How much of our experiences encapsulate reoccurring fits of madness and fantasy? How much of ourselves are we offering to others? When are we truly existing in absolute solace and serenity? What does it mean to accept defeat?
Often we compromise mental, emotional and physical safety in our relationships as an effort to “take risks”. What if we know our selves better than we give ourselves credit? I wonder if safety is something that we always consider in love and relationships. Why are we always pushing ourselves beyond defeat when we know our mind, body and spirit deserves so much more?
How often are we turning our backs, parsing through, divulging way too much and experiencing maddening encounters as a way to seek safety?
Does safety mean consistency and boundless capacity? Does safety mean consideration and reciprocity? Is it an active exchange of care between self and self or you and somebody else?
I know the word is thrown around a lot these days. In media, in conversations with friends and partners. I guess all of this is to truly question: What is safety and how do we preserve its importance as a collective?
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