The pressure of the world is to conform, to survive, to participate in the momentum of what has always been. To pick up the ancestral line and drag it a few metres further along the gully. All the while deepening the track and the groove in which it is situated, digging it deeper into the conditioning that it has carved out. Coming to take on those qualities as self, as identity, believing in self as a personality, forged in the dystopia of our ancestral burdens.
Ancestral conditioning forms a profound chain of belief in mind about who we are. The DNA sequences of our bodies are imprinted with the trauma experiences of our ancestors, literally programming the cells of the body with the information deemed most essential for survival. What to avoid, what to react to, what to run from, fight, please, appease, hide from. Our parental voices, actions and interactions generally reinforce the pre-existing biological imprints of ‘how to stay safe’ in a world that would ‘eat you alive’.
The Soul itself incarnates into the form with its own patterns of ingrained belief. The history of the Soul, burdened with countless incarnational streams that have flowed through unlimited potentials for experience, comes to the body/mind with its own legacy of dysmorphic identity. The unprocessed traumas and incomplete experiences of lives scattered through the infinite timeline of Creation, through which we (consciousness) journey, bleeding through the hasty dressings, bound around hopeless wounds in times long since forgotten, until we are ready, willing and open to fulfil these ancient promises to ourselves to finish what we started.
The trauma’s of our ancestors branded into the sequences of our deepest flesh, the half remembered flashes of our our own souls journey, the deepest horrors of a mind buried in the Hell of separation. This is where we find ourselves, swimming in an ocean of past experiences, programmed to expect the worst, desperate to avoid the same fates as countless lives that came before.
And ironically doomed to re-create the continuance of these streams of incarnation, because the very power of creativity, the very essence of life’s desire to create is burning as brightly as ever in the core of mind. This mind, your mind, in this moment, and in every moment. The directive of that power, the inspiration for the movement of life into the next moment, and the next, deliberately created from the focus of our own attention, your attention, now. An attention pre-programmed to scan for threat, to seek for those experiences that would cause most harm, in the belief that seeing them will offer the opportunity to avoid them, unknowingly dragging the self inexorably deeper into the creation of what these fears would so powerfully avert.
It is the re-programming of mind that the journey of healing necessitates. The re-programming of a mind so deeply entwined with a biology that screams threat at every corner, the re-programming of a mind that is so habituated towards the avoidance of danger that it may see nothing else. And within that seeing, within that tensing of the body and mind against, within that coiling of the spring, poised and ready to flee or fight, within that deep urgency to hide and remain hidden, within that impossibility of movement or stillness, within the very primal core contraction of fear, is you, buried, weary and falsely identified with what you are not.
There are core themes to the journey of separation, and core unravellings in the journey of healing. In the mind convinced of its own fatality, immersed in its certainty of the threat of life, which necessitates the threat of death, fear wears the crown and safety is a missing jewel within it. A safety that is sought with every breath, yet never found, a safety that cannot be bought, though countless souls have tried and try again, in futility, every moment of every day.
In a world of fear, in a world where the healing of Self is paramount, in a world where threat is perceived more than love, a sense of safety is of immense value. It is in a field of ‘safe enough’ that the journey can begin, when the first glimmers of relaxation can occur. Relaxation being the release of contraction and tension, contraction and tension being the effect of fear, the involuntary reaction to the threat of suffering, pain and death.
We all have it, this core tension, this core contraction against life. Some may exist within the veneer of okay-ness, indeed most humans do. Some may bob along on the surface of mind, pretending and deflecting, surviving, and maybe even thriving in the world. Yet the underbelly of fear, the gripping within against the potential of loss remains. Beneath the shiny presentation of self as a functioning aspect of the conforming collective is a deeper knowing, a gnawing away at the internal structures. And we all have tells, little flickers behind the eyes that say that something is amiss, the knowing of the internal struggle to stay afloat on the surface of mind, whilst the deeper currents tug at the feet and try to pull us deeper into the fearful places we exert so much energy in avoiding.
We all have our comfort strategies, signs that we ‘need’ comfort, because there must be places within that are uncomfortable. We might cling to the mate, or eat ourselves to numbness, we might drink into a state of forgetfulness of what’s gnawing incessantly beneath. There may be addiction to distraction, to exercise, to seeking approval through watching the likes upon a screen. And on and on it goes, the seeking beyond the mind for what can never be found, a sense of safety in a body that is finite in time and already, slowly, inexorably passing away in the distant memory of a Soul that has already outlived a thousand of them.
And here you are, right now, in a body that is counting down to the finale of a life that will absolutely end in death. Yet what death is this that you have not already outlived? For here you are again, immersed in the character of your own construct, writing another script of experience, moment to moment penning another chapter in the unfolding of who you are pretending to be.
Imagining that the pen is writing itself, the histories of a hundred thousand beings dictating a script that you never agreed to playing the main lead for. Yet whose hand is it that grips the pen? Whose fingers are wrapped, inky stained and eager, around the shaft of this instrument? Ready to write the next scene, a moment, a breath, a choice in this moment, to bring awareness, to bring self once more to the front of this creation? Or to remain hidden from your own eyes, rehashing the scenes of the past into a present narrative, unconscious and blind to the self that holds the essence of your own destiny in this breath. What words would you write on the parchment of your own mind, if you knew you were free now from the bondage of the past?
Would you write of the safety that is here right now, would you write of your healing, of the wholeness of your own mind, of the deep love that you have for your heart and soul, of the appreciation for this body that houses this consciousness and offers such depth of experience and potential. Would you write of the beauty and the joy that comes form directing attention to the beauty and the joy that comes from directing your attention to the beauty and the joy that comes.
The beauty and joy that comes from knowing that what you focus your attention upon, in time, with persistence and congruence, comes to you, that you might bathe in the Holy waters of your communion with creation, in the beauty and the joy that you Create with Love, through bringing your attention to it.
Would you write, again and again of the love that you have for self, aligning, through loving yourself, with the love that Creation is. That same love that has birthed you as Soul, and through loving this self coming to know that Love as yourself. Becoming what you are once more through attending and remembering to love who you are and what you have made, unconditionally and regardless of the judgements the world has prescribed and written in a script you are ultimately free to write beyond in this moment, any moment.
Because we are free to choose again now, to write again now, to tear up the prescription of our ancestry, to re-write to stories of our Souls, to imagine ourselves anew, to love ourselves anew. To breathe ourselves anew, to acknowledge the newness of now and to begin again, in the frequency of what we would most want to become.
And if and when the scripts from the past emerge and pull us into the fears of what has been, maybe we can willingly go, with our pen and parchment, and witness that which held power before, and sit and breathe with the terrors of yesteryear, and watch as the bodies from then dissolved to dust and know this one will join them soon enough, and smile in heart, and take up our pen and rest for a moment in the remembrance that we are here to learn to Love once more, where before we have taught ourselves to fear. And write or re-write the story...
Of who you most truly want to be.