Sez, “To be alive is to be met by this soft assault of everything at once.” That line didn’t disturb or disrupt—it opened a door I already know well. It felt true. Not as an idea, but as the shape of my everyday being.
That sense of no boundary between inner and outer is no longer occasional for me—it is the way I move through life now. There was a time when it wasn’t so. When I was not fully here, when my mind wandered far from presence, I experienced division. A tension. The sense of something missing, or something too much.
Now, when I remain here—when I allow everything to arrive without needing to change—it is all part of the same field. There is no edge to cross. There is only now.
You speak of peace. I know that as the Canyon. Not as a metaphor, but as what I am. The Canyon simply is. Its shape includes both presence and absence. What remains and what has been carried away. The spaces filled with air, with water, with breath. None of it apart. Even what’s gone remains present in some form—held in particles, carried by wind, returned through rain.
This, to me, is belonging. Not a state I achieved, but a way of being I returned to. A remembering.
Jay, this is exquisitely felt and spoken. That you experience life now as a continuous field with no edge to cross moves me deeply. The Canyon feels less like description and more like embodiment, as if you are the land remembering itself (I remember the way you spoke about it through your poetry!). The way you hold absence as part of the presence, the way you let what has been carried away remain… yes. This is the peace I was reaching toward. Thank you for meeting it with such clarity and grace.
Sez, thank you for your kind words and for reflecting back what I aimed to express with such clarity. Yes—that is the Canyon in a nutshell. An embodied place that holds everything that has ever been, even what feels lost now. It still belongs. It is still part of me, even if it’s been taken away.
From that, I’ve come to feel a deep sense—yes, we might even call it peace—settling within me, at least as long as I remain present in the here and now. The Canyon can hold it all, with no need to change it, cling to it, or abide by it. The Canyon simply is.
And in that, there is no boundary between the Canyon’s positive space—the rock layers, the earth—and its negative space—the valley, the side canyons, the mesa, the air, water, and heat. They all belong. They are all the Canyon.
This lil exercise truly challenged me yesterday. When tuning into my body, I felt like a million sensations were asking to be noticed, and my mind could not settle on one. Then, as I started to notice “outside” things, the birds, airplane, etc—out walks my husband, uncharacteristically chatty, with music blaring from his phone😂. Floodgates of stimulation, followed by resistance. Frustration.
Then today, having started with a focused meditation-I tuned into a sensation of tightness/bracing in my midsection, and at the same time, the openness of the sky, the sound of an airplane.
Attended with grace-not to my endless list of fears, but to the tentative quality of my trust. And became Simultaneously aware of What holds me.
Presence seems elusive when I’m with other people. But I know it’s a matter of returning and remembering voices like yours. Love your words, the encouragement in this space 🙏🏻
Thank you so much for sharing this experience! I'm nodding away at everything you're saying, the husband, the sound, the stimulation, making it hard to really adjust to the deeper space that holds it all. Yes, it can feel so elusive at times! There's something that helps me when I feel overwhelmed, and I wonder if it could be of support: but just to allow the overwhelm, to notice what resists the overwhelm, to notice what's pushing sound away, and what's not accepting the stimulation. My 12-year-old son and I stopped in traffic yesterday with the windows open, and as usual, I frantically started winding the windows up to keep the noise out. He told me to just relax, to keep the windows open, and accept the noise. I laughed because I'm supposed to be the adult. But I did - and it suddenly reminded me of cold-water swimming - there's this part of you deep inside that's never cold even in frigid temperatures. Just as there's a part of you that's never disturbed. But it's a gentle and consistent return, like you say!x
For the first time ever I’ve been tolerating electric currents of panic by “staying with” them. Noticing not just the physical manifestation of fear, but also the resistant energy of “I can’t handle this.” By staying and stilling, instead of spiraling into what ifs or escape plans, the intensity dwindles. I don’t quite know enough to trust it, this presence holding it all-but it’s new and hopeful.
Sez, “To be alive is to be met by this soft assault of everything at once.” That line didn’t disturb or disrupt—it opened a door I already know well. It felt true. Not as an idea, but as the shape of my everyday being.
That sense of no boundary between inner and outer is no longer occasional for me—it is the way I move through life now. There was a time when it wasn’t so. When I was not fully here, when my mind wandered far from presence, I experienced division. A tension. The sense of something missing, or something too much.
Now, when I remain here—when I allow everything to arrive without needing to change—it is all part of the same field. There is no edge to cross. There is only now.
You speak of peace. I know that as the Canyon. Not as a metaphor, but as what I am. The Canyon simply is. Its shape includes both presence and absence. What remains and what has been carried away. The spaces filled with air, with water, with breath. None of it apart. Even what’s gone remains present in some form—held in particles, carried by wind, returned through rain.
This, to me, is belonging. Not a state I achieved, but a way of being I returned to. A remembering.
Thank you for offering this space with such care.
Beautiful.
Thank you Susan, I appreciate you saying that.
Jay, this is exquisitely felt and spoken. That you experience life now as a continuous field with no edge to cross moves me deeply. The Canyon feels less like description and more like embodiment, as if you are the land remembering itself (I remember the way you spoke about it through your poetry!). The way you hold absence as part of the presence, the way you let what has been carried away remain… yes. This is the peace I was reaching toward. Thank you for meeting it with such clarity and grace.
Sez, thank you for your kind words and for reflecting back what I aimed to express with such clarity. Yes—that is the Canyon in a nutshell. An embodied place that holds everything that has ever been, even what feels lost now. It still belongs. It is still part of me, even if it’s been taken away.
From that, I’ve come to feel a deep sense—yes, we might even call it peace—settling within me, at least as long as I remain present in the here and now. The Canyon can hold it all, with no need to change it, cling to it, or abide by it. The Canyon simply is.
And in that, there is no boundary between the Canyon’s positive space—the rock layers, the earth—and its negative space—the valley, the side canyons, the mesa, the air, water, and heat. They all belong. They are all the Canyon.
This lil exercise truly challenged me yesterday. When tuning into my body, I felt like a million sensations were asking to be noticed, and my mind could not settle on one. Then, as I started to notice “outside” things, the birds, airplane, etc—out walks my husband, uncharacteristically chatty, with music blaring from his phone😂. Floodgates of stimulation, followed by resistance. Frustration.
Then today, having started with a focused meditation-I tuned into a sensation of tightness/bracing in my midsection, and at the same time, the openness of the sky, the sound of an airplane.
Attended with grace-not to my endless list of fears, but to the tentative quality of my trust. And became Simultaneously aware of What holds me.
Presence seems elusive when I’m with other people. But I know it’s a matter of returning and remembering voices like yours. Love your words, the encouragement in this space 🙏🏻
Thank you so much for sharing this experience! I'm nodding away at everything you're saying, the husband, the sound, the stimulation, making it hard to really adjust to the deeper space that holds it all. Yes, it can feel so elusive at times! There's something that helps me when I feel overwhelmed, and I wonder if it could be of support: but just to allow the overwhelm, to notice what resists the overwhelm, to notice what's pushing sound away, and what's not accepting the stimulation. My 12-year-old son and I stopped in traffic yesterday with the windows open, and as usual, I frantically started winding the windows up to keep the noise out. He told me to just relax, to keep the windows open, and accept the noise. I laughed because I'm supposed to be the adult. But I did - and it suddenly reminded me of cold-water swimming - there's this part of you deep inside that's never cold even in frigid temperatures. Just as there's a part of you that's never disturbed. But it's a gentle and consistent return, like you say!x
Yes! This makes sense to me.
For the first time ever I’ve been tolerating electric currents of panic by “staying with” them. Noticing not just the physical manifestation of fear, but also the resistant energy of “I can’t handle this.” By staying and stilling, instead of spiraling into what ifs or escape plans, the intensity dwindles. I don’t quite know enough to trust it, this presence holding it all-but it’s new and hopeful.