We are affected by life. Currents of feeling move within us all the time, much the way tides and currents ceaselessly move in the ocean. If we are awake to ourselves, these currents of feeling affect us, directly and immediately: we are awake, sensitive, and alive.
Many of our emotional metaphors of being affected are very physical: we talk of being moved, touched, of being swept away. Experiences are gut-wrenching, they kick us in the ass, punch us in the gut, and make us weak at the knees. We say something is deeply heartfelt or, if deceived, someone gave us the runaround. And some of these ways we are affected really shake us up; even take us down.
A limp wrist bespeaks weakness, and there’s things we can’t stomach, particularly when we’ve already had a bellyfull. Right now, if we were a little drunk we might have had a skinful. If it gets any worse, we’ll be shit-faced, and shortly after that, on our ass.
Our whole body, and whole life can get roughed-up.
Of course, we could lie to the cops, tongue-in-cheek, or we could tell the truth, and face up to what we’re doing. We could face the music, instead of shouldering it aside, and rather than giving it the cold shoulder, we could take it on the chin.
But any shame, guilt, or sadness we feel will only live on our inside; nobody will see it.
Of course, we could just shoulder the burden of it, or carry the weight of it on our shoulders, or perhaps, put it behind us. If we did, we’d have no spine, although telling you that may put your back up; who knows?
When there’s a whole lot being felt inside, and somebody shows up who we can safely tell about it, our feeling very, very alone can begin to soften and dissolve.
Talking to someone safe will disarm us. If our listener isn’t skillful and safe, we’ll elbow them aside, dismiss them as a navel-gazer, or more rudely, tell them they’re a dick. Or an ass. Or dismiss them as just a hippie, while self-protectively hoping they’ll turn tail and run.
Somewhere deep within us, we know that how we’re being affected is right. And still, to untangle how we’re affected, and come to a recognition of the gift of it, of life’s present in this way, we most likely have to talk about what’s really happening. How we’re affected.
The best of therapy is when one human being turns to another and says:
“You’ve shared something with me that you’ve been very affected by. You’ve asked me to help you, and the grace of therapy is that I feel impelled to place myself in your shoes, as if I am you.
Tell me, by and by, the pains of your heart and the anguish of your soul. I will do my best, without any kind of fake care, to have my listening heart open to you—so that I can feel what you feel, so that I can hurt how you hurt, yet also glow with pride and joy and connection in ways that you may have forgotten, in your distress. And all of this will help with sorting through and clarifying what’s affected you so much.
Share with me what ails you, so you can travel with a companion—no longer so alone—into the places where love turned away from itself. In these places within you, you had to begin to protect yourself from love, and withdraw. Now it’s hard to stop doing that, although the suffering of it is terrible.
Would you allow me to help you to begin again, from the beginning, to discover the wonder and the beauty that you knew in being born—discover that true vitality again now, find the trueness of yourself that you always knew remained here, and is here now, despite the suffering?
Would you do what you can so that you and I together (without ever dismissing what troubles you) can surface and reveal what in you is naturally positive, exploratory, opening, curious, growing—the essence of what you are?”