Primary Abandonment

We were happy, happy, happy, happy, and then an imprint happened, and after that we were impacted, impacted, impacted. That is how I say it when I teach the five, and abandonment is the imprint that happens when the one who was meant to stay walked out of the room, or out of the house, or out of the field of presence altogether, while a small body was still reaching. The cells carry the original frequency of that moment, and they carry it as a message, performing a function with purpose, so the scanning and the staying past the season are the cells doing the one job they were given back then, which was to see the leaving coming before it could happen again. Through the study of Syntropy I learned to question the function before I try to change a thing, and the function of this watchfulness is loyalty. I picture it as the lotus. The bloom is the life you have built above the water, and her taproot sits underwater, hidden in the mud, still wrapped around a really big rock, and it is heavy and it is tiring, and she can’t let you just drop the issue, because that means she will never be found. When a face drifts or a message goes quiet, it is that same story finding a fresh person to play through, so that the one who was left first can finally be heard, and turning toward that call inside is where the return begins, because the hero comes back to the point where it left from.

The way I teach each imprint is by speaking aloud what the natural order would have done. A youngling falls, or watches a car pull out of the driveway, and the grown-up who was meant to be there gets down on one knee, puts a hand on the side of the shoulder and says, hey buddy, I see that there’s something going on for you, do you feel willing to share what’s occurring for you? Hold that beside what happened, and the imprint shows itself by the contrast alone. So the method is simple, and nature doesn’t make it difficult: name what happened, say what should have been said in the first person of the one who failed to stay, and then ask the part whether it feels willing to accept that it was failed. The love that didn’t appear later in life we are still looking for, and we actually don’t know what it looks like, which is why the speaking matters, because the young one hears, maybe for the first time, the exact sentences that were owed. Inside the internal landscape work I invite the one who left to come and stand in the open field and say it: I should have stayed, I should have come back, you did nothing to make me go, and I am sorry. Then comes the question that carries the whole method, and I let it stand alone in the room.

Do you feel willing to accept that what happened happened?

A no is beautiful and relevant too, because we can thank that part for saying it, and wait.

She has a name, a sound that belongs to her, and she is young, and may arrive guarded or hot with anger, which makes perfect sense after a lifetime of waiting for someone to come back. She is the part of self that stood at the door while the one who was meant to stay walked out. So sit quietly beside her, offer your presence and little else, and just gently ask: will you share with me your name? That asking is the first step of re-membering, and then you wait, the way you would wait for a frightened animal to come closer in its own time, willing and curious, willing and curious. If a name comes, or a colour, or an age, you have your legend for the walk home through the heart, where the old scene still plays and the young one finally gets met, and when only quiet answers, the cells have told you where things stand for today.