01 Jun Personal and impersonal

The essence of clearing lies in consciously experiencing and allowing things to be. By halting the narrative surrounding what you experience, phenomena are revealed in their raw form, stripped of interpretation, and seen for what they truly are in the moment. Questions about why something is happening, who is to blame, how long it has existed, or what it might mean for the future fall away, leaving only the unfiltered experience of a vast array of feelings, emotions, thoughts, and physical sensations. When you fully embrace these experiences, old tensions are released, creating space for flow both within and around you.

Depersonalising your experiential world is a powerful tool that enables you to observe what is happening without becoming lost in the drama of who, what, where, why, and when. Many individuals who adopt this perspective initially struggle with disbelief. How can the grief I feel over the loss of a loved one not be mine? Am I not feeling it in my own life? Realising that grief, too, can be impersonal is both liberating and unsettling. When you simply feel it consciously and allow it to be, the grief will release you. At the same time, it can feel like stepping into a void; if you have long identified with grief, and you discover that you are not the grief, then who or what are you? Paradoxically, personal drama, though a source of many challenges, also provides a sense of false security. Often, unconsciously, this illusion of safety feels preferable to the vulnerability of embracing the story and making space for your true self.

However, continuously depersonalising your experiences can have its own pitfalls when approached from the mind rather than the heart. Recently, I discovered that a significant part of my life had been unconsciously governed by a fear of rejection and loneliness. It was confronting and painful to recognise that, driven by these unresolved emotions, I had inadvertently caused harm to myself and others. In such instances, I seek the guidance of an extraordinary woman who helps me bring unconscious patterns into awareness. During one of our conversations, a holographic image of myself as a seven-year-old boy appeared between us. We both saw the same vision: a young child, frozen in time and space, rejected and lonely. As I approached the boy in my awareness, he turned and clung to me. Like a koala, he wrapped his arms around me and held on tightly.

Initially, I believed that, now conscious of this, I could simply clear it. However, the woman pointed out that my approach stemmed from the mind rather than the heart. My mind had seemingly co-opted the idea of clearing, turning it into a strategy to deal with shadow aspects—not to truly embrace them, but to distance myself so they would not have to be felt. In this instance, depersonalising the emotions became a means of detachment rather than connection and acceptance. It was an effective but ultimately escapist tactic. She emphasised that what I had felt as a seven-year-old was, on one level, simply what it was, but on a personal level, it was undeniably part of my lived experience—an integral piece of my life. She also remarked that it was more likely I was terrified of these emotions than capable of clearing them intellectually.

In the days that followed, I resolved to confront this challenge. I no longer wanted these unresolved issues to hinder me. The boy’s presence remained palpable, clinging to my waist wherever I went. Whenever I tried to connect with him, old patterns within me were triggered to prevent it. It became clear that my entire system had been conditioned to avoid these emotions rather than face them. The woman was right: I had developed a remarkably effective strategy to circumvent these feelings entirely.

A week after our conversation, I lay in my hammock and could literally feel the boy resting on my stomach. He still felt separate from me, as though he did not fully belong. In my mind, I asked him what he needed. Without answering, he dove into my heart. I wept intensely. At last, the grief and loneliness were acknowledged and, in doing so, were embraced as part of my personal life—literally welcomed into my heart. The mind’s need to control or avoid these feelings was no longer necessary.

Whenever something arises in your awareness, you stand at a metaphorical crossroads. Can you fully experience and allow what is revealed from the heart, or does the mind seize control of the experience, diverting you into stories, solutions, and distractions? The mind is so subtle and cunning that it can even weaponise clearing as a means of avoidance, steering you away from what is emerging. Its ultimate goal is to keep what lies in the shadows from coming to light. After all, the mind’s existence depends on maintaining the narrative. Compassion in clearing is all-encompassing; it embraces the personal, the impersonal, the story, and the mind itself, which, in its survival-driven desperation, attempts to co-opt everything for its own ends.