My current bio on my website begins with “I am many things, like each of us,” and ends with “You…are…so…much…more….” To say I am many things is significant to me. The statement is true, yet considerable courage showed up in planting my feet to withstand another competing (and used to be erasing) statement that was introduced and often repeated by my father in my early years: Jack of all trades, master of none. He used it to diminish himself, and handed it down to me. What he had not known was how that innocent cliché he had thoughtlessly dished out overlaid with the phrase “Good for nothing” my mother had thrown on me whenever she felt frustrated with my inability to do things the way she wanted.

This example is a window into my work—that which I do for myself and others—to see and understand how we created our own identities with what was available. It is less about the labels—since any label will fail to capture our entirety—but giving ourselves the flexibility and freedom to choose and take on any. I see it as phases of development. There is a phase to expand and try new things to reclaim aspects of us, then there is a phase to simplify and distill to our essence, and we move between them. If you relate to yourself as someone who wears many hats (and labels) to protect yourself, perhaps you need space for simplification to trust and rest in you. If you relate to yourself as someone who is small and insignificant, perhaps you need to acknowledge and celebrate the multitude that you are. On either end of the spectrum, the work is to remember and connect to your wholeness, your integrity.

Let me use these two post-its to elaborate on wholeness.

(Left image of a blank canvas) We are born whole. Unconsciously whole.
If you’ve been around newborns, you may have felt how perfect or complete they are. They are simply radiance, bundles of joy. The energy they exude goes beyond their little bodies. And perhaps the only thing we carry on that blank canvas is our name.

This blank state is pure potential; both abundant and empty at the same time.

So, what happened as we grew up?

(Right image) We get patterned and structured. Life took on a shape.
The physical world and its make-up impressed upon us. We learned to distinguish things and the rules within our family, tribe, culture, society, institution, etc. We formed ideas and constructs. We learned what was allowed and not allowed; what to be and not be. We adopted creative strategies to cope with the challenges in our life. Some strategies were overused and they left deeper grooves in our soma at muscular and cellular levels. Over time, we developed a personality and believed that we are merely that. The blank canvas we once were is now filled with the many images we have (unconsciously) created of ourselves through our endeavors and the reflections from others.

The truth? We are not broken, never were. But we forgot the blank canvas we were and lost touch with our truth.

Although I used a physical piece of paper to illustrate the concept of a blank canvas, my illustration still falls short of capturing what we really are. Unlike paper, our soul (our consciousness) is immaterial. It is not housed in our body; it houses our body. So, unlike the ink on the paper that is irrevocable, the ideas we held and the structures we developed can be relaxed and dissolved. You might have seen the various fields of research booming over the last decade on neuroplasticity, polyvagal theory, somatic experiencing, so on and so forth. Each study and method offers its unique lens to view and support our reimagination of ourselves.

Reimagine & Reauthor

You see, imagination is a very powerful function of our mind, and it can be used to open or shut down new possibility. Imagination makes use of existing information we have to form new connections between them, creating new ideas and forms. Depending on the amount of life energy we feed it (consciously or not), some ideas get to be manifested and worlds come to life.

We can author new ones as we understand and see what was congruent in our old stories we created. What are the key themes? What are my gifts? What have I created? Where do I habitually place my attention, and how does that impact my energy flow?

Follow the path that opens you up.

Yes, even as you are clenching to your gut or your heart, follow that path. Feel where life still trickles; feel how it wants to move. The river knows its way to the ocean. Be that river.

When I write, my inner critic will chime in occasionally. It’s just doing its job. So can I. If writing is my wish, I write. There is a young wounded part in me that is afraid of the critic, so I hold her on my lap and write.

If being a creator is your wish, you create. The other parts of you can continue with their jobs, you don’t have to stop yours. Of course, it’s not always easy. There will be difficult feelings and reactivity that emerge, then we get a chance to notice, inquire, feel and understand their origins.

From time to time, I would change the words I used to describe what I do as a coach, because I could not let myself rest. I had believed that I needed to use the terms people would understand; I needed to translate. But I had a (big) issue with the word “translate.” It further reinforced in me the identity of the “misunderstood” one, and the belief that I spoke a different language, thus needing to take on the additional labor to close the gap. I expended much energy guessing and second-guessing; energy that could have been put to active imagination and idea generation.

P.s. To clarify, I am not referring to languages like English, Japanese, etc. The language a tech developer uses to describe a webpage would be different from that which a designer uses even when both speak English.

“Translate” was a word that closed me down, but it took me some time before I unhooked myself from it. Because it made rational sense. Even my previous experience as a UX (User Experience) Designer considered that a necessary bridge to users. But it made no body sense to me. No resonance and no vibe. It mattered less what made rational sense than what is life-affirming. My responsibility to myself is to support my flow of life.

Now, I don’t translate, I communicate. I don’t explain, I educate. My guess is, at the end of my journey, none of these words will matter. The work is of self-trust in self-expression.

As I adopted a fresh view, I contacted a renewed sense of freedom. There is now excitement alongside nervousness when I imagine the many fresh and fitting possibilities for myself: healer; mystic; divine instrument. From secret delight to open profession, I share that I do soul work, and my work is about remembrance and revelation. I liken my work to that of a bodyworker: tuning in—feeling and sensing—my client, inquiring into their experience, and supporting them to understand and unlock tension patterns to liberate their soul.

Writer, healer, facilitator—these are some of the different expressions of my consistent endeavor. The through line—the integrity—is that of a return, a remembrance, and a revelation.

One of my expressions flows through my love for cartoons and Japanese anime. Here’s one for you from Studio Ghibli’s Spirited Away.

I view the character of Yubaba (along with the spa house she runs) as a symbol of the physical and material world we live in. It is one dimension of reality but not all of it. When we are bedazzled and distracted by the material realm, concerned with who we need to be, we forget what we are: that blank canvas of wholeness, vast consciousness.

Let’s help each other remember our true names.

🍯 The Dandelion Notes ~ Writer’s Fund

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New to The Dandelion Notes?

Hello & welcome — I am glad you are here. I am Rosslyn Chay, facilitator, healer, poet—each of these, a very human attempt to mend our fractured relationship with our nature and free the truth of who we are from the weight of our history. The Dandelion Notes are field notes on my attempts.