That’s because a real desire isn’t an egoic projection or implanted idea about some attainable goal. It’s not about looking good or outwardly successful or being popular.
“I want lots of money.” You desire safety, independence and freedom.
“I want a big house and ten Porsches.” You compensate the desire for internal wholeness and connection with external validation and admiration from as many people as possible.
The real desire is tender. Vulnerable. A brush of your finger and it breaks into a thousand pieces.
The mind tends to decide that the desire is unattainable, forever out of reach, because it truly might be. So it doesn’t let us feel the pain of being with that unresolved desire. That open spot where air comes in and rattles the cobwebs.
Real desire doesn’t have to be about money either. I’ve been facing the desire of living in my homeland which—as such—doesn’t exist anymore. Since earliest childhood, I’ve been filled with indescribable grief and homesickness. Yes, even at home. It made sleepovers impossible and mandatory class trips hellish for little me. Dysregulated as I was, removing me from my home environment put me into panics. But even vacations with my family bubbled up so much grief which I had no idea how to verbalize or process. Much less did I know where it came from.
I visited my birth city multiple times—still that undercurrent of grief.
I didn’t travel at all for years—still there.
What I did know was that I felt a pull towards Poland. Two or three times, we’d vacation in a little town further East and while the grief wasn’t gone, it was tolerable (meaning I wasn’t having panic nonstop and needing to down-regulate my breathing to be able to fall asleep).
In 2017, we were on a cruise eastward to Lithuania and Russia. I was in big nervous system shutdown at that time and barely felt anything anymore, but that specific flavor of grief? It wasn’t there. I barely noticed that back then. Had we landed near that coast I might have, but we didn’t.
And in 2019, I happened to join a drive 2 hours to the more Eastern Baltic coast. I’d not set foot on the coast so far East. I had zero expectations.
We were taking the dog to this huge beach with forest and fields nearby, that’s all I knew.
I stepped out of the car and instantly fell in love. I’ve seen many forests, fields and beaches, but something about these touched me in unknown ways. I was just discovering embodiment work and was in a state of freeze, yet the feeling was unmistakable.
Calm. Soft. A belly-deep “Yes, this is what belonging feels like.”
I had no explanation for this and didn’t overthink the feeling too much. I soaked up these unknown sensations, walking for hours on that beach, and afterwards in bed, I’d spend hours listening to music and imagining myself running along the dunes and shore.
The things that touch us aren’t random. They’re distinct for us to delve and explore ourselves.
And sometimes, they don’t immediately make sense to the mind.
My body pulls me East because that’s where the bodies of my family emerged. That’s where home is. That’s the soil which calls to me from my bones—has always called to me. It wants me there, to see me, to feel me.
At the same time, that home has irrevocably changed. Prussia doesn’t exist anymore on the map, and my people have been ousted and scattered all over the planet. While a physical return isn’t impossible (and would be deeply healing), the truth is that I won’t be able to reverse time in this dimension and relive my life on East Prussian soil, surrounded by Prussian culture and nature and spirit.
Honestly, it takes a lot to write this. It goes against so much conditioning. “I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t desire this. It’s bad and wrong and selfish. I don’t have the right to claim the land of my kin.”
It’s also heartbreaking—those instinctive thoughts, and the tenderness of the desire itself.
And I’m absolutely letting myself have the whole experience. I watch my ego scream at me to shut this down. I watch my mind come up with ways how sharing this will hurt me in some way. How this desire is dangerous.
Bring it on.
I’m on my knees for this desire. It aches and shifts and worms through my sternum, it’s so deep. I cry for it. I open my body to it. I let it carve me.
This desire is what most people would call ‘hopeless’. There’s no “solution”. The discomfort can’t be removed, so they close around the tenderness and refuse to feel it. Better to stuff it down out of sight.
No. I’m going to feel everything. I’m going for the 100%. The grief, despair, terror, rage, disgust, judgement, fear, joy.
Because not a drop of this has been processed in the Prussian collective. We’re so removed from our roots that just calling ourselves what we are is some inappropriate political statement.
It took me 27 years to let my body be connected to this gigantic source of love and life force. A source I had no idea even existed. A source no one ever mentioned in any way—not at school, not in the media, not at home.
And I didn’t find it. It found me when I was ready, when my body could hold it.
It’s an energetic gate, actually, and its frequency is love. And upon embracing it, love has been showing up in every way online and in 3D. The synchronicities have been on fire.
I will go deep all the way with this desire. I will back it. I will let it excavate and melt everything rigid, through the pain and grief and the acknowledgment of devastation.
Breathe. Expand and open. Breathe.
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