event horizon

Friction

Friction

August 20, 2019
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Synchronicity. Around… Friction.

On Akimbo.
In a conversation with D and C, a conversation you just might be privy to listening in on one of these days.
With my campfire sisters, as well as in my reflection with D on that conversation we had.

And now.
As my final words of the third Mastermind-session (of 13 total) that we just wrapped up, me and my four participants.

Friction.
It makes the world move.
Without friction. No cars. No bikes. No nothing really.

We would possibly be sliding around haphazardly… might be fun. But it’s not what we have. Because we do have friction.

We even have two kinds.
There’s friction. And then there’s Friction with a capital F. Life-giving. The Friction that makes me grow, rather than just wear me down.

There’s form. And the formless.
For some, oh it’s a stretch to conform to form. Rules. Boundaries. That’s where the friction is at. Play with it. Work it. Use it. See what happens within the form.

For some, so the opposite. The formless, the vast expanse of endless possibilities. Nothing to hang onto, no given starting point. That’s where the friction is at. So play with that. Work it. Use it. See what happens within the formless.

Dance between them.
The Friction and the Frictionless. Between that which is such a stretch and that which is easypeasy.

As you dance – the event horizon for you and your relationship with the form and the formless will shift. Transform. Expand, ever onwards. Might it even constrict?

Yeah. I think it just might. And then… another transformation. Something born, which was always and already there, within you, you just had never opened that specific door within before.

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#blogg100 – Limitations taken upon myself.

May 6, 2017
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”It may be interesting to ask,
What limitations have I,
unthinking,
taken upon myself?
It is very difficult for you child’s horizons
to be greater than your own.
Do something today that pushes
against your own preconceptions.
Then take your child’s hand
and gently encourage her to do the same.”

The event horizon calling me again.
Calling out to me, holding me. Safe in the knowledge that it’s not dangerous to cross over, to step beyond the edge of the known, into the wholly unknown.
Into realms brand new to me.

That in and of itself is possibly one of the greatest gifts I have to give, to myself, my children, friends and family and all those around.
The very fact of owning the concept of the event horizon, not intimidated – or, if so, at times, still not turning around, running away as fast as I can, but staying put – nor frightened – or, if so, at times, still not turning around, running away as fast as I can, but staying put.

Staying put… but not forever. Slowly inching forward Mark Nepo-style; an inch into the unknown.

Mark Nepo

If I manage this, not all the time, but enough times, then I will be pushing against my own preconceptions. There’s no way not to. By doing that, the limitations I’ve taken upon myself, unthinking, will become fewer and fewer. (Albeight they might be joined by new ones, brand new limitations, falling in line after the old and familiar ones.)

Living by example; not a burden, but a gift.
(Possibly a gift in the way the stinging nettle is a gift. If not careful, it will hurt, at least temporarily, as I pick it, to make the most yummy green smoothies, feta cheese-and-nettle-pie and nettle pesto. But the richness of all I can do with the stinging nettle, is more than enough reward when compared to the potential drawback and occational sting. The moments of me experiencing the burden of living by example are few and far apart; I neither shy away from them nor do I chase after them, becoming overwhelmed if and as they occur. I can be present to them, experience them, and let go…)

#Blogg100 challenge in 2017 – post number 67 of 100.
The book “The parents Tao Te Ching” by William Martin.
English posts here, Swedish at herothecoach.com.

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At the edge of understanding

February 3, 2017
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Listening to Headspace Pro pack number six. The description reads:
Headspace Pro Pack 6 focuses on your sense of me, myself and I. Learn how to step back from your identity and just experience life.

I’ve meditated to this pack several times before, but this time there’s a difference in what I hear, and how it is received, within. I am at the edge of understanding here. On the event horizon, knowing there’s something else out there, I just cannot seem to grasp it, to understand it. Or even to see it.

It’s in the small things Andy Puddicombe says, a phrase here or there, that my mind knots up, and simply cannot fathom what he’s saying. And he even says that; It can take a long time to truly experience this.

I’ve been so helped by differentiating between what I experience, and observing myself experiencing it, that the concept of letting both of those go, and simply be – to just experience. Nothing else – almost scares me. That’s what I think I did. Before. When I was swept away by my experiences, taking them, and me, so seriously. And that’s n o t what Andy is suggesting, he makes that very clear, but it’s still towards that way of experiencing experiences that my mind goes when He prompts me to let go of the identification, and be in the moment.

And again. Here I am. Writing down the observations of my Inner Observer. Most definitely a part of Me. Identifying to the fullest. It almost makes me laugh out load, as I sit here in bed, typing away. Oh well.

fully understandOne thing I am not though, and that is impatient to cross this event horizon. The need, the urge, the itch to grasp this, fully, to be able to check off the box saying I, Helena, fully understand the concept of stepping back from my identity and not cling to my sense of me, myself and I. It’s not there. There’s no need, no urge, no itch. It’s just a possible understanding. One that might come to me, or not. Perhaps this is an event horizon I will never cross. And that doesn’t bother me. Come what may, I say, and fully embody that. For this piece of the puzzle, at least. I can be more impatient with other pieces of the puzzle, wanting to fully comprehend, to embody. But not here.

“At the edge of understanding” I wrote in the title for this post. I could also have written “At the edge of my understanding”. Subtle difference, but, perhaps the way I accept my non-understanding of this, is a way of simply experiencing, rather than identifying too much with my lack of understanding. What a paradox!

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The event horizon calling?

January 20, 2016
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Sunday morning I get out of bed, not having slept a wink. None of the ”Oh god, I haven’t slept all night, this is a disaster”-feeling. On the contrary. I’ve had a good night of rest, just not sleep. I’ve had nights like this a handful of times per year these past 2 years. After the first occasion, with three sleepless nights, then a night of good sleep luring me into safety only to get hit with yet another sleepless one, I have let any and all anxiety around this experience go.

I rest. Even though I don’t sleep, and hence I’m not a total wreck in the daytime. But I treat myself gently, not exerting myself. Rest more, in daytime as well.

Still… Since Saturday night I haven’t had even one good nights sleep. And 4 sleepless nights in a row is unusual even for me. I’ve slept some, not total insomnia, but not at all like normal (which for me means 8 hours of deep sleep). So I tell a friend about it, letting on that it feels like something is about to shift. It’s as if I stand at a threshold, and it can go either way. I level up, or I fall back down into what I came from?

He asks – Is the event horizon calling? 

Yes. That’s it! YES, my entire being calls out in exultation, the event horizon is calling me! This boundary of black holes in cosmos, the edge of the world as we know it, and something else, something unknown, something different.

Tell my campfire sisters about the insomnia, about the event horizon. Suddenly I see more. Held in a space where curious exploration is encouraged and welcome, I see what this is, to me.

”Normal insomnia” is when I wake up in the early morning hours, 2, 3 or 4 o’clock, and there is something that wants to come out of me. I fight it for a while, loving my bed, the warmth, the restful sound of gentle inhalations followed by exhalations from my husband lying next to me, but no luck. Sleep resists me, won’t come until I get a release. So I often get up, and with pen and paper, or my computer, in front of me, let that which wants to come out, come out. Onto paper, in words, shapes/forms. Get hit by a definitive sense of being done, and after that, I can get back to bed and fall asleep once more.

This is different. There is no urge to leave bed. None. There is nothing wanting to come through me. I don’t have to do anything to be done, so I can go back to sleep. Rather, it’s an invitation for me to step into something, unknown, exciting, reassuringly gentle. It’s the event horizon calling me, inviting me to dance along the edge of the known and the unknown. I am open to it. Not resisting the insomnia, embracing it instead. Knowing it is meant to be, I am meant to be. There. Right then. Right there.

event horizon

The event horizon is calling, and I am heading the call.
What lies beyond the edge of the threshold?
What is there – for me to know, experience, embody?

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