Embracing Presence
Presence is enough. We each have essential qualities to our soul that show up when we are present with others. These qualities do not require us to do anything. Our beingness is enough. When there are no words or actions to bring comfort or remedy, know and remember that presence is enough.
The doing part of our cultural conditioning positions us to feel obligation for forward movement, to take action, to shift, or change what is so unbearable for the other or ourselves. We are a civilization of doers and actors and movers and shakers. In grief and loss, there is not a fix or action to repair or remake what has died or dissolved.
Presence is our ability to sit completely and fully in connection with ourselves and/or others. Liminal states necessitate presence in order for transformation to occur. We must show up to be part of the change. And, our presence is an offering of our soul, the essence that is uniquely us and separate from our personality, status, or identity. The connections made at the soul level are deeply soothing and reverent, a sacred salve like no other. The soul is never depleted or depleting, no exertion needed. The soul is all about allowing. Presence is how we get out of our own way to be. Soul connections require only our presence.
Some of the most moving moments are the ones when I have sat with others in these soul meetings where no words are spoken and no actions are taken. In these times of profound presence with others, with or without eye contact, there is a comfortable quietness that holds us in communion. Profound states of presence without any of the effort and exertions of doing or thinking bring some of the deepest connections knowable.
It is said in grief and loss circles that touch can be an interruption to expression. This is true. Touching someone who is verbally and emotionally sharing difficult feelings can be perceived as an interruption or a signal to stop sharing. However, if the touch is mutual, like a hug or hand holding, it is something quite the opposite.
John O’Donohue,
in Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, tells us that “[t]ouch and the world of touch bring us out of the anonymity of distance into the intimacy of belonging. Humans use their hands to touch—to explore, to trace, and to feel the world outside of them. Hands are beautiful. Kant said that the hand is the visible expression of the mind. With your hands, you reach out to touch the world. In human touch, hands find the hands, face, or body of the Other. Touch brings presence home... The energy, warmth, and invitation of touch come ultimately from the divine. The Holy Spirit is the wild and passionate side of God, the tactile spirit whose touch is around you, bringing you close to yourself and to others.”
Sexual unions between lovers, embraces between friends, and a child and parent holding hands are expressions of presence through physical touch as well as soul meetings. Touch is a mutual exclamation mark of what our souls do in the presence of one another. Touch is the human extension of soul presence, a ritual action of intentional connection. There is no doubt when we are part of these touching experiences that the other is sharing their essence with us on and with purpose.
Feeling Edmond’s presence and soulfulness is to know his enormous and unconditional love, his power, preciseness, and purposefulness, his intensity and intentionality, gentleness and generosity, and his curiosity and steadiness. These elemental aspects of his soul called me toward him from the start. The inescapable whispers of his beingness spoke directly with my heart. The soul goes around, through, and underneath when we show up with presence. It truly is all there is. The soul is here to love.
Our souls’ communications were the most important messages between Edmond and I. It was his ultimate offering that came through, even in the midst of misunderstandings, miscommunications, and mistakes. It is what endured and endures.
And, because I am still here in this meat-suit, this heavy earthly body trudging through time that smells, sees, hears, tastes, and touches its way through the world, his essence is less than what my human form craves. His scent has left his pillow. Photos are too flat for my eyes. His voice is not always clear in my head or loud enough. The taste of his kisses are not on the menu. And, his embrace, his man-hugs that hold me on this earth and keep me from flying off into oblivion, I miss those more than anything.
I have had trouble sleeping as long as I can remember. It was a problem, and Edmond was an amazing sleeper. The man could fall asleep at night in less than a minute, sometimes when I was mid-sentence. Our son, William, is that way too. The other four children and I, we struggle with sleep especially when life becomes painful or stressful. Edmond could put his hand in mine or on my back for comfort, bringing me into my body more fully. It was a firm tether holding me in place with a loving presence that could usually and immediately settle me into sleep, or at least keep me in a more restful state next to him.
I am a tosser and turner, I move and fidget. Something will itch or the sheet will wrinkle wrong. The pillow is too flat or not quite in the right place under my neck and head. It was eleven years into our relationship before he told me, yes, actually, I did disturb his sleep at times with all my adjusting and acclimating. When he told me this, I apologized, and I felt so very loved.
When we first stared dating, it was at a distance. We lived in separate cities so we only saw each other one or two weekends a month, with lots of letters and phone calls in-between. It was also a time when I efforting hard in my single-parenting, anxious and rushed for all the reasons we are obliged to do so in American culture. I was worried about my children all the time and working at odd hours because I could not sleep more than 3-4 hours a night. It was a vicious cycle.
I arrived one evening in Austin to meet Edmond for the weekend. When I walked through the door, he greeted me with his fabulous man-hug, wrapping me completely in his arms not quite squeezing the breath out of me. It is strange that being held so tightly can also be so comfortable, perhaps like the last days we spend in the womb without enough room to really move. Then, he told me we were going to sleep. I side-eyed him, and he handed me a cup of hot herbal tea. He was very serious about getting proper sleep, and he taught me about getting my body ready for the important rest it needed. He understood about the settling and groundedness necessary for deep sleep.
I slept. It was amazing.
These days, when it comes to sleep, I am like a newborn trying to find my way in this harshly lit, strongly scented, and sharp sounded world. Like putting an overly stimulated infant to bed, my sleep ritual requires intention and time. If I am to sleep, really sleep, I must take a hot bath steeping my body in Epsom salts. I must drink herbal tea, take supportive supplements, and with my own hands massage magnesium-laced lotion into the souls of my feet, belly, and neck.
I miss his hand on the back of my neck. He intuited when my neck pain was becoming a problem, and found the spot underneath my shoulder blade that needed kneading. He would rub my neck and head when I had migraines. He soothed every physical ache and pain with his healing touch. When there was no pain to tend, he was there too, physically and soulfully.
Man-hugs. Woman-hugs. Hugs and hands to hold. All of these things are the milk and honey of my day. I love being called to when I am in town, chased down for a hug and a kiss on the cheek from a friend I have not seen in too long or just saw yesterday. I love the gregarious man-hugs that lift me from the ground and hold me here at the same time. I love the tender, gentle woman-hugs from my soul-sisters.
Whoever calls shot-gun is the child that holds my hand while I drive. It is the opposite hand, since E was most typically in his preferred place in the driver’s seat. It is a new and unfamiliar positioning and a sweet comfort. I know that from the back seat, my children saw us holding hands for thousands of miles in the car. I know they feel how much I miss his hand stretched across the middle to rest in mine, our hands clasped together in my lap. We have not spoken of it, but their compassionate, empathetic, sweet souls know. So, they show up with presence and a hand to hold especially when tears slide down my face. There are no words, just a hand and hug. It is enough most of the time. When we walk, they reach for my hand, just like when they were toddlers. It is our connection to him. We feel his essence, his preciseness, generosity, and love as we hug and hold each other. We feel his presence in our embrace of each other.
