I can’t remember my earliest memory of my mother. If I am to believe what I read of psychoanalysis, then my earliest memories of her rear up not in pictures, but in feelings. And the origin of a feeling is harder to place than a mental of image of finding myself lost in a clothing store, or her dropping me off at kindergarten. They are harder to place, and to trace, and are triggered by the strangest things. So I am sure that I am remembering very early experiences of my mother constantly, but not as images.
A more recent image of my mother is clear, though. I saw it five years ago, when I was 26. She had practically dragged me to a week-long retreat on sexuality and empowerment near my hometown of Melbourne. We were in a big reception hall--a “temple space”--with 40 other people, going through an intense exercise of expressing the angry, sad, and lonely feelings--all sacred--we had towards to our mothers. As part of this exercise, each person would imagine that their mother was in front of them. The idea was that we should tell this imaginary version of our mother what we really felt about them. I know now, having witnessed this exercise countless times, that it typically “brings up a lot” for people. It certainly did for me. It tends to move quickly from being a hypothetical, imaginary meeting with your mother, to a very real, completely unprecedented, and almost unbearably intimate sharing of consciousness with the person who birthed you. Such is the magic of ritualized space. So, I was going through this exercise, emotions heightened, expressing my anguish about the wrongs I felt my mother had done me, when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, my actual mother across the room, doing this exercise too, but with her mother, my grandmother. She was pounding pillows, screaming, shaking, just as I was. I knew we were in a special moment, not with each other, as such, but at a deeper level. And I wondered, is this what lineal healing looks like? Another moment with my mother struck me during that week. In a different ritual, later, an utterly profound one in which one of the male facilitators was demonstrating how to truly, truly hold space for a woman to feel safe to open her body with trust, my actual mother sidled up next to me. We were sitting in a circle around this demonstration, with the other participants, who were equally captivated by its simple power, and she whispered to me, “this is what I wanted to teach you, but I didn’t know how.” Anyone who has experienced the particular exercise I am writing about would attest to how spine-tingling such a whisper would have been. Had I experienced this moment at 10, or 12, or 16 years of age, I can’t imagine how massively it may have changed my attitudes towards women, and my relationships with them. But I was grateful to be witnessing it then, regardless of it being a little late. I was there with my mother, experiencing a transmission of exactly what healthy sexuality and human relating should look like. Thinking about it still makes me take pause. My relationship with my mother was absolutely, fundamentally changed that week. We went from talking scarcely, and certainly without much heart connection, to tapping into the soul connection between each other that the mythologies of our species suggest we should have. I remember that in 2010 I moved from Australia to the United States without having spoken to her for over a month. I spent my last month in my home country, selling my possessions and making plans, with a one-way ticket, without speaking to the woman who raised me. The move didn’t end up working out, and I flew back home after not too long, but the disconnection I felt from her remained. And I know that others have similar, and some certainly more dramatic, stories. Almost ten years on, in 2019, we have transitioned our relationship to one that allows us to speak to each other as the adults that we are. We look forward to having meals together, we contribute to each others’ projects, we ask for, offer, and receive feedback from each other, and help each other process our shit. We both work in the field of sexuality, too. We have assisted, together, on the very retreats that she dragged me to, and I have assisted her as she has facilitated them. I’ve edited her writing on the subject, and she endorses mine. Of course, I would not for a second say that every moment is peachy. I’m still triggered when I hear this certain tone in her voice in certain situations, and I know she feels contracted when she senses I am being indecisive despite my heart being clear on an issue. But we have the tools to move through these blocks, and to use those situations as opportunities for mutual growth. Part of our shared mission now is to see other parents and their children experience the journey that we have had. It happened for us at the ages of 54 and 26, but it could easily be a common experience for other, younger parents and their much younger children.
If you’re a parent, imagine guiding your child across the threshold of their incredible maturity and being able to give them all the tools they need to discover that world in love and power. Mum and I, and a dedicated team of other pioneers in this field, are building the container for this kind of specific experience, and hope that it will be the start of a new kind of understanding and connection within and between families. We hope you’ll consider joining us for the first manifestation of this container, the ISTA Family Fusion, in West Virginia in late July, 2019 (link to the website with more information below). In love, Simon.
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