We wear them every day, that of a friend, son, daughter, therapist, or lover. Just one aspect of ourselves, of who we are. What about the things that make us truly unique, our deepest wounds, our deepest fears, the parts of us others would consider freakish? Our beliefs about our souls, do we have them? Our experiences in the space between, this reality and what lies beyond. What about our greatest challenges, the diseases we have had to overcome, the heartaches, the wounding, our irrational paranoia? Who we are at our core when all our armor is off. Who do we share that with? Will they hear us? Will they understand how vulnerable we are being in revealing this imperfect version of ourselves? Will they feel any nurturing or care for our wounds or just brush them off as another factoid in life? That's why we wear masks so that our vulnerabilities can make it through another day in this holographic play called life.
How often have we found ourselves in the presence of another who was willing to look into our eyes and just listen, bear witness to our truth, and who was also willing to expose those parts of themselves to us, without judgment, without censoring or disguising? It is so much easier to share our bodies devoid of any connection in the simple reflective act of sexuality.
It can be so lonely, so exhausting, to hide and pretend it doesn't really matter, to accept the blame for not communicating effectively or clearly enough when in reality all we wanted was to be seen, witnessed, and accepted. We don't need to be healed, fixed, or saved, just witnessed and accepted as the flawed, broken, unique creatures that we are.
Then there are those moments that surprise us, those conversations that take us by surprise from people we did not expect to meet at a time that wasn't planned. In their presence, however brief and innocent we feel that protective, nurturing web of acceptance. They see us, as we are, without the need for further defense or explanation, without apology or censorship. There is no blame, no nonchalant brushing off of what we hold most vulnerable and sacred to ourselves. The door is open, an invitation to walk through, to leave your masks behind and just be. So rare, so sudden, so sad when the jaded, scared part of us is too afraid to walk through that door at that precise moment in time, and then that door is closed, leaving us back where we've always been, that lonely eternal play of masks.
Yet, I must believe, at least from my limited experience, that even if we failed to be brave enough at the right time, we still received a gift. The knowledge that such a connection can exist, that such an invitation is possible at least shines as a little light in the dark. For one brief moment we felt as ONE, nothing happened, nothing tactile having to do with our physical senses. It all occurred in the space between, the ethereal plane where everything is possible and maybe even more real than this 3D existence we take so seriously.
That space between, where dreams are created, where we can feel connected to everyone and everything. That invisible place where we can feel the energy web of someone's care for us at a distance, their protective nurturing that doesn't restrict, judge or make us wrong for wanting to be seen and just witnessed. Reverence, love, sacred union. That is what I long for and hope to one day find again and this time, be brave enough to walk through, leaving all my masks and hurts behind.