Slowly at first, ascending from the trunk and sweeping upwards through the chest, filling itself out in the branches of the arms and neck, rising and swelling with a vitality independent of the body. The sensations powerful enough to cause a slight pitch forward of the chest, as if the arms of the heart are reaching ever towards a satisfying light.
Longing.
From the epic poems of Homer, to the sonnets of Shakespeare, longing has been a theme captured by the greatest poets, musicians, and painters throughout time. We are reminded by the lilting sounds of the violin, by shadows and textures of paint, by films that leave us with a slightly opened mouth, tasting the essential hungers of the soul. While art continues to be a home for the yearning impulses of the heart, our current culture seems to be missing an acceptance of this deeply human experience.
We function in a belief system that says "if you want something, then do something about it", or the equally action-oriented "if you want something badly enough, you'll make it happen". There is a hearty landscape in our culture for intention and manifestation and the development of actionable steps. This is how we achieve and develop many parts of our lives. There are certain longings that can be met by this kind of approach. But what about the ones that cannot be "fixed" by our own action--what about the ones out of our control?
Our culture often suggests that longing itself is a weakness, a problem to be solved, and we are the ones with the power to fix it. We forget that longing is an intimate experience of human existence, and yearning is a sacred part of life.
Longing expresses itself in many forms: the desire for a homecoming, or finding love, grieving a loss, creating a family, escaping oppression, restoring health. To manage the discomfort of longing--particularly those not easily addressed, we adapt with a variety of strategies. We might ignore it, suppress it, numb it with food or drink, or become overwhelmed by its intensity so that it veils all of life in a desperate lens.
These are some of the ways we struggle with longing. These are some of the ways we are human. The longing for love, freedom, acceptance, and creativity move through our human bodies as vital impulses. It is important to remember that longing is not weak or pathological. It is however, vulnerable. It takes courage and understanding to acknowledge our longing or let other people witness it. This is particularly true when we experience the kind of longing that goes unmet.
Working with young children in the foster care system has taught me a great deal about the sacred nature of this kind of longing. They are involuntary experts on the subject. It is humbling to witness the ways in which children express their deepest desires for connection, love, and family. Longings that are so basic, essential, and sometimes trembling in their intensity. For some kids, there is a sort of resolution, and the chapter of their lives labelled "foster care" ends with a safe enough environment where they are cared for by adults--either birth parents or others. But other times, children must live with their longings unanswered. They must go to school, learn to tie their shoes, adapt to different houses and rules, while continuing to live with an ongoing and staggering yearning. One that is not so different from anyone else's--to feel connected, to love, and be loved.
An intervention I sometimes facilitate with young children during the springtime is to plant seeds. The kids come into my office and scoop soil into a cup, choose their seeds, and carefully tuck them into the dirt before watering them. We talk about what seeds need in order to grow, and what children need in order to grow. They find sunny spots in the office for their cups. The next several weeks are often punctuated by excitement about the growth of the seedlings and culminated when the kids and their caregivers agree to take the plants home to plant in their own gardens.
Although this intervention is something I have done many times with children and families to work on themes of relationships, needs, and growth, it was not until very recently that a new and bittersweet understanding came to me. Yesterday, I read this line by poet Khalil Gibran:
"Every seed is a longing".
Of course. That is what each child has been planting all along. So, it is their teaching, with the help of a Lebanese-American poet and some sunflower seeds, that I put into words and pass on to you:
Our job is to give our deepest desires a home. To tuck our longings into the earth of our bodies and to care for ourselves with kindness. To give ourselves water and sunlight. This is how we endure. This is how we thrive. Whether the longing is met, the dream realized, or the possibility frozen in time, the seeds have a home. Let them have a home.
To Your Health,
Megan
Megan Baker Welles, LMFT