Inner Dance and Emergence Convergence

We entered a room created with the intention of holding those who enter the way a child is held in the mother’s womb. It did feel like a womb—a space of protection and nurturance. That where there is no fear of judgement and where there is no concept of danger. 

“Why was I born,” I asked. I was not compelled to answer—at least not in this space of re-connection with the moment of my birth. “What is my authentic dream?” I was not compelled to answer—at least not in this moment of stillness and profound peace. “What is it that I am supposed to give birth to?”

These questions floated, suspended, somewhere in that space between me and a pure everythingness around me. In that space where there was no concept of time and space and so I never felt compelled to answer. 

This was my first Inner Dance.

What I feel profound about the experience is the fact that I entered a space where I could ask myself questions that can be provoking in any other space. Provoking, when you had been thinking that what you have been doing is what you are supposed to be doing. Or when you had been thinking that you know and the questions reveal themselves to you and show you what you do not really know. 

I believe that we can all engage in a similar process consciously—not to say you are not conscious during Inner Dance because you are, although dreamlike, at the same time—when we have trained the mind and the heart to engage in a process where a dialogue happens between the self and the universe. But the gift of sound, in its simplicity and complexity, to open our chakras wide, or wider, and take us into the ebb and flow of our consciousness is something that we should honor and celebrate. Where does consciousness reside? Are consciousness and the cosmos one and the same? Inner Dance to me was more like a dialogue with an infinite consciousness. 

Does consciousness actually imprint a memory in our body? I could clearly recall the sensation that I was feeling the morning after my second Inner Dance so that it would allow me to process better what was happening exactly. I realized I judged myself so quickly when I kept repeating to myself “why are you so scared?” during the session and right after. In this writing, I recall how a man had told me repeatedly in the past that I am a scaredy-cat. I thought that I had severed energetic ties with the man. And, perhaps, I had, indeed, but that the memory is going to stay.

This was my first time engaging my energetic body in processing an experience, and I am deeply in awe of the gradual realization that my body holds so much memory. Has it been waiting for me to speak to it? It is a silent, sacred memory. I have never really understood my body. Or I have not been present enough.

I said I went to the Emergence Convergence to discover how we can possibly integrate the different modalities of healing, of being, and ways in which we can co-create sustainable communities. I knew that something in me had shifted by the second day and it allowed me to honor the gifts of others and to trust that we have been brought together to create something we have been trying to create but that which has been wanting to express itself in another form, in different forms, in many forms. Perhaps, it will never end wanting and finding new ways of expression. Perhaps, this is what it means to evolve. Perhaps, this is how we ride the spiral to the end. We spiral out. We keep going. Like that in Tool’s Lateralus.

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Into the Heart of Mexico II

The essence of knowing a place is beyond what our camera lenses and words can capture. It is beyond that famous tourist spot. Beyond the sights and sounds we easily remember. But we are lucky that we feel and that our hearts remember so that when we recall memories, we find out that the feelings from the experience are alive. They are the ones that really stay with us.

Whether it is a short trip out of town, a retreat by the mountains or a surrender at the beach or a rare opportunity to be in another country, I try to remember the sensations and write down my reflections or realizations. Sometimes, I don’t get to write them until after weeks, or a month, or months, or a year. Like this writing comes thirty-three days after I arrived.

Reflections and realizations are what makes traveling a learning, to some, life-changing. But they are also the ones that make you realize that wherever you go, you carry your home with you. Perhaps, because our home is inside. So, maybe, traveling, as a process most would describe as getting lost, is just about finding ourselves again. Or seeing what we have been failing to see. Or realize what we have been missing back home.

When I saw the Monument of the Revolution in Mexico City, I remembered what a friend said about how we could have immortalized the lessons of martial law but that we failed to do so. It seems difficult for the youth these days to see and believe that martial law during the Marcos regime was a dark time in history. But it is not difficult to believe the horrors of the holocaust because they have been immortalized in journals and museums. Perhaps, one reason why almost each one of us has a level of fascination with histories is because it is how we connect to our past and they are our mirrors—a reminder of how our present and future can be. They help us move into the direction that we want and evolve or regress.

When I was at Centro Historico, the seat of the Aztec ruins, where you can find the metropolitan cathedral and the national palace, where Aztec artists bang the drums and dance to the beat, while hundreds of people, probably, thousands, come and go to hear a mass, while tourists revel in the beauty of this expansive main square, I asked my Mexican friend, “what does this mean to Mexicans?” “Do you think this means something?” I added. “I doubt,” he said. It is possible that he is in a way disconnected or distant to the history of his city, but it is also possible that historical or archaeological or cultural centers like this have lost relevance to the lives of its people and that it will stay like that until they help us correct mistakes in our history—or until such time they serve to actually make our countries, the lives of the people, better. Look at the EDSA People Power Revolution in the Philippines and how the country has not really changed twenty to thirty years after.

Truly, Centro Historico was beautiful. I could almost cry with joy when we were approaching the main square, because it reminds you of the glories of ancient civilization and they make you see the beauty of human creations. It is in the air. I could taste it.

Some three-to-four hours away from Mexico City by bus is San Miguel de Allende in the state of Guanajuato. It is a charming place. The culture is so vibrant you see it in the streets—the music, the food, the souvenirs, the celebrations. I was in the city of Guanajuato in the same state of the same name sometime in May last year. Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende have almost the same features—the long and winding roads of cobblestone, the vibrant colors of houses sitting on the slopes of a hill, the awe-inspiring architecture of different churches and shops—including a Starbucks coffee shop that seemed to have no choice but to blend into the features of San Miguel. The difference, I would say, is that I would liken San Miguel de Allende to a woman and Guanajuato to a man. It has a softer, more feminine features. It is probably the tunnels when entering and when in Guanajuato that makes me think it is more masculine, plus the mummies and El Pipila and the riding of the funicular to get there. San Miguel is more relaxed and graceful, like a woman walking, her dress flowing, swaying with the wind.

When my bus to Mexico City was leaving San Miguel, we saw a rainbow, and it stayed for a while. I knew then that the time that I was in Mexico was a crack to let a whole new light in, to a new way of seeing, thinking, feeling and willing. And I wasn’t wrong. Those angel-winged hearts at the souvenir shop were trying to tell me something.

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Hearts and Jacarandas in Mexico

Something in my heart bloomed with the jacarandas in Mexico. I didn’t realize until a little after the start of spring that the universe has prepared to align events according to the decision that I have made to pursue a path many months ago. I didn’t expect it, but I had a feeling that I knew that this was going to come. I just didn’t know when. And so I am reminded by what my favorite travel writer realized when he was traveling in Japan where he met the woman he would want to spend the next chapters of his life with. “None of the things in life—like love or faith—was arrived at by thinking; indeed, one could almost define the things that mattered as the ones that came as suddenly as thunder,” he said.

I just finished my HeartMath certification training in Phoenix when I flew to Mexico City. When I was fine-tuning my travel plan earlier this year, I knew that the ensuing weeks or months after Phoenix should be a time to let the learnings percolate—through my heart, through my being. So all these weeks that had passed had been part of what I call my incubation period in this heart-fullness practice. This practice of connecting to and listening to my heart.

When I was in Mexico City, the universe has given me opportunities to make choices from a more peaceful place. That place where you are able to quiet down the noise, to calm the turbulence, to become more accepting, to become more loving, that is, to graciously receive and wholeheartedly give. When we quiet down the voice of expectations, in giving and loving, and consciously replace the forming feeling of disappointment with joy and appreciation, we open our hearts and we connect and radiate that quality of the heart. It creates a space that allows others to be what they are—the best that they can be. It is a sacred space where we connect through our hearts, trusting and believing, intuitively knowing that you will be received. I had been bad at receiving in the past. This time has taught me that receiving is a joyful thing just as giving is.

The universe has mastered the art of timing. There wouldn’t have been a better time to meet somebody in my life than now when I have committed to a path of perpetually learning self-awareness, of less attachments, of recognizing the ego, of overcoming the shadow, heartfulness and spiritual communion.

It’s been three weeks since I was back in Cebu, and I feel deep joy and appreciation for meeting this man in this lifetime. Each time I tune into my heart and send its essence to his, I feel its fullness and wholeness. There are moments when I sit still, in deep awe of knowing that another being on the other side of the planet feels it when I tend to and communicate through my heart. The heart has the capacity to connect beyond space, or physical presence. Non-locality is a real experience and we only need to cultivate the qualities of our hearts.

We have our circumstances, and we may not be physically together, but my joy and appreciation keep vibrating because once upon a time, when the jacarandas bloomed at the start of spring in Mexico, I met my twin flame. He who says it feels like this isn’t the first time we’ve ever met. I know.

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