By Rob Moore
I’m just gonna go ahead and ask that we not think this week. Or at the very least not think when we don’t need to be thinking. In the case of thought withdrawal, might I suggest thinking, “I feel.”
The Here and Now by Rob Moore.
“I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel…” Over and over until that nanosecond we come into the truth of it. More to follow about this practice, which has improved many a tense situation for me.
Quite a bit is going on in the days to come which has the power to elicit some changes in how we feel, as well as how we choose to approach things. In addition to the Sun entering Aries on Sunday, it’s the first day of Northern Hemisphere spring, which truly brings a feel all its own. And just days later on March 23 is the penumbral lunar eclipse.
This week on Planet Waves FM, Eric offered a rather deeply formed interpretation of this upcoming eclipse. Opposed by the Sun and Mercury in Aries (the self), the eclipse of the Moon in Libra (projection of self) was suggested by Eric as a call to ‘feel our own presence’ when we enter the room. In the simplest of terms, this means ‘being present’ but it also implies engaging — at least energetically — in the dynamics of our current environment.
A few weeks back I was at a private but very well attended fetish play party. The very nature of this periodic gathering is about feeling the vibes between one another and taking our cues from there. This means trading in talking and hashing out plans for purely heeding what our feelings and physical responses reveal is most mutually desirable.
In my article two weeks ago, I alluded to my inner conflict early on about taking the necessary steps to enter the fetish world. Well, I discovered long ago how attuned these individuals can be, as well as how well they are able to stay truly in the moment. From there, any doubts inside me about the value of these connections evaporated completely.
At this particular event, I had been noticing this very good-looking guy standing rather conspicuously in pretty much the same spot all night. A bit puzzled as to how it could be he wasn’t drenched in sweat from intense action by this point, I meandered to his side. Very soon thereafter, with the opening of his word-hole, the mystery was solved:
“So, I’ve been noticing the couple over there by the bench. The guy is someone I used to see in college and the chick goes to my gym. I never would’ve put them together but that goes to show you what I know, right? So why haven’t you asked me what I’m into yet? Okay, well, I’ll just tell you my big thing is boots but not just any boots…” And blah, blah, blaaahhh ad nauseam.
Truth was my heart went out to this guy tremendously. Here in the epicenter of intuitive feeling, he was trapped inside his own head. Not trapped so much as listening to its false insistence that foregoing analysis for feeling would be his demise. Quite to the contrary, it would be his release into freedom. It would, however, be the demise of that voice of limit and fear. The exact reason the voice insists so fervently. (Exhibit A: The Mighty and Powerful Oz.)
For much of my life I lived inside the confines of the analytical brain. Don’t get me wrong; it’s freaking awesome for analyzing facts, figures and data. It’s how I’m able to compose these sentences for you right now. There comes a time and a place along our path, however, when analysis has taken us as far as it can and it comes down to going with the gut. Heeding our intuition. Acting on instinct.
I spent my youth aiming to get into a prestigious design college. When I finally got in, you better believe I completed everything fully and on time and I gave 110 percent. I mean I literally gave more than I had to give, as several times I collapsed from exhaustion. Meanwhile, these ‘whatever, dude’ lackadaisical types would tack one great-looking idea on the wall that wasn’t even the assignment and get acclaimed for it. Sure, they’d get a C-minus for the class, but they also got flown to Germany to meet with the heads of design teams.
This was perhaps the single most important principle I learned from that entire educational curriculum: “Follow what calls you and fuck the facts.” Okay, well, perhaps more responsibly: “Allow what calls you to be what shapes the facts.” And so it is has been in my emotional, physical and sexual connecting.
Whether with an individual or a scenario like that fetish play party, I first collect all the ‘real world’ hard facts I can about what is going on here. If I’m not comfortable with what’s at stake, I will pass completely. End of discussion. Once I feel a situation is one I can respond to comfortably and naturally, I enter wholeheartedly. I then, for all intents and purposes, pass the baton to my instincts and my feelings, both the deep-within kind and those along my physical borders. Essentially, I let go into the energetic swirl and enjoy.
Believe me, any ways of living that work splendidly for me these days are the result of ongoing learning curves of meditation, grounding and centering. It is only fairly recently that I became able to meld fully with casual partners while possessing an understanding that it was actually wise and mutually fortuitous to do so.
Even after I had received some formal training in meditation, I was turned on to a completely unrelated practice that turned out to be invaluable to bringing my self fully into the moment. One of the keys of meditation that escaped my understanding for years was that attempting to still our thoughts is practically futile if we haven’t first joined with our feeling center.
During a facilitated group to rise above our fears, the counselor asked us to say over and over, “I feel, I feel, I feel,” all the while scanning for what we truly did feel. I suspect the first thing I felt back then was anger or irritation at being asked to do stupid shit like this exercise. Whatever the case, the next step was to go with it; to feel it. To just sit there and feel angry. “I feel angry, I’m angry, I’m angry…”
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Turns out that if we really, honest-to-God get in there and give everything we’ve got to feeling angry, it dissipates into something else. Quite often it reveals fear that’s been underneath the surface. If so, we chant, “I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m afraid…”
Once again, if we get in there and feel every ounce of that fear, it rapidly dissipates into something else again. After all is chanted and done, when we give ourselves permission to feel what we truly feel — without judgment — it turns out to be the shortest path to peace and feeling okay inside.
Feelings are like ripples on the water: ever changing and beyond our ability to fully contain. This is why allowing them to be felt and allowing them to move on by is what frees us inside. So if the idea of feeling your own presence in the presence of others sounds like a tall order, I would suggest giving yourself a free pass the next time you walk into such a room. Just this once, feel, feel, feel what you feel with no attempts at being socially gracious or correct or poised. This is about you right now.
And, hey, if it sounds more like your thing, set out to feel, feel, feel your next intimate connection. Feel the excitement, feel the fear, feel the energy and keep on feeling till you feel the bliss. If it helps, let your partner or partners in on your experiment. Oh, wow… how incredible would that be? Everybody feeling what they feel… in the moment… feeling each other… feeling together… feeling fully… feeling now.
The chanting you mention sounds very similar to a Buddhist practice (I think it’s Zen? Anyone want to chime in on this?), which also produces detachment through acknowledgement of immediate feelings, albeit without the participation of self.
I wouldn’t doubt if what I described indeed has its origins in meditative practices. I don’t personally know whether it’s Buddhist or not.
I did spend a week with Buddhist monks during my intensive meditation learning phase. During that week, however, we took a vow of silence and practiced methods more closely resembling the intuitive connecting I mention in this article.
Like you, Amy, I would love to hear from those well versed in Buddhism or other avenues who can shed more light on the origins of this type of method.
Such a beautiful piece on feelings dear Rob. Very timely for me. I’ve been working on this for a while now – and it’s very much being put to the test right now. My mother passed away in the early hours on Friday morning (I knew she would be released during the eclipses) – I woke up early that morning with a dull ache in my heart, that hasn’t left me. It pains me that I didn’t make it back home in time. But being able to stay with my feelings, both emotional and physical, and let them be,gives me a feeling of peace and grounding, and think it’s helpful for my family. too. Don’t need to say more, because you already describe it so beautifully. What I also realize, more and more, is that doing this work is a process, it’s a skill that needs developing – and like any skill takes time, patience and a lot of practice. Thank you Rob. ((())))
Lizzy – Thank you for sharing what is clearly a big life transition for you, your mother, and all connected. If there was ever a time to feel exactly whatever you feel this would be it.
Sending healing vibes – Rob
Yes – you’re so right, Rob! This is the time….. Thank you so much for the encouragement and the healing vibes.
Lizzy,
Holding you with Love and Light.
xoxo
Thank you so much, dearest aWord. Think I”ll be reaching for that Steven Levine book, too! Much love to you. (((((()))))
Would also like to share this wonderful video clip on the subject, that has helped me so much:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scxxKFBME_o
dear Lizzy, so sorry to hear your news. I know you have been expecting this for a while, but that still doesn’t always ease the intensity of feeling when the end does come. Sending you my sympathies , healing for your bruised heart, and a very big hug xxxx
Thank you so much, sweet beleclaire! Your beautiful, compassionate words and hug are such a soothing balm. xxxx
My sympathies Lizzy, with another big, warm hug. xo
Thank you so much, lovely Lyd! xxxx
My heart-felt sympathies, dear Lizzy. I hope you find the solace you deserve. Geoff. xxx
Bless you, dearest Geoff! Thank you. xxxx
Oh, Lizzy, I’m so sorry. Allow me to echo the others here in expressing my sympathy, and may your heart find peace. You always grace this site with your abundant love, and I am sure many of our readers will feel with you at this moment. Much huggage to you. <3 xxx
Ah dear Amy, thank you so much for your lovely words – and for the huggage! (((())))
Dear Lizzy – my deepest sympathies to you during this time. Big, big hugs your way. Be gentle with yourself.
Rob — what a great article. So many things to “feel” and explore!
Hey gumbybug! Thank you sweetheart! ((((()))))
Angels attend you both, sweet Lizzy. I will tuck you in my heart and include you in my meditations. Hug hug hug!
Bless you, and thank you so much, dearest Jude. I couldn’t think of a lovelier place to be than tucked in your heart – and thank you for your meditations. (((())))))
Lizzy…….I am sorry for your loss…………love and light to you and yours………..take care……
Thank you, dear sweet Barbara. (((((()))))
Dear Lizzy, I am so sorry to hear about your Mother. Bless her. Bless you! She must have been such a sensitive Mum to have you under her wing and care, and then in return were you for her. Thank you for sharing what an incredible moment for her to go. What a great love story. Never ending.. and you touch us all just so.
Sending much love, and healing to you. You are in my thought and heart. At this time, Always.
Bless you, lovely P. Sophia, for your beautiful words and sensitivity. I know we’ve always shared a similar family situation – and have always felt an affinity with you in this. My mum was a real Leo, with a lion’s roar, and a huge, loving heart. Our relationship wasn’t always easy – but in spite of our different natures, we were incredibly close, and I learned to match her roar over the years, and she always responded with enormous love and honesty. I’m profoundly touched and moved by all your loving comments and support . I feel my mum’s healing and loving presence in all your words. Thank you with all my heart,
Rob – sorry to have taken over your wonderful article like this! But in a way, I couldn’t think of a more beautiful response to its profound, wise message.
Lizzy our acupuncturist said that it was when her Mum died that she realised she wanted to be an acupuncturist, and even knew how she wanted to practice. When my Mum died I just kept hearing the piano until I took it up too. Perhaps you will find a space or opening up or something – a gift anyway! that comes from your Mum going on.
love Pam
That really makes sense to me, dearest Pam – thank you so much for your comment – and for opening me up to this possibility. xxxx
xxxp