“Only to the extent that we uncover ourselves over and over to liquidation can that which is indestructible in us be found.”~ Pema Chodron

Pop spirituality and our racial attitude would have you think it best to banish negativity from your life. Give it the quarantine care until it gets better and can rejoin our polite, positive, placative society.

We are encouraged to cleanse negativity, a covering descriptor of things that don’t feel good. Push it away with an expel and inhale positivity. Anger, sadness, and crucial envisage can all be forms of “bad vibes” that are sought to be avoided.

This banishment of negativity is so naive. We are humans, capable of such a wonderful range of sentiment and experience. Who are we to banish some of the low-pitched, dark, hollow documents from our octaves of world? Too much purging performs us baked, brittle, and sterile.

When joy and excitement are out for too long, they get stale. When you are always bathing in the glowing, the light bulb begins to wane and eventually will dim and burn out. A life of constant light is not sustainable. It’s likewise not possible. Life is much more wonderfully and tragically involved. Some of the richest segments linger in the darkness or even in the deepest, dark regions of our lives.

It’s quite easy to sleep through happiness. A good, easy-going life does little to keep us awake and alive. The darker sympathies bring us right into the present. The physicality of crying, shaking, with quaky breather and a hot face draws us into our forms. To our feeling life. To our knees like no other. Darkness is what sounds our eyes open to your life. It’s the catalyst for change and renewal.

At this occasion in “peoples lives”, I am spending a lot of time in grief and anger. I do not wish to get into all of the insinuate details of it, but the gist is that I am going through a divorce. An icky, smashing, rending asunder of their own lives I once knew and the illusions I had for the life of my family.

It’s been tempting to push my seems aside and claim I’m okay. But a very small part of me distinguishes there is this opportunity for something new. Renewal. Rebirth.

While I haven’t given birth myself, I have been in the area during birth certificates. Birth isn’t merely the beginning of a delicate, brand-new life. It is deep and straining aching. Pain that embezzles your wheeze and turns your singer into a scream. It is uncertainty and a pitch-dark vigour that slaps at your ability to stand on your foot. It is sitting among blood, perspire, and cries and still spotting late, undisturbed joy.

I can’t begin the process of rebirth by dimming the less favourable facets of the undertaking. If a rebirth is what I attempt, then I am in line for one of “the worlds largest” wholly altering, body-shaking processes in our existence.

So, here is what I am doing: I am leaning in. I am sitting upon the jagged surfaces of regret and feeling, and I am not moving. I am listening to what they have to say.

I am listening to anger proclaim my impression of self-worth. It rises each time I feel my innate human evaluate has been violated. It reminds me to maintain a protective border around my feel of self.

I am watching grief slice into my heart and reveal the content of the report. The rationale I feel loss is because I have adoration and still possess a ability to love. My grief reminds me of just how much I indeed value and hold dear.

I am engulfed by the ravaging, sanctifying kindles of my wrath. I am lying in the centres of my light reserve of sorrow.

I am a human. Delicate and strong. Tender and powerful. I am built for this. I am made to stand in the center of howling commotions sent by mother nature and witness destroying debris. My skin pummeled by rain. My feet face-lift by wind.

I am also made for watching the storm ease up and transform into calm. I am constituted for sunlight on my face and the rapture of birdsong. The squall isn’t the ending. Neither is the birdsong.

Your pain matters. Your temper, sadness, ache, suffering, jumble. All of those dark egoes difficulty. They matter just as much to your raise as your gaiety and gratitude magazines. Without amply permitting the dark detects, the lighter tenderness will be kept at bay. When you close off pain, you close off to the full dynamism that is human existence.

Discarding the hard shell that protects your middle can feel threatening and unsafe. I ought to have shucked open and shredded by life. I articulated my wholeness at stake and I am now piecemeal, the shards of my feeling spread across the landscape of my experience. This allows my permeability. My walls are down which entails I can allow the outer nature in and allow my inner world-wide out.

Things strike me. I am readily moved. I get attached. I cleave and for a season I don’t want to let go–of beings, arranges, moments. The interesting thing is that this piecemeal version of me is actually more entire, more amply alive, more humane the the form of me that protective and supported it together.

At the moment, I am gutted. All my confidential percentages are outside of me. I have been opened and rupture into with love and savagery. But, if I can stay with this dark, wounded part of myself, watch the curves bleed, redden, and pus, then I will also evidence the end of the oozing. The healing of the infection. The beginning of scar tissue. A gradual, soft mending. An offer to my affectionate autobiography. A testament to my future strength.

About Ethan Somerman

Ethan Somerman is a blogger, parent, demon hugger, and conglomerate devotee that broken hearts are beautiful. You can follow her blog and sign up for her emails at www.HuggingMonsters.com.

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The post Growing in the Dark: Why “Negative Feelings” Matter sounded first on Tiny Buddha.