Dear Friend,
Of the two tea lights on the table, one clings to life while the other has burnt out. There’s wax, but no wick left. The lighted wick curls elegantly at the top, like the neck of a black swan. The flame, no bigger than an incandescent pine seed, now resembles the hood of a cobra.
The fridge gently whirrs, and the clock ticks.
I’ve just come off a call with a client who is navigating a profound life experience.
I’m allowing my body to process the emotions that come up within me. My client must do the same.
We each navigate as best we can in any given moment.
When we’re broadsided by life events, we’re often given all kinds of advice—some helpful, some less so.
Holding, somewhere within yourself, the acknowledgment that the body can and will process messy, confusing, and conflicted feelings feels true to me.
We’re told things meant with good intent. But advice that tries to tie us up neatly, wrestling for control over events we’re powerless to prevent—maybe that kind of advice is more for the one giving it than the one receiving.
The body knows how to process emotion.
It is no small thing to enter the place of vulnerability.
It is where healing clings.
Unlike the tenacious flame of this tiny tea light, there is a light within us that never goes out.
Till tomorrow,
Love,
Mikey