I just spend a week in retreat working on Co-dependency – healing our relationships (with our parents). It has become clear to me and I have been able to confirm for myself that our relationship with our parents hold the key to the way we handle all our relationships.
This wonderful poem by Kate Tempest contain all lessons I learned this week. To hold our own, no matter what.
When time pulls lives apart Hold your own When everything is fluid, and when nothing can be known with any certainty Hold your own Hold it ’til you feel it there As dark, and dense, and wet as earth As vast, and bright, and sweet as air When all there is Is knowing that you feel what you are feeling Hold your own Ask your hands to know the things they hold I know the days are reeling past in such squealing blasts But stop for breath and you will know it’s yours Swaying like an open door when storms are coming Hold Time is an onslaught Love is a mission We work for vocation until In remission We wish we’d had patience and given more time to our children Feel each decision that you make Make it, hold it Hold your own Hold your lovers Hold their hands Hold their breasts in your hands, like your hands were their bras Hold their face in your palms like a prayer Hold them all night, feel them hold back Don’t hold back Hold your own Every pain Every grievance Every stab of shame Every day spent with a demon in your brain giving chase Hold it Know the wolves that hunt you In time, they will be the dogs that bring your slippers Love them right and you will feel them kiss you when they come to bite Hot snouts digging out your cuddles with their bloody muzzles Hold Nothing you can buy will ever make you more whole This whole thing thrives on us feeling always incomplete And it is why we will search for happiness in whatever thing it is we crave in the moment And it is why we can never really find it there It is why you will sit there with the lover that you fought for In the car you sweated years to buy Wearing the ring you dreamed of all your life And some part of you will still be unsure that this is what you really want Stop craving Hold your own But if you’re satisfied with where you’re at, with who you are You won’t need to buy new make-up, or new outfits, or new pots and pans To cook new exciting recipes For new exciting people To make yourself feel like the new exciting person, you think you’re supposed to be Happiness, the brand, is not happiness We are smarter than they think we are They take us all for idiots But that’s their problem When we behave like idiots It becomes our problem So hold your own Breathe deep on a freezing beach Taste the salt of friendship Notice the movement of a stranger Hold your own And let it be Catching
Beautiful text by Lorena Bassani published on Facebook in december 2019.
I received this text from my lover at that moment and it moved me profoundly. That I could be such a man for her… In a time that men are often (and rightly) viewed as predatory and male chauvinist, in a society that is patriarcal, it is time that we men step up and make a change. From acceptance to making changes wherever and however we can, to repair, to heal, to love. Openly, from the heart, from our openness, accepting our wounds and our fears. Allowing our tears to flow when we are lost, ignorant, hurt. Stop acting, stop acting out… Feeling, just allowing the emotion in our body. And to stay with it, no judgement, no action, no solution, no argumentation.
And then, they make their early diagnosis. They look at you and detect you. They disembark in your little world like Columbus in America. But they don’t conquer you. Nor do they loot you. They don’t fool you. They only bring love in little bottles. And they do what they have to do for you. For your Soul. For your pain Because of the desire you had to find something different in life. There are men who know. Without knowing. Without suspecting. Even without being fully aware of the importance they have. They know with other wisdom. They smile with other smiles. They say with other words. They do magic. There are men like that. I swear. I have seen them. I know them. I watch them perform. From far or near. I admire them. I check them as soon as they arrive. Sometimes I get emotional with them. Because they have art in their hands. They open you down the middle. And you don’t distrust them for a second. Because they are friends. But they are not common friends. They are strange friends. They are friends from other places. They are star companions. They arrive. Do. Say. Watch. See. They will not always like you. They will not always love you the way you want them to love you. You are not always going to love them the way they want you to love them. It is something else. Another thing. They will arrive to fulfil their destiny. They will come to improve your life for a while. To return you a favor for some time. To sign a pact. Because they are something else. Deeper. Stranger. More capable of staying within you. Because these men will live in those places where you don’t allow anyone to enter. Because you will stay inside them like a girl who stares at the sea on the beach at night. There are men who come to repair women who repair. Because they were born for that. To heal those who heal. To cure those who cure. Because we are partners. Beloved. Lovers. Loving. And when two such beautiful companions collide, get together, intertwine, love each other in their own way, the universe celebrates. The universe is grateful.
Y entonces, hacen su diagnóstico precoz. Te miran y te detectan. Desembarcan en tu pequeño mundo como Colón en América. Pero no te conquistan. Ni te saquean. Ni te engañan. Ellos sólo traen amor en frasquitos. Y hacen lo que tienen que hacer por vos. Por tu Alma. Por tu dolor. Por las ganas que tenías de encontrarte algo distinto en la vida. Hay hombres que saben. Aún sin saber. Aún sin sospechar. Aún sin ser completamente concientes de la importancia que tienen. Saben con otra sabiduría. Sonríen con otras sonrisas. Dicen con otras palabras. Hacen magia. Hay hombres así. Te lo juro. Los he visto. Los conozco. Los miro actuar. De lejos o de cerca. Los admiro. Les saco la ficha ni bien llegan. A veces, me dejo emocionar con ellos. Porque ellos tienen arte en las manos. Ellos te abren por el medio. Y vos no desconfías ni un segundo. Porque ellos son amigos. Pero no son amigos comunes. Son amigos raros. Son amigos de otros lados. Son compañeros de estrella. Llegan. Hacen. Dicen. Miran. Ven. No siempre vas a gustarles. No siempre te van a amar como querés que te amen. No siempre vas a amarlos como quieren que los ames. Es otra cosa. Otra cosa. Van a llegar para cumplir con el destino. Van a llegar para mejorarte la vida un rato. Para devolverte un favor de algún tiempo. Para firmar un pacto. Porque ellos son otra cosa. Más profunda. Más extraña. Más capaz de quedarse dentro tuyo. Porque estos hombres vivirán en esos lugares donde vos no permitís entrar a nadie. Porque vos te quedarás adentro de ellos como una chica que se queda mirando el mar en la playa de noche. Hay hombres que llegan para reparar a las mujeres que reparan. Porque nacieron para eso. Para curar a las que curan. Para sanar a las que sanan. Porque somos compañeros. Amados. Amantes. Amorosos. Y cuando dos compañeros así de bonitos se chocan, se juntan, se entrelazan, se aman a su manera, el universo festeja. El universo agradece.
In 2013 a friend and yoga buddy send me an email after a lengthy conversation about differences in opinion, respect for each other and my newly discovered truth; that I preferred to be happy than be right in a conversation. If you want to know more about this life changing fact, check this post with the youtube video that changed my life.
The text is a excerpt of a conversation between Writer/Professor Paul Rabinow and French Philosopher Michel Foucault.
Paul Rabinow: Why is it that you don’t engage in polemics ?
Michel Foucault: I like discussions, and when I am asked questions, I try to answer them. It’s true that I don’t like to get involved in polemics. If I open a book and see that the author is accusing an adversary of “infantile leftism” I shut it again right away. That’s not my way of doing things; I don’t belong to the world of people who do things that way. I insist on this difference as something essential: a whole morality is at stake, the one that concerns the search for truth and the relation to the other.
In the serious play of questions and answers, in the work of reciprocal elucidation, the rights of each person are in some sense immanent in the discussion. They depend only on the dialogue situation. The person asking the questions is merely exercising the right that has been given him: to remain unconvinced, to perceive a contradiction, to require more information, to emphasize different postulates, to point out faulty reasoning, and so on. As for the person answering the questions, he too exercises a right that does not go beyond the discussion itself; by the logic of his own discourse, he is tied to what he has said earlier, and by the acceptance of dialogue he is tied to the questioning of other. Questions and answers depend on a game — a game that is at once pleasant and difficult — in which each of the two partners takes pains to use only the rights given him by the other and by the accepted form of dialogue.
The polemicist , on the other hand, proceeds encased in privileges that he possesses in advance and will never agree to question. On principle, he possesses rights authorizing him to wage war and making that struggle a just undertaking; the person he confronts is not a partner in search for the truth but an adversary, an enemy who is wrong, who is armful, and whose very existence constitutes a threat. For him, then the game consists not of recognizing this person as a subject having the right to speak but of abolishing him as interlocutor, from any possible dialogue; and his final objective will be not to come as close as possible to a difficult truth but to bring about the triumph of the just cause he has been manifestly upholding from the beginning. The polemicist relies on a legitimacy that his adversary is by definition denied.