new landscapes
When I was a little girl, I took dance classes. I remember the running leaps across the classroom, looking into mirrors and giggling, the click-click-clack of my shoes. I remember recitals with the dressing-up in tutus and tying of bows. My classmates and I would shuffle onto the stage in a tidy line, the music cueing us to begin.
There was one recital-like moment that stands out. I was around age 5. I’m not sure where I was, perhaps a retirement home or some sort of recreation center; it was maybe a practice before the more formal recital. I was in my outfit, likely it was pink with puffs, I’m not sure. I was backstage. There was a heavy and soft curtain. There were older children dancing on the stage and people sitting in chairs in the darkness watching. And there were adults talking, kind of circling around me like bees.
There was worry. I had learned how to sense when adults had worry. I remember being asked if I was okay to still go on stage. Evidently no one else from my class had shown up. I was the only one. Are you sure? It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. I remember this moment because I could see clearly the fear of the adults as something that wasn’t mine. I didn’t know the word “fear” and I didn’t know why the adults were in it the way they were. But I do remember going out on the stage and doing my dance. I loved dancing. I felt free and joyful. After I was done, I remember the praise, the Oh, I can’t believe you were so brave and such. I remember seeing that as strange, too. Like why are you saying all of this when I was myself and danced?
As children, we know who we are. We know why we came here. We know what we need to express of ourselves. We aren’t fearful of being whole and free. We rejoice as we are.
And slowly (or quickly) stories seep in—of right-wrong, safe-danger, good-bad, if-then, us-them, this-that—and separate us from ourselves in an illusion of protection. From what?
I’ve been angry with fear lately. Annoyed. Tired of how often it shows up in the people I love and the places I like to spend time. Wishing we could all just stop being so fearful and controlling of things. I’ve noticed how often I let myself get spun into a loop of righteousness about how fear isn’t real and how we need to see ourselves on the other side of it. This week I decided to try something different. I wanted to understand fear better, see where it lives in me, talk with it like a friend. Inspired by an energy talk from one of my teachers, I set an intention to see into the essence of fear. Although challenging for sure, it’s turning into a most delightful and surprising adventure. I know I’m at the beginning, and yet there is a vastness to what I can already see.
Much of what I see is with sensations, not words, and even the images and words I see are too many to write here. But I will say this: In fear there is freedom. I was surprised to find it there, but I see it clearly. And it’s changing everything. Nothing I’ve previously thought or heard or experienced about fear holds up anymore. I’m in a different landscape entirely. It is here is where I remembered my little-girl-self stepping out on that stage to dance. I can see my little-girl-self with more clarity. I can see how I had no concept of “alone” as something to “fear” because I was whole and complete. There was no alone and there was no fear because both aren’t real and I hadn’t forgotten that yet.
The beautiful thing about right now is that we’re all being called to remember what we knew as children—who we are and why we’re here. All of the noise on the surface of things beckons us to slow down and notice, see into our fears so we can heal them, and find our wholeness again. It is from here that we will cultivate new landscapes together.
As children, we know who we are. We know why we came here. We know what we need to express of ourselves. We aren’t fearful of being whole and free. We rejoice as we are.
Ask yourself:
What are my stories that keep me from dancing as the full expression of me?
Sit with this. Listen. Let yourself see it clearly. Meet it with tenderness. Take your time. Remember yourself as a child. Say hello.
