There was an old dream that opening our hearts was always going to feel safe, that somehow love promised that. That allowing another to matter was going to be easy, that staying close to our vulnerability was somehow not going to feel shaky and at times unbearable.
That to heal meant we’d be in some protected, resolved, untouchable state where we had transcended the sensitivity of being an open, naked, alive human being. That somehow healing meant we’d only have to live in one narrow band of the spectrum.
But life, in its vast creativity, seems to have little interest in our fantasies of invulnerability, our need to know ahead of time what is coming next, or conforming to anything. It is just too wild for all that, too spontaneous, and oriented in the mystery.
It can feel relentless at times, the activity of this level of intelligence and is not easy to stay with. It is natural to feel resistance and a longing to return to safe ground. This yearning can be honored and not fought against, met with compassion and not with shame, blame, judgment, and attack.