Holding space

There’s something to be said about the container that is space.

I’ve heard this expression – holding space. It’s one of those terms that seems brandished about in the community of spiritual thinkers, energy healers, and light workers the way corporate culture tosses about words like scalability and user-centric. The difference is I don’t have an adverse reaction to the former.

I’ve never been given a clear definition on what it means to hold space, but intuitively I understand what it means. I know I understand it because I can’t begin to describe it here. If you take time to allow the term to absorb into your skin, if you breathe the idea of what it is into your lungs, you begin to get the feeling of it. What even makes it more difficult to define and describe is that holding space is very passive, it is a releasing more than a gripping or grasping that the term might imply.

I feel it because I feel my own resistance to it. I feel it in the readjustment to my daily living. I have processed the intensity of the beginning of the new work cycle. I have broken away from the cycle and demarcated its chapter by skipping town for a week, severing its trials from my daily routine for a spell to return refreshed, reset, cleansed, anew.

So I return from the lucid fugue state of vacation to a more subdued routine that does not contain such a frantic energy. Although the weather has written “Inclement” on the Hello, My Name is _______ sticker, slapped it on its breast pocket and proceeded to throw a temper tantrum, the energy around me is like a butler in between tasks. It is holding, still, waiting. It rests quietly, curled up in front of the fire that is the fall season stamping its feet, kicking leaves asunder and wailing at the top of its lungs, complaining that it doesn’t want to go to winter’s house. But it’s a thick heavy space, a space that I have been so eager to dive into, to float upon its surface of nothingness, to soak in the reverie of stillness…

But it feels more like waiting for the next bus to arrive.

I can feel how much energy is pulsing in the stillness. I feel as if I’ve taken the pupae’s perspective, where the metamorphosis is altering my form but the cocoon’s carapace hides the true events unfolding within. That’s what stillness really is. It is the howling winds of creativity waiting to be released at the bottom of the well. It is the oyster with its shell tightly closed working to insulate the irritant within, wrapping it in pearl. So I try to swim with an absent current, but when I float I feel the undertow threaten to pull me under into its depths, that malevolent and unseen tidal force that I’ve done my best to escape.

But the moments do come, the moments where I surrender to the beautiful amnesia that is the present. I let the subconscious tag me out and agree with its insistence on ignorance of all things time. And I simply breath. And hold the space.

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David Dear

David Dear suddenly became interested in the exploration of metaphysics shortly after the Harmonic Convergence of 1987. Over the next 25 years he became proficient in reading Tarot and astrological natal charts, learned past life regression and Thought Field Therapy, and became attuned in Chios and is a Usui Reiki master. David has the innate ability to perceive aspects of reality on a multidimensional level and is naturally telepathic. He has a bachelor's degree in metaphysical theology and is an ordained metaphysical minister and licensed metaphysical practitioner. David currently lives in Tacoma, Washington with his wife/best friend, two dogs and one cat.

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