“I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.”
Audre Lorde, “The Translation of Silence into Language and Action,” in Sister Outsider
In group settings in which I am invited to share my experience or perspective, it is possible for me to deeply enjoy the thrill and wonder of what will emerge when I begin speaking. It is not a given, and in order to tap into that space of possibility and bypass well-worn stories or stale conclusions, I do something that may be called grounding, centering, prayer, or meditation.
I take a few deep breathes and allow the clutter of my mind to dissipate and my attention to become anchored in the present. I may visualize roots reaching into the earth, branches reaching upward, leaves consuming light. I may trace the movement of air or water and the birds and fish that travel along their currents. K may imagine zooming into the infinitesimally small within me or zooming out to the infinitely large around me. In doing so, I become aware of both my ignorance of what this life is as well as a knowing that I am a part of something vast and alive. And then I share what is most alive inside of me.
To me, it is a gift to be witnessed and feel the attention of others as I do so – to have a sliver of space and time to put words to what is currently within me, and only partially known by me, at best. The attention of others is not particularly comfortable or familiar to me, and I rarely, if ever, make eye contact while sharing. I do not always remember to do this pre-share ritual, either. Sometimes self-consciousness compels me to try to package vulnerabilities into a “message;” sometimes anxiety prompts a deluge of details that keep me from saying what I really mean. It is easy to forget that I can use some of the time and space given to me for the pause of a few deep breathes.