There is comfort in conflict

We often find comfort in conflict. Our bodies get used to it, intensity and contrast are all around us, all the time. For many of us, it has become our default. We come to a place where we feel more comfortable in the chaos of a dispute and an argument than we do in the stillness of our own being.


Often we pride ourselves with how much we can handle. Our backs are strong, people can lean on us. The more problems to solve, the better. We take it on out of habit, not necessarily because we want to, but mostly because we can. And when conflict outside settles, we realize we have forgotten how to thrive without it. Our subconscious seeks the familiarity of chaos.

I know this about me. I can push my limits quite far, until I can't anymore. I can ignore my desire for stillness and creative expression for a long while, distracted by fires, other people’s and my own. Fires who need fanning, need love, need witnessing. I am very good at that. It is comfortable for me. I’ve done it my whole life.

So when stillness is needed, in the silence I become aware of a background noise. When there are no fires that need me, I am left with my raging volcano, calling from inside, begging for my love, my attention and my life-giving breath. I am so skilled at ignoring it that I often miss it and its meaning. I have missed the extent of its intelligence for a big part of my life.

When for too long our fire has been measured, controlled, miss-labelled, and redirected to be “appropriate” and "acceptable", and we have fuelled too often on the fires outside of ourselves, something gives.

Our light gives, and the full expression of its force.

When I look at Pele expressing as volcano, tending to her own light with the grounded care and protection of a Mother and the fierce clarity and support of a Father, and I see her creating her world, literally shaping the land with her fire, I am reminded of what is possible when I give myself permission to stand in my fire, without the need for conflict.

It might be super uncomfortable to feel all that intensity flowing through without any immediately apparent reason, and to breathe deeply into this hot mess of urgency, of impatience, and of agitation, but I know there is no better way out than in and through.

And not just for the sake of healing. We sit and breathe in the heat not solely for transformation but to tap into a new way of moving through life, where change is joyful, where lessons don’t have to be hard-won, but learning happens spontaneously through the joy of fully feeling.

We know that if we want something new to be revealed, if we want to do justice to our creative heart and its unique song, we have to make an unbreakable commitment to our fire, first and foremost, daily, hourly. Can we draw the line in the sand even more clearly, to create the boundaries we need to make real our light? What does it look like when we allow the fire in our belly to rise, and rise, and voice itself, not because there is a fight to fight but because there is big-ass life to live?