A gentle reminder that I have a new group starting in less month, the Venusian Embodiment Immersion. We’ll be looking at some of the ways we block ourselves from emotional intimacy and deeper connections, among other things, during our time together. You can learn more and register here.
Sometimes when we think of intimacy, we think about the people who know us best - who know our parents and family, who know our deep dark secrets, who witnessed some of our most embarrassing moments. The people who know the details and events of our lives. Perhaps even the people we know will be there when we need them and who we would also drop everything to be there for them.
These kinds of relationships often have strong bonds and deep connections, but they may not necessarily have intimacy. Intimacy isn’t about facts and figures and details, and while having relationships where having those things known and shared are important and help to encourage our sense of belonging and build our community, they don’t necessarily encourage our sense of being known, seen, and connected.
Intimacy is about being present. Present to the moment. To the complexity. To the emotions. To the environment. To the events unfolding in front of us. To the people we are sharing the moment(s) with.
Intimacy is a form of vulnerability, but not one that is about sharing old stories or past hurts. It is vulnerable to allow ourselves to be present to the now right in front of us. It is a kind of free-fall where we only know what is behind us and have no idea what is ahead AND allow ourselves to not focus on either known past nor unknown future, but on right now.
Intimacy is trust. Trusting ourselves most of all. Trusting that whatever will be, we will ultimately be okay. Trusting that allowing the unfolding (and not trying to control or manipulate outcomes) is all we need to be concerned about. Trusting and knowing that at the end of the day, what will be, will be, and we may as well be present to what is now.
Immensely intimate relationships aren’t immensely intimate every moment of every day. There is an ebb and flow, a coming together and then moving apart. There is a unification and then a differentiation and individuation. Over and over. Sharing intimate moments is feeling the connection between us. This us can be two people, or a person and a pet, a tree, the grass, a river, the rain… it is about the connection we feel in this moment we are experiencing. It is about not being focused on our individuality and independence, and instead focusing on our oneness with all things and our inter-dependence.
It is important to remember that our relationships have a rhythm and timing of their own. That we can have a melding connection with someone or something, but not every moment of every day. That we are each in a constant flow between being fully in our own Self and merging with everything and everyone outside of us. That we can be in deeply intimate relationships where, for a short period of time, our sense of Self is not relevant, but our unity with an other (what or who ever that other may be) is all that is.
Where we seem to get lost in our relationships is when we don’t remember that the merging with an other is only meant for relatively brief periods of time. We fear the disconnection however the disconnection is what allows the connection in the first place. Esther Perel talks about how desire requires distance, and I would say that connection requires disconnection, that love and relationship are not, cannot, be about being with a person every second of every day, nor about knowing every detail of their lives.
Love, and the intimacy it can lead to, is being open to the reality that we truly never meet the same person twice, not even in the same person. It is being open and embracing that we are all ever evolving, ever expanding, ever contracting, ever changing, and to not put assumptions down that what we thought we knew yesterday is still true today.
Yes, we all have patterns of relating, some of them nurturing and nourishing, some of them harmful, and while the patterns do exist, they too can shift and morph as we do. As can the patterns of another also shift and morph.
When relating, with others, ourselves, our surroundings, we need to hold the both and of constant change and being stuck in harmful behaviors. We need to hold that multiple things can be, and actually are, true at once. To be in this moment, and to be with it, and to then move forward in the way that feels most true and right to us, right now, knowing we can change our mind at any time.
We are complex beings. Our relationships are also complex. And, I have found, the more we are able to expand our ideas of who, what, and how we are in relationship with, the more we find our ways to intimacy.
An example : I have a trail that I love to hike semi-regularly. I try to get on the trail at least once a month and depending on the time of year, find myself out there almost weekly. When I first started hiking the trail it was all about the exercise, getting my steps in. Over time, it evolved as being a time to sort my mind, to process things I needed to process. Over more time I started to really take note of my surroundings, the trees (fallen and standing), the rock formations, the river, the air, the light. I began really noticing how the trail changed over the year(s). Eventually I began to build a relationship with parts of the trail, a particular fallen tree, a specific rock formation. Now, I have conversations with the trail, I sit with Grandmother Rock and hug the Fallen Tree Spirit. I now feel held by the trail, one with it, connected to it. I thank it for allowing me to walk through, for the clarity it brings me, for the sense of peace and connection I gain from the hike. I love the trail, and honestly I feel a sense of love from it.
Now, for some that may seem a little “hippy” or Woo. And maybe it is. What I know to be true for me though, is that this deep sense of connection I now have with this trail has ripple effects in my ability to connect with other aspects of my life, my ability to be present with my kids, my cats, my friends, my lovers, my writing, my clients, and most importantly, myself has grown exponentially. I notice when it’s time for me to “be in the trees,” when I am missing that particular sense of connection and oneness, and I find the time and energy to go.
I have a similar relationship with a specific beach on the coast of Washington. I get to this land even less frequently than the trail, and I try to get there three or four times a year. Every visit I find myself feeling even more connected, more at peace. Every visit I see more of our interdependence, more of our actual relationship.
The more I experience my interdepence and deep connection with nature, the more I feel open to such experiences with other parts of my life. With friends, family, lovers. With my home, my work. With my Self, my ancestors. The more open I am to such experiences, the more of these experiences I have.
And.
With all this connection, I also need solitude. I need distance from. I need space. I am able to have the relationship with the trail and the beach because I leave my home for long(ish) periods of time to do so. While with the trees or the ocean I don’t think much about my home. And once I leave the beach or trees, and am in my home, I appreciate it in a way I hadn’t for a while. I become acutely aware of how it protects me, how it is an expression of me, how comfortable I feel in it.
This translates to our human relationships too. We need to have space and distance in order to notice the connection and oneness. We need the space and distance in order to be open to the connection and oneness. We need the space and distance to cultivate our autonomy so when we are in connection and oneness we don’t actually suppress, hide, exile, or deny parts of our Self for that connection.
Which may be the point I am trying to get to.
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