimes you've learned to hide those tender soft places inside of you. The ones yearning to have space in your body, in your emotions, in your life. The ones yearning for long hugs, for having your head and feet and heart massaged. You learned that forcing is the way to create. You learned that to do lists, waking up and starting to go was the way things were done. You had a day planner, a desk and files when you were in the 5th grade. You hid a lot of your tenderness with gregariousness, humor, helping other people. You hid your tears in ice cream, gum drops and entemann's cookies (hey they were fat free). You hid your desires by helping others reach theirs. Instead of saying ouch, you laughed it off and just added another mask to your interactions and relationships. You didn't ask to be hugged, you didn't ask for flowers on your birthday, you didn't ask for cards of love, you didn't ask for a book, a Robin Layton art piece, or cashmere wrap, or the things your soul really longed for. You learned to give these things to yourself. Which was life changing and empowering and brought more focus, truth and joy to your life. 

But you cut others off from giving to you. You still didn't ask for a helping hand, a hug as often as you needed. You still didn't share your tears or the power of your softness. And you would have these experiences where you felt that power but then you would push it away, protecting yourself again. Believing you had to be joyfully loud to be loved. Believing you couldn't rock the boat and be loved. Believing your emotions were hindrances, annoyances to those around you rather than the precious gifts they were to all. You believed your journey back to your body and soul was weak and shameful rather than proud and necessary. You believed your tender places, your deepest desires weren't worthy. And slowly bit by bit you changed all of this, you did your best, they did their best. And you started asking and receiving. You started living in those tender places, You started delighting in their wisdom, in the peace found in stillness and quiet. You started showing up more fully as you, more vulnerable, more true, more quietly powerful in your presence. You still have masks, they are still alchemizing you are still hesitant at times to believe that men love these tender places, love your quiet knowing, your sensual power. 

And yet you still hear the voice, 'Please be gentle. Please give this piece the honoring it deserves. Please show this tenderness, please allow it to be held. Please allow others to show theirs.' For there is deep communion in these moments that go below the masks. A communion many of us are starving for. 

And sometimes you go over to a friends apartment for a catch up and all of this is what is talked about and in the midst of the talking, silence emerges, you hold her hand and there are hugs. No words. You move behind her so she knows you have her back. She is not alone in this. You rub her lower back as her tears fall. You caress her hair, her neck and you feel her body start to melt. Allowing all that is being so unnecessarily held to release. And in this our hearts open more towards one another. In this we find support and the sense of loneliness fades away. And you receive her words of love, her words of appreciation.

And then you go back to your hotel room and you sob for your man, for that feeling of being so soft and intimate and loved. The yearning so deep for so long. And then you get into your body. You dance, you go downstairs and write and buy yourself a beautiful meal and then you make your way to Brooklyn for a Qoya class with a dear friend. And you pull the goddess card Kali. Release the old to welcome in the new. And you set the intention for your dance to release the old and as you start with a heart pose the tears start falling. Your body and heart so grateful to be in a place of softness. To be in a place that welcomes, cultivates and nourishes this very thing. And you receive hugs and conversations with a fellow dancer about Asheville, Maine, California and looking for home. You share with these women where you feel stuck and what you can do to be unstick and you dance it and you move something. 

And then you go back to your hotel and light some candles, put lavender epsom salts in your bath and just be. Allowing the softness and tenderness to wash over you. Allowing your body to melt. Your heart to soften. Your mind to relax. You don't care that you didn't eat dinner because this feeling is so long awaited after pushing and pulling and forcing. You curl up in a white robe and fall into a slumber praying for this softness to stay to truly welcome in the quiet, the stillness, the allowing, the surrender. To welcome in sinking into the most plush couch and having a delicious meal brought to you. To welcome in having your feet rubbed, having your tears kissed, having your heart held.