“Sensitivity is my birthright.” The words of the guru sounded truth itself, an indisputable reality. In the flash of one moment, what felt like thousands of years of shame for having and feeling emotions washed away with the full experience of this knowledge.
Sensitivity is my birthright. My pains, if sacred, my tears, are a gift. My vulnerability is palpable for anyone who wishes and dares to get close to it. This sensitivity is what I have to offer to this world—and raw, from which everything creative and meaningful emerges. While I might have heard such words in a poem they really came from a youtube video, and the message could not have been timelier.
Sensitivity is my birthright, and in that realization there is power, the power to meet myself without having to explain what thoughts and feelings emerge.
Sensitivity is my birthright, and it emerges from my very being. Who can explain why? It just is, arising spontaneously with no clear answer as to why it emerges; it just does. Past, present and future causes integrated in one pure moment of sensitivity—alive and true. How sad that my sensitivity threatened my parents, and that I learned to hide. Indeed it is sad that I have done the same to my own daughters at times because I could not tolerate my own sensitivity.
This is why the words of the guru resonate so deeply with me. They point me back to a reality that was denied to me for so long, a realty that I learned to deny myself. What was that which I learn to deny? It was not just feelings that I leaned to hide; it was every single birthright, to love, feel safe, trust, be… and even the mourning of such a loss was denied. In it’s place there was shame and tiptoeing silently. A ghostly figure, invisible and porous: one becomes afraid of oneself in a place like that. Yet something remains alive, alive for the future, something to be discovered in the fires of love, which initially illumine the world as projections outside only to be reclaimed within as our birthright.
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