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PeterParticipantHi Tee
I agree with your point about assertiveness, responding with clarity and care rather than silently enduring. I wasn’t suggesting we avoid conflict. What I want to express is the notion of a pause before and during engagement. Then once the conflict has run its course, even if the outcome isn’t what we hoped for, I believe there’s value in sitting with what remains and returning to ourselves, not to endure, but to integrate. I tried to illustrate that my Layla stories…
When you asked if I prefer to sit with the pain while remaining detached, I was surprised, that’s not my preference or intention behind what I wrote. I think that misunderstanding is on me for not expressing it clearly.
Your metaphor about the wound seems to suggest I’m advocating for enduring pain as a way to become stronger. That doesn’t reflect what I believe or I think wrote. I wonder if that interpretation might be touching something in your own experience.
I think we’ve both been grasping different parts of the same elephant, which may be why we seem to be in a loop of trying to explain ourselves. I’m naming that not to dismiss our experiences. When I sense I’m in a loop, it’s usually a signal that something in me is resisting.
This morning, I attended a yoga class where we moved slowly and held each pose that felt like forever. Moving into warrior two my body began to strain, after just 15 seconds, though my ego insists it took longer. 😊
Anyway, As I settled into the stillness, I noticed the tension wasn’t just physical, it was mental. My mind was bracing against the discomfort, trying to endure it. Resisting the discomfort the mind was amplifying it. But when I returned to breath, I returned to the whole: mind, body, and breath and the tension began to release… a little.
The resisting mind wanted to push through the pain, while the breath and pause created space, not to endure, but to soften. In that moment, letting go wasn’t passive, it was active. From the outside looking in it may be seen as passive, enduring, even escapist detachment, but its not.
The image of being caught in a undertow just came to mind. When you’re caught in an undertow, the only option is to stop fighting and let the current carry you until you surface. That’s not giving up, it’s trusting the process.
PeterParticipantHi Tee,
The topic remains of interest to me, though I sense we may be circling something deeper, perhaps a tension that’s hard to name, and therefore difficult to resolve.
I was attempting, in my own way, to communicate that Maya and the pain it creates is real. I should have been clearer that this pain is not to be dismissed. My intention was to offer a third way of engaging with that pain, one that neither denies it nor rushes to assign blame.
I acknowledge that my invitation to pause and reflect was misunderstood as assigning equal blame. That wasn’t my aim, nor was it intended to determine who was right. This, I agree, was a failure on my part, especially given how the metaphor landed even as I found myself entangled in it. I can’t un-ring the bell, so I’ll let that be.
One question that hasn’t yet been addressed is: in an online forum, what is our expectation around accountability when someone has hurt us? Do we cancel them? Should they cancel themselves? I hope not.
Sometimes all we can do is accept what is and give ourselves credit for expressing our truth with clarity and care. Accountability, in this context, may not mean punishment or withdrawal, but rather a willingness to stay present, to listen, to reflect, and, when possible, to repair. Still, that’s not always easy, and it’s not always mutual. But I believe there’s value in resisting the impulse to erase or condemn and instead choosing to remain in the discomfort to see what it might reveal. That is what I’ve witnessed here, for which I’m grateful.
Regarding your question: “Say someone hits you while you’re sitting peacefully, minding your own business—does it reveal anything about you?”
It reveals something about the person hitting, if they’re willing to look within. Just as the reaction or response of the one being hit will reveal something about them. I can see some value in keeping the events isolated, focus on the hitter… but if I’m the one being hit, what I care about, perhaps selfishly, is my response and what it reveals about me.
I wonder if my framing, that every interaction, especially online, carries some element of projection and mirroring, is part of what’s causing both of us to feel misunderstood. It’s a lens I’ve come to trust as a kind of truth, but I recognize it may not resonate in the same way for others. Perhaps we can agree to disagree here.
Lastly, in your reply I noticed a strong, even triggering, reaction to “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” I know it’s often used to express compassion, but I experience it as a kind of split… a way of loving that still divides. It feels like it keeps the heart slightly closed, even when the intention is to keep it open. That’s not a critique of your use of it, but an acknowledgment of how it landed in me. To be honest, I was horrified that what I wrote connected to that notion as anyone on the receiving end of that phrase is unlikely to experience it as being truly seen.
I also noticed a frustration, perhaps even a touch of anger… directed inward. I often feel clumsy when trying to communicate something that feels clear inside but lands differently outside. Language, especially metaphor, is how I make sense of things, but I’m learning that it doesn’t always translate well.
Still, I value this exchange. Even in its discomfort, it invites reflection as I find myself uncertain about how, or whether, to continue discussing the topic, but I’m grateful for your willingness to stay in the conversation.
PeterParticipantHi Tee
That was a very thoughtful reflection giving much to think about.
It is uncomfortable to witness conflict, especially between those who’s intentions are authentically to be present to others. Communication is difficult, and how much more so when we are in a place of hurt. You are correct to note I seek safety through detachment and how that impacts how I communicate. However, the intention isn’t to avoid discomforted or ‘stop’ conflict but to ‘sit’ in it… I’m ok being uncomfortable.
At the time I was exploring how we mirror and reflect one another (Mirror of the Moment) and experimenting with different ways to communicate what I was sensing.
What I often see when witnessing conflict from the outside in is that at some point communication breaks down partially because those involved are no longer seeing the other, perhaps seeing the other through their pain or past (ghosts). Which I think is forgivable. The invited pause was to note the moment and create space to honor that pain and then return to dialog… having polished ones own “mirror.” In hindsight I should have avoided metaphor… though it is how I relate to language and in a way life, (Metaphors We live by – George Lakoff)
To be candid when witnessing conflict, I’m not that interested in the notion of blame, as I lean heavily into the only person you can change is yourself. In that way I see all interactions revealing, in some way, my own reflection. To be honest the idea of blame didn’t even occur to me until you pointed it out.
In your previous post you noted “not everything is an illusion” in response to what I said about Buddhist notion of illusion, or I ought to have said maya. I am reminded of the story of the monk kicking the stone…. Illusion doesn’t mean it is not real. The reason Maya causes so much suffering is that it is very real. I would argue more real then a physical object we can see and touch. The illusion is that we do not, or our senses cannot, see or know everything about the moment, we cannot know what is in heart of another, but ego consciousness thinks it can and does, and reacts accordingly. That is the illusion. This is a point in conflict where a pause can help.
PeterParticipantHi Anita
Thank you for your trust and for sharing this poetic post.
There’s real beauty in the way you’re expressing your inner child and how you are finding connection to her… running on green grass, fresh green, forever fields… Green the color of the heart chakra… the color of healing, innocence, and renewed possibility.
I hear the longing, the imagery, the sense of something awakening that was long held in silence. There’s something powerful in expressing that in a space where it can be witnessed.
I do feel some discomfort, not because of what you’ve expressed, but because I don’t see my connection to the inner child in the same light. That may be resistance… perhaps relating to my own process and current capacity. Something to reflect on.
I may not fully relate in the same way, but very much appreciate what you’ve shared and the courage it takes to do so. Thank you for letting me witness it.
PeterParticipantHi Tee
Thank you for sharing so openly. I’m grateful for your candor and for trusting me enough to express your feelings.
I appreciate the care you’ve taken to describe how my earlier response felt. Not easy to hear, however I can see how my intention to invite pause and reflection may have come across as assigning equal blame, and I want to acknowledge how hurtful that felt.
You’ve made an important distinction between therapeutic settings and public forums. In online spaces, where our presence is limited to words, that difference matters, especially when emotions run high. We shouldn’t expect online space to be therapy settings.
From the outside, I sensed a lot of “ghosts” at play, even my own, and so becoming confused, I probably made a mistake by engaging. My concern wasn’t about who was right or wrong, but to create a pause. That said it wasn’t the time to suggest that conflict can sometimes offer a chance to see the other in ourselves. As you rightly call me out 😊, catching me in my stoic, detached mode, a mode I slip into when witnessing conflict. My ‘safe space’ go to… hasn’t always served me well.
I understand now that what you needed was to be seen clearly, not as equally responsible, but as someone who was trying to respond with integrity and felt hurt by how things unfolded. That matters, and I did see that… I just didn’t express it well
I still believe in the value of holding tension, not to avoid action, but to make space for clarity and care. But I also see how, especially in virtual spaces, that kind of invitation can feel abstract or even dismissive when what’s needed is direct acknowledgment.
To be candid, I often view virtual spaces as places where, in some way, we’re talking to ourselves, processing, hoping to be met. I don’t see that as a bad thing; I’ve learned a great deal by asking, “What part of myself am I seeing or not seeing in this engagement?”
Recognizing that as projection, through this dialog, has helped me see how easily I can bring my own stories into a space without realizing it. When I forget that, I’m not as careful as I’d like to be in how I engage with others.
Something to work on, thanks for create the space for reflection and to see more clearly.
PeterParticipantHi Anita
I’ve often felt the same, that I never truly experienced being a child in the way others describe it. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that my memories of feeling like a child are at best unreliable, fragmented, or shaped survival and insecurities than innocence. Funny I couldn’t tell you if the survival and insecurities of child hood that influenced the future or if its my adult insecurities coloring the past… such a tangled web.
This makes me wonder if it’s helpful to distinguish between our personal experience of childhood and the archetypal inner child. The former is shaped by circumstance, memory, and emotion which are often tangled with unmet needs or early wounds. The latter, though, is symbolic: a living presence within us that represents vulnerability, playfulness, creativity, and the longing to be held and seen.
When we speak of healing the inner child, we’re not necessarily trying to reconstruct or validate our actual childhood. We’re tending to something deeper, a part of us that still needs care, even if our early years didn’t provide it. A invitation not to recover what was lost, but to begin offering now what was never given, or understood or felt as given.
I’ve found the same approach helpful when working with the archetypes of mother and father. Not as literal parents, but as symbolic presences within. Just as with the inner child, it helps to separate the lived experience from the archetypal energy. The personal stories may be tangled, painful, or incomplete, but the archetypes offer a way to relate to, develop and reclaim within, qualities like protection, nurture, strength, and guidance.
In attempting integrating these archetypes, I’ve had to wrestle with the idea of unconditional love. A work in progress, as I’ve found that its to often misunderstood as unconditional allowing, sentiment without integrity. For me Love without accountability isn’t love, it’s enabling…
It’s difficult to articulate how we can love someone unconditionally… to accept them as they are in the present moment, even when and as they fail us… its difficult enough to love ourselves that way. But I’m learning that unconditional love holds it all… the failures and the boundaries.
I wonder that to love someone unconditionally is to hold their humanity with compassion, even when they fall short. Isn’t that now how we love our children? I’ve often wondered if its the reason the wisdom traditions turn to the word compassion more often then the word love…
For me the word Compassion, is spacious… less about how we feel and more about how we relate. Compassion includes empathy, but also clarity. Compassion can hold pain without needing to fix it, and can set boundaries without withdrawing care. It’s love with wisdom, love that sees clearly. Unconditional Compassion?
PeterParticipantHe Everyone
While writing the post I’ve been reflecting on how much power we sometimes give to virtual spaces over how we feel about ourselves. It’s understandable, but I wonder how healthy that is, or how skillful in the Buddhist sense. Easier said than done, of course. But if the Buddha is right, and much of what we experience is illusion, then how much more so in a digital space where tone, presence, and nuance are stripped away?PeterParticipantHi Tee and Everyone
Thanks for pointing out how “holding tension” can feel like being asked to be stoic about our pain and not taking action. That thought crossed my mind too.I see “staying with what’s hard” not as passivity, but as a kind of active presence, a doing by not doing, motion in stillness…
Alessa’s image of the mother cat beside the feral kitten captures it well. From the outside, it may look like nothing but inwardly it’s a profound act of presence experienced by both. Anyone who’s sat with someone in pain, especially a child, and not jumping to words, knows how much effort and courage that takes… That doing “nothing” can be a form of deep engagement.
In conflict, I often find both the feral kitten and the nurturing presence within myself. The pause to hold the tension within allowing me to witness and nurture my own reactivity, my own pain… Once I’ve held the tension within, I may better hold the tension without, with the other I’m in confect with… Naming and action may arise but not until presence has been honored. (A kind of as below so above, as above so below situation)
I feel this as a rhythm that when engaged with and held, something new can emerge and that emergence often is action arising from integration, not reactivity. Perhaps a third way, a previously unthought of way to handle conflict?
Online, I’ve noticed a subtle expectation that naming a hurt or setting a boundary should lead to resolution. When it doesn’t, the conflict can feel unresolved… I get that… But maybe that’s an unreasonable hope in language-limited spaces. Sometimes, naming the hurt is the most courageous thing we can do, and it has to be enough, if only for our own inner peace. We can’t control the outcome, but we can honor the truth of the moment. Note that I’m referring specifically to online spaces where my expectations are different then other forms of relational engagement.
What further complicates the issue is that conflict often stirs up old ghosts. We’re not just reacting to the present, but to past wounds the other person can’t see just as we can’t see theirs. In such circumstances misunderstanding is likely if not inevitable and can feel like malice… Yet I wonder how much of the hurt is that ache is of the past not being recognized or acknowledged in the present as we want it to be in this moment…
In a space where we work on past traumas, even the most empathetic won’t be able to understand our ghosts or banish them, that is our work to do.
Your right, Staying with what’s hard isn’t the whole story but maybe it’s the beginning of a different kind of story, one where action arises from presence, and resolution isn’t the only measure of healing?
Sometimes when you find yourself struggling in a yoga class and all you feel you mange well is the child pose… showing up for yourself, as the instructors says, counts..
PeterParticipantThanks Alessa
Its funny how, again I feel were saying the same thing, or a least landing in the same place. I suspect the way I communicate may not be read as I intend. As you note its not always clear, especially in forums where all you have is words to know how you come across to people.
I like the feral kitten analogy as it better illustrates what I mean by holding the tension as a ‘third way’. It doesn’t necessary resolve a conflict but it does I feel hold open the space for it.
It also occurred to me that my use of the word fix was off the mark again and that what I wrote could have been taken as a suggestion for all levels of conflict. From life threatening level 5 where resolution is vital, to misunderstanding level 1 where it might be ok to agree to disagree. When I wrote the response I was in the Level 1 mindset.
Anyway glad to hear what I wrote helped. I also found your candor helpful, communicating is hard. As for world events, like Anita i aim to ‘do no harm’ and working on being the change I’d like to see.
PeterParticipantHi Alessa
Thank you for sharing so honestly. I hear the weight of what you’re carrying and the very real need to protect your well-being, especially as a parent navigating PTSD and the demands of care. Your boundaries are valid, and I am impressed with the clarity you’ve named them.After I posted, even though I stand by what I said, I felt the urge to pull it because I realized how easily even well-intentioned words can land in ways we don’t expect. Especially in spaces where people are hurting and trying to be heard as they attempt to create healthy boundaries… despite the impulse to stay out of it, I wanted to be brave and offer a third way…
Last night, watching the news, I saw story after story of people being canceled, offended, and offended that they were offended where no one seemed to be listening, to others or themselves! It struck me how quickly communication can devolve into fight or flight reaction, how contagious it is… how easy it is to become what we fear, to become that which be fight, to mirror the very dynamics we’re trying to heal.
I’m not saying that’s what’s happening here. In fact, I see Tiny Buddha as a space where healing is possible especially when we feel the pain of not being understood, not heard the way we wish to be heard, not seen as we long to be seen…
When I first saw the title of this thread — Safe and Brave — it felt like a contradiction. Bravery isn’t acting without fear; it’s feeling the fear and showing up anyway. And safety, I’m learning, might not mean comfort or agreement, but the kind of space where we’re allowed to get it wrong and still be held.
For me the question is: Can we hold space for conflict, not to resolve it immediately, but to honor it as part of the process? Can we stay present with the discomfort of misunderstanding, and trust that something meaningful might still grow there?…
Anyone who’s taken a yoga class knows holding tension in a posture isn’t easy or comfortable. But through breath and practice, we grow stronger. It’s still uncomfortable, but we learn that discomfort is okay. We’re okay as we are, even in our failings, maybe especially because of them.
I see Tiny Buddha as a kind of yoga… a place to practice presence, compassion, and the art of staying with what’s hard. That’s what makes it brave. That’s what makes it safe, and you’re a important part of that.
Last night as I worried about the worlds news that thought that I found myself asking… If we can’t hold and trust the process of conflict in this space, if we can’t forgive here, what hope is there? Are we only adding to the very contagion of division we see in the world?
I hope you don’t leave.
PeterParticipantPerhaps a moment to pause…
Creating space where someone can fully feel what they feel, without the need to fix or challenge, is i feel a meaningful expression of both safety and bravery.
I appreciate that some may view their engagement in conflict as defending boundaries and standing up for oneself. And that’s valid, boundaries are essential. At the same time, I see holding tension without rushing to resolution as a form of boundary too, one rooted in presence, patience, and respect for complexity.
To me, a safe and brave space isn’t always about agreement or resolution of conflict. Sometimes it’s about allowing conflict to be witnessed and held, which is not the same as being silenced. That kind of space honors both the boundary of self-expression and the boundary of restraint… the courage to stay present with what’s unresolved.
Honoring conflict without needing to fix, smooth over, or silence can be an act of deep respect. It asks us to stay present with discomfort, to trust that tension itself can be fertile ground for growth.
What might it mean to hold space for what’s unresolved, not as a problem to solve, but as something sacred to witness?
PeterParticipantHi Anita
My first thought was what would the ‘look’ like and the second wondered if this was associated to the conversation happening in the safe and brave threads.
As an invitation what I’m hear you suggesting as entering garden as children (integrated child archetype) as a call to engage with openness, curiosity, and presence while not abandoning maturity… remembering the part of us that knows how to wonder and trust.
Where adults tend to build boundaries and walls the child in us knows how to climb them for joy, for connection.
Tending this, or other, gardens in this way means honoring both the walls that protect, and the vines that reach beyond. To Alessa point, It’s not about returning to innocence as a romanticizing of childhood, but about re-membering wholeness where innocence and experience, child and adult, safety and bravery, all have a place.
Growth coming from care, risk, and trust in the unfolding… even if and when we scrape our knees in the process…
Reading your invitation through the lens of Threefold Breath, I’m reminded how each breath holds movement and stillness, rising and returning, much like the child and adult within us. The garden a place where breath becomes presence, and presence becomes transformation.
In child like wonder perhaps tending this garden is itself a kind of breath a rhythm of creation, dissolution, and reconciliation that ask us: How does the breath move in your garden? What grows when you listen to it?
PeterParticipantI forgot my quote 🙂
“If we can stay with the tension of opposites long enough, sustain it, be true to it, we can sometimes become vessels within which the divine opposites come together and give birth to a new reality.” — Marie-Louise von Fran
Marie-Louise von Franz reminds us, the way out of the provisional life is through commitment that engages with reality, making choices, and trusting that clarity will arise through action, not fantasy. Maturity also means accepting life’s limits and discovering that true freedom comes not from escaping boundaries, but from working creatively within them…
A working within the box accepting the boundaries and limitations of life: responsibility, commitment, structure… and works creatively within them. Working outside the box: It resists fantasy and escapism, but still allows for imaginative, intuitive, and transformative possibilities to emerge as we hold tension and allow something new to be born.
Seeing the adult in the child and child in the adult is like tending a garden within a walled courtyard. The walls give structure, boundaries, and protection, but the gardener must still be creative, responsive, and open to the unexpected. Seeds don’t grow by blueprint alone; they grow through care, risk, and trust in the process. Maturity is knowing when to honor the walls and when to let the vines climb beyond them.
PeterParticipantHi Alessa
I’m glad you pointed that out. Speaking for myself, though I felt Anita’s reflected the same feeling – seeing the child and adult held together in the ‘spiral of becoming’ contains, and mixes, all the complexity you’ve named.
What you’re reminding us of that the common romanticization of the child is often used as an escape from wholeness. For me the integration of the child archetype, as Jung described, is not just innocence and joy but also carries vulnerability, dependency, and wounds. So when I speak of ‘seeing the child in the adult,’ I mean reclaiming the child’s wonder and spiritual connection, but also integrating its shadow: the fears, the wounds, the longing. It’s not about idealizing the child but becoming the child again, with eyes wide open. As you say “accepting human nature. Taking the “bad” with the “good””. Different paths landing in a similar place. 🙂
I might also add that ‘seeing the adult in the child’ isn’t idealized either. Sometimes I see confidence and maturity… but sometimes I see the adult’s crushed spirit already present in the child. Wholeness holds both.
PeterParticipantThanks Anita – I lit up in recognition when you wrote; “As I go out and about in real-life, I see boys and girls in aging bodies all the time” sometimes it catches me off guard when I “see” a adult in the child and a child in the adult.
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