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PeterParticipantHi Silvery Blue – Thanks for the kind words
Hi Tee
Would those around me call me passive?
No… perhaps… Has my my engagement in this dialogue been passive? What does passivity mean to you?
I’ve experienced movement in stillness, and stillness in movement. What then is action… What is passive?
Bruce Lee once said, “The stillness in stillness is not the real stillness; only when there is stillness in movement
does the universal rhythm manifest.”In this stillness, To let go is not to withdraw. It is to listen more deeply, to respond without grasping, to be present without needing to be seen.
If passivity means absence, then no, I am not passive. But if it means stillness, then perhaps… and I’m learning to welcome it.
PeterParticipantHi Tee
Sorry my last reply was a bit rushed. I really do appreciate you acknowledging that you might have been projecting. As we talked about before I think we all do it, often without realizing. What matters is the willingness to see it and speak it.
As for your other question: yes, I do think the passage of time has shifted my focus inward. The outer pursuits still have their place, but they no longer feel like the center of gravity. The second half of life, for me, seems to be about letting go but in a way that makes space for something deeper to emerge. I don’t experience that as passive but can understand how it might seem that way from the outside looking in.
I’ve really appreciated this exchange. It’s given me much to reflect on. Thanks for the thoughtful conversation.
PeterParticipantI agree Tee, both must be addressed. Speaking for myself I’m finding it interesting that I find myself leaning in to inner experience and even further, non-duality as I move further into the second half of life. And how that influences and gets in the way when I try to engage in dialog with others.
Do you mean that you “struggle” internally, feeling the discomfort, feeling the pain of let’s say someone misunderstanding you, or someone accusing you of something you haven’t done? And then once you process those “negative” feelings (anger, hurt, sadness), you come to a place of clarity, from which you then respond?
Yes I think that reflects what I meant. I think its a good practice during the engagement with the conflict and after, particularly if the outcome wasn’t as one might have hoped.
PeterParticipantI Tee
I think I can name the ‘loop’ I’ve sensed in the pattern of our dialogue – ‘Yet But’.
You tend to lean into the outer, objective experience of conflict – what was said, what needs to be addressed. While I tend to lean into the inner, subjective experience – what was felt, what shifted, what resisted. Both of us I think caught in the loop of – ‘yes but’ the outer experience…. ‘yes but’ inner experience…Of course both experience are real, and both are happening together. But communicating across that difference isn’t easy. It’s like we’re each holding a different part of the elephant, trying to describe the whole.
Anyway thanks for the engagement and holding the space. I apologize if I projected my own insecurities around communication.
PeterParticipantHi everyone
Just finished a novel called The Measure by Nikki Erlick
Today, when you open your front door, waiting for you is a small wooden box. The contents of this mysterious box tells you the exact number of years you will live… As society comes together and pulls apart, everyone faces the same shocking choice: Do they wish to know how long they’ll live? And, if so, what will they do with that knowledge?
Those might be considered deep philosophical questions… I guess they are but the book was uplifting about “family, friendship, hope, and destiny that encourages us to live life to the fullest.”
A answerer to the questions a clasic-
“Que Sera, Sera”
When I was just a little girl I asked my mother, “What will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?” Here’s what she said to meQue sera, sera Whatever will be, will be The future’s not ours to see Que sera, sera
What will be, will beSince I am just a boy at school I asked my teacher, “What should I try?
Should I paint pictures? Should I sing songs?” This was her wise replyQue sera, sera Whatever will be, will be The future’s not ours to see Que sera, sera
What will be, will beWhen I grew up and fell in love I asked my lover, “What lies ahead?
Will we have rainbows day after day?” Guess what my lover saidQue sera, sera Whatever will be, will be The future’s not ours to see Que sera, sera
What will be, will beNow I have children of my own They ask their mother, “What will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?” I tell them, “Wait and see.”Que sera, sera Whatever will be, will be The future’s not ours to see Que sera, sera
What will be, will bePeterParticipantHi James
Love it. I’m not sure though how to express the warning in the initial post with also not falling in it?
A limitation of language perhaps.PeterParticipantHi James
Your words don’t sound harsh to me, though I understand how they could be received as such.
PeterParticipantHi James
Defiantly a delicate balance and challenge sharing from one’s experience and engaging in dialogue without it feeling like imposing ones views. Especially in spiritual spaces, where language touches on deep and often ineffable experiences. Dialogue in these contexts seems to ask for a quiet kind of humility: to speak from one’s center without assuming it is the center. Easier said then done..LOL a Jehovah witness just stopped by
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? -
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