Perhaps the greatest burden of the highly sensitive person is to look toward, I've certainly found this to be true. Perhaps that is why we reached for the acid or the wine before we had the emotional and spiritual maturity to look toward it. Like you, I now desire to turn toward all things (as best I can). To gain the skill to be okay in big crowds or to witness difficulty. As you said, to cultivate the understanding that I may soften the blow.
Like your writing does time after time, this really touched me right. In. The. Heart. I’ve been contemplating how to more softly hold both beauty and heartache in my hand at once because isn’t that... life? It’s both the medicine I need and the hardest thing to do. But I’ll keep practicing. Thank you for exploring this and for being so open and honest about all that’s on your mind. ❤️
One more share from Cockburn on this beautiful Sunday in Anacortes. These are from the closing lines of his song "Isn't That What Friends Are For" I've shared this with several friends when they have been facing some particularly difficult times. Thought they would resonate with you.
I've been scraping little shavings off my ration of light
And I've formed it into a ball, and each time I pack a bit more onto it
I make a bowl of my hands and I scoop it from its secret cache
Thank you Lisa. You’ve touched on an issue I’ve been exploring in my own memoir: the act of seeing and being seen. There’s one line I’ll share. “As a small boy, I witnessed some harsh events that were difficult for me to process; I did not look away as I witnessed a neighbor’s dog hit by a car right in front of me while I was alone and unsupervised, no one there to shield my eyes, or watched as my mother lost control in terrifying fits of rage as if I were caught in a hurricane without warning.”
🤍 for me, it is a learn-ed skill to stay tender and also have the courage to look right at it all. Temporary relief, it IS just temporary, but allows us to restore our balance with peace and joy. Always needed. And a gift when we can have those moments. Tragedy is all around. So painful to see. To feel. I work hard to stay balanced. As do you. Always appreciate how you describe all these feelings and experiences. Thank you.
thank you for this beautiful writing and these beautiful images. moved back to the midwest after 9 years in Santa Cruz last year. i love it here and i miss it there and your images keep the bay area and coast alive in my heart.
This is beautiful Lisa. I have always been someone who refuses to look away from the darker sides of life (it's probably why I became a therapist) but the only alternative, it seems, is to disconnect and numb - I can't bear to live that kind of half life. And I truly believe that our capacity to feel joy is a direct reflection of our capacity to feel pain (our own and the world's) ❤
I'm so grateful for Substack right now. This is what I've needed for a long time. I love writing and reading. Very eloquently put Lisa. The beautiful garden is a gift to us. Watching destruction in front of our eyes snaps us back. We have each other.
Thank you so much for this Lisa. This one is special. All of your writing is so beautiful and so necessary - but you have got to the core of something here which is so crucially important.
'When I see something profoundly aching or beautiful and I choose to really see it, really let it affect me, really let it move me. I want to be affected. I want to be moved.'
Perhaps the greatest burden of the highly sensitive person is to look toward, I've certainly found this to be true. Perhaps that is why we reached for the acid or the wine before we had the emotional and spiritual maturity to look toward it. Like you, I now desire to turn toward all things (as best I can). To gain the skill to be okay in big crowds or to witness difficulty. As you said, to cultivate the understanding that I may soften the blow.
Thank you.
Like your writing does time after time, this really touched me right. In. The. Heart. I’ve been contemplating how to more softly hold both beauty and heartache in my hand at once because isn’t that... life? It’s both the medicine I need and the hardest thing to do. But I’ll keep practicing. Thank you for exploring this and for being so open and honest about all that’s on your mind. ❤️
One more share from Cockburn on this beautiful Sunday in Anacortes. These are from the closing lines of his song "Isn't That What Friends Are For" I've shared this with several friends when they have been facing some particularly difficult times. Thought they would resonate with you.
I've been scraping little shavings off my ration of light
And I've formed it into a ball, and each time I pack a bit more onto it
I make a bowl of my hands and I scoop it from its secret cache
Under a loose board in the floor
And I blow across it and I send it to you
Against those moments when
The darkness blows under your door
Isn't that what friends are for?
Isn't that what friends are for?
Isn't that what friends are for?
Thank you Lisa. You’ve touched on an issue I’ve been exploring in my own memoir: the act of seeing and being seen. There’s one line I’ll share. “As a small boy, I witnessed some harsh events that were difficult for me to process; I did not look away as I witnessed a neighbor’s dog hit by a car right in front of me while I was alone and unsupervised, no one there to shield my eyes, or watched as my mother lost control in terrifying fits of rage as if I were caught in a hurricane without warning.”
🤍 for me, it is a learn-ed skill to stay tender and also have the courage to look right at it all. Temporary relief, it IS just temporary, but allows us to restore our balance with peace and joy. Always needed. And a gift when we can have those moments. Tragedy is all around. So painful to see. To feel. I work hard to stay balanced. As do you. Always appreciate how you describe all these feelings and experiences. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing, Lisa. Knowing when to look and when to look away is a lifelong struggle.
Last paragraph. I truly needed. You truly are so so so special Lisa, never forget that ❤️❤️❤️
So so so so good
Wow. I wrote about this this week too.
This is wonderful, exactly what I needed at this exact moment 🖤
thank you for this beautiful writing and these beautiful images. moved back to the midwest after 9 years in Santa Cruz last year. i love it here and i miss it there and your images keep the bay area and coast alive in my heart.
Your description of the burning car reminded me of the lyrics from Bruce Cockburn's song Tokyo.
Here's a portion:
Oh Tokyo -- I never can sleep in your arms
Mind keeps on ringing like a fire alarm
Me and all these other dice bouncing around in the cup
Did you have to show me that accident scene
Didn't I get enough shaking up?
Still I'm gonna miss you...
https://open.spotify.com/track/3Pn4x4ISIK4v0Jpg6HBugH?si=2QUVhvhYRnqW_c0w0BOAFQ
Beautiful, I’m so glad I found this.
This is beautiful Lisa. I have always been someone who refuses to look away from the darker sides of life (it's probably why I became a therapist) but the only alternative, it seems, is to disconnect and numb - I can't bear to live that kind of half life. And I truly believe that our capacity to feel joy is a direct reflection of our capacity to feel pain (our own and the world's) ❤
I'm so grateful for Substack right now. This is what I've needed for a long time. I love writing and reading. Very eloquently put Lisa. The beautiful garden is a gift to us. Watching destruction in front of our eyes snaps us back. We have each other.
Thank you so much for this Lisa. This one is special. All of your writing is so beautiful and so necessary - but you have got to the core of something here which is so crucially important.
'When I see something profoundly aching or beautiful and I choose to really see it, really let it affect me, really let it move me. I want to be affected. I want to be moved.'
That's how I want to live too!