What sticks makes us tick. Exactly one year ago today I launched a venturing through one of the most noteworthy experiences of my life. A two-week trauma-informed yoga teacher training against the backdrop of mouthwatering mango-sticky-rice and saltwater that matched my eyes land beginning a day after my big five-ohhh. Thirteen students that quickly became a dozen when our one male faced some difficult personal trauma triggers similar to a gateway drug gone badly causing him to miss too many classes to continue properly. Eight, including a leader bestie already nestled in position, whom remain superglue for me. Each creature of comfort beaming inspiration incarnate for having sat in witness for one another’s authenticity. The precocious reveal was not your typical trauma bonding. This gang of goddesses sweetly reframed the meaning as they taught me faith in myself.
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will home in a new rhythm ~John O’Donohue
We’d only been allotted the keeping track exercise by manual hand to paper transcription, aside from the theme of tuning into our own selves, or when partnered with a course-buddy for reflection and instruction. These sensual soundbites of what our bodies truly are as living, freezing, breathing, breath-stopping, fleeing, fawning, heart-aching to heart-thumping trauma healing slabs of soulful energy. I’d walk away coveting a literally distinguished plethora of my Somatically sacred hand-written notes. I’d embark beyond Southeast Asia to my next escapade hop to Australia’s Oceania region. Then, I’d be yanked back to the USA when COVID’s strike hit nuclear proportions. When the effects of trauma on everyone (something we’d been educated with merely a month prior) staggered to worldly wake-up call levels evolving every second to the present ones teetering as you read this.
In that moment none of us could have known the extent of pandemonium brewing. A story called Stir-Fried Feelings I penned shortly after my trauma retreat finished was just the tip of the iceberg for our globe. As with many of my best decisions in life, what had gotten me into that serendipitous situation of sublimity with a massively purposeful outcome was not the thing itself. Naysayers might have rather seen me give up a crazy cross-continental fiftieth birthday bashing brand new passport stamps. Of the possessions I’d battle Fight Club or in the Thunderdome before wanting to lose, my passport is the permanent chart-topper. I would speedily abandon clothes, art, books, furniture, a home, a job, a vain relationship. I have done so in my past. That’s part of my rules of the last decade. If I take any item to my storage unit, then I must gather at least one bag-worth of discard for permanent removal.
My far-flung family and friends fairly have me pegged as a wanderlust queen. I wear the chance for girl-shrieking stimulation of international or extreme adventures like others do shoes. Immersion is this buzz-word relating to full-blown experiential study. But, to totally submerge in oneself isn’t the average doers cup of tea. No matter the aromatic locally-dried fresh passionfruit DIY or the infamous Thai tea type with a husky side of hunks or babes at the deluxe oceanside lap pool. Nope, plunging deep into the puddles of your own trauma and what to do with it, much less how to navigate support for others the same, doesn’t make the top-ten for most people I encounter. However, my arousal piques for close to anything connection-oriented. Getting engrossed in traumas is a fast-pass to the token of human narrative. Collectively and consciously is the only way ~ forward or backward and smack in your now.
Bonding is for our heartcores what bindings are for books. We’re not able to hold ourselves together without them. While Thailand had been toward the bottom of my bucket list of countries, it fell into a category that had crept in through my travel sprees. A justified trying on of these differed places which fit the model of convenience meets budget meets timing above the apex I’d customarily permitted to rob my bank account. Spaces of spontaneity I’d cultivated with happenstance that ended up winning me over just as affectionately, if not more so due to their lack of anticipation on my part. Where I drifted afar heartily. Yet, convoluted with a newfound notion that my noggin was unaccounted to reconcile swiftly. I’ve left pieces of my heart all over our planet as a result. Shackled to an unforgettable oath of gratitude for the relationships made.
See where the fusion of your wisdom jostles fruition of your lifeblood to romance grounding in that.