Natural Selection(s)
inspired by the biology of our bonds
I’m so sick of hearing, over and over again, how humans are “hard wired” for connection.
Do I think we need connection? Yes, absolutely — to me, that is spirituality— to feel our greater connection and the knowing that we belong here, together.
Yet, I’d argue that many of us aren’t experiencing this sense of greater connection most of the time — we perpetually long for it, and long for it, and wonder what it would be like to have it.
So, wouldn’t it be more useful for us to better understand what connection actually feels like?
To know the things that help us feel connected to each other, so we can practice those things and truly feel connection when we’re with each other (and even when we’re not).
“We’re all so often showing up and giving each other the bare minimum of presence and then surprised that we can’t feel each other, that we don’t actually feel the depth of connection that we’re longing for.” -adrienne maree brown
Biologically, there is no other bond stronger than mother to child.
For some, a mother’s need to nurture will never end.
For some, the baby’s need for nurturing will — so then, how do our needs for other human bonds evolve as we grow up?
At what point are we equipped to nurture new, healthy bonds of our own?
I’ve come to describe healthy adult bonds as relational dynamics that feel mutually enlivening.
Enlivening because, they are worthwhile in the time spent and energy given. The intentional time spent with another becomes its own special, mutually fulfilling container.
So often, when we’re around other people, we’re overstimulated, distracted, socially fatigued, and feeling lost in the crowd.
The increasingly scattered and, as a result, predatory energy people bring into social dynamics is deeply affective to our ability to really connect with each other, and I don’t think enough people understand this.
I used to feel deep shame and guilt for feeling this way; thinking it was a pathology of mine — social anxiety or just simply ineptitude — but all this time it’s been my body, naturally selecting, and trying to communicate to me what traits I need to survive in my environment.
What are the traits we will take with us in our evolution to survive this modern environment of perceived loneliness, isolation, individualism and scarcity?
Owls are famously independent, wise creatures.
They carry lots of spiritual significance across cultures along with their unique biological characteristics shaping their ability to evolve so beautifully.
Besides excellent vision, owls are extraordinarily sensitive to sound; their ability to locate food by sound alone is the best of any animal ever tested.
They survive by listening.
In human adulthood, we also develop wisdom and independence with the ability to self-nurture, which in our modern world is a massive effort in and of itself.
Part of taking good care of ourselves is to notice our capacity, and most importantly, in this highly demanding life, our lack thereof.
What happens when we notice our capacity is gone?
For me, it’s feeling exhausted upon waking. I feel heavy, yet drained. There’s inability and unwillingness. I’m strained and sunken too far down and only desire the depths of my own, sweet silence.
This is a poem about listening to my own silence.
This silence is a symphony,
with space as the instrument and time as the page.
In this place, the mind sinks down into the ground. I am found.
There is no other who could match the symphony of my own mind’s rest.
Loyal most to my silence, as if it were my heart being loyal to my mind’s symphonic best.
And then sometimes, the gravity of my silence can be hard to climb back out of.
From my self-created shelter and firmly protective forcefield, I can start to dread the return from where I’ve been. With no one to blame, I wear my prickly skin earnestly like insignia on my chest.
Eventually, of course, we must re-emerge.
For if left alone too long, the mind will skew my vision and my real potential for living. The symphony, no longer, harmonious, but monotone or even off key.
For humans, unlike the owl, cannot survive in isolation.
So now, I must claw my way out of this shelter, a cave of my own creation. I use all the remaining strength of my being, for I know the nutrients of connection is what my soul requires to evolve.
It’s when the heart closes, that we forego a potential finding. Then eventually, we may starve. But oh, the strength it takes to keep the heart open and continue our search - our exploration, our discovery.
If we can, we realize just how connected we truly are and just how mutually and collectively enlivening our togetherness can be.
In our togetherness, there is much to find (and re-find). Let’s practice together.
Join me for 3 Ritual Yoga classes to connect us with the seasonal transition.
From 7:15-9pm
October 16th
November 13th
December 18th
all Wednesdays
At The People’s Yoga SE
Learn more here » Fall Ritual Yoga.
Beautiful. Love the poem especially. 💜✨