Premature Separation from Love
For the part of you that braces the moment love draws near.
When love comes close
Notice how it moves when love finds you: right alongside the joy something tightens and starts bracing for the ending, growing louder the deeper you let yourself fall, and it wakes at a goodbye, at a door swinging shut, at someone deciding for you before anyone thought to ask. What rushes up runs far older than whoever stands in front of you, and for me that is the first thing worth saying to it, gently, because the bracing is performing a function with purpose. It is keeping a very young one safe from an ending that already happened once, and whenever I question the function with someone in a session it points the same way every time, back to the first of the five primary imprints, the one I call premature separation from love.
Write with these
When love comes close, what does my body do?
When someone decides for me, what rises first?
When I am the one who gets to say when it ends, who am I keeping safe?
When I say premature separation slowly, what answers from within, and what rises as images?
The part of self always knows.
Where it began
Before we had words we were held in a field of love, safety and belonging, and the closer we get to the moment of birth, the more impactful those formative imprints are, which is why this one so often leads back to leaving the womb and our mother’s field sooner than the body was ready. When we took our first breath, our cord got cut. That placenta is the baby’s placenta, it is what formed the baby, and to cut that for whatever reason is actually not ours to cut, and you cannot cut an umbilical cord with grace, because a cord still pulsing with life is a conversation between two bodies that only the baby’s body knows how to finish. I know this one from the inside. A grownup decided when it was time for me to disconnect, and that decision left a part of me braced for the next time love would be taken while it was still flowing, so that years later, when love reached me deeply, it landed right on top of what got stored back then and the fear of losing it rose up with the joy.
The same early overriding keeps replaying wherever power gathers over us, through a parent or an institution or whoever happens to be running the room, each one pointing back to the first time something stood over your will and your original innocence and called the ending before you did. Abandonment, rejection, the absence of presence of love, shaming and premature separation of love, these five primary imprints are all betrayals, and this is the earliest of them, which is why it tends to sit underneath the others and why the part that split off here is so young.
A taproot round a rock
Picture a lotus, the beauty and the fragrance open on the water, and underneath her a taproot reaching down into the mud, wrapped round a really big rock. It is heavy, it is tiring, and she holds on anyway, because letting go of the issue would mean she never gets found, and the rock is the moment the cord was cut while she was still drinking from it. That is the part of you doing the bracing. She carries the original frequency, and she remembers what it was supposed to be like, grassy fields and beautiful sunsets and blue skies and togetherness, which is why she tightens the instant togetherness comes near, having learned that it ends by someone else’s hand. You make a cut on your skin and it covers itself back over and heals, since our entire Syntropic nature is for wholeness, and the same goes for this. The separation is asking to be finished the way it should have finished, from the inside, when the body itself is ready.
Asking their name
Whenever you feel ready, close your eyes, breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth a few times, and let yourself settle into the field where this young one lives, the field of our mother, the womb and the water this young one was lifted out of too soon. Invite her, or him, to come near, as near as feels right to them, and then quietly ask: will you share with me your name? It may arrive as a word, a sound or an image, and whatever comes belongs, since the name is a sound and that sound links to the whole imprint and every memory stored beside it, which is the first step of re-membering. They are young, and likely timid, or fuming angry, and either is a fine way to arrive. Let them come to you.
Saying what should have been said
With a name to call, you can follow the way home through the heart into the internal landscape where the old scene keeps playing, and there we do something very simple, since nature doesn’t make it difficult. We name what happened, and then we let the grown-ups who should have been there speak, in their own first person, the way it should have gone: “You arrived, and we waited. We kept you on your mother’s chest with your cord still pulsing, and every hand stayed away until your body had finished with it, and you got to decide when it was time to let go, and we were right there when you did.” The young one hears, for the first time, what was owed, and then comes the question the whole return turns on.
Do you feel willing to accept that what happened happened?
When the answer is no, that is so beautiful and relevant, because we can then thank that part for saying no, I’m not willing, and sit with her a while longer, and when the answer is yes the bracing can finally rest, since what was separated from love returns by love, because love is what it was separated from.
Taking care
Love asks for the gentlest pace, so let your body lead, drink some water, walk a little under the sky, and let the young one keep her own timing, which is the whole point of this door. Whenever more opens than you wish to hold alone, reach for me through a written or live Dream Interpretation, or come and walk a stretch of it with me, and when another of the five speaks louder than this one, Primary Abandonment waits next door.