Being a Safe Place for All of Ourselves

by Ameya Specterman
Program Manager and Registrar, Community Connections Liaison, Open Gate Sangha

“Don’t make allowing everything to be just the way it is into a goal. Make it into a discovery. What happens when you allow all your experience to simply be the way it is?” ~ Adyashanti

Three years ago, just after the contentious U.S. presidential election, I attended Adyashanti’s events in Seattle. Although Adya doesn’t comment on political issues, I hoped that he might offer some guidance about how to be with the division in the air.

In one talk, Adya spoke about being a safe place for all of ourselves. He invited us to hold space for those parts of ourselves that we tend to shun or criticize, that make us feel bad about ourselves, that we reject and wish would just go away. He said that those parts are expressions of who we are and want to be included in the totality of ourselves. They resist our efforts to push them away, and what we resist, persists.

By being a safe place for all of ourselves, he said we could discover that which is always and already totally fine with whatever may be arising and is big enough to hold all of it. By resting as that safe space, we might find a deeper integration for all the parts of ourselves. And by learning to be a safe place for ourselves, we could then also offer it to others.

As I listened, I felt a spaciousness within and sensed the profundity of what he was saying—not just for me but also with regard to the division in our country. The invitation was to be a safe space for all the parts of our national psyche that were now wrestling with themselves to find their way toward reconciliation and integration.

Since then I have seen the benefits of this teaching many times. By residing as that safe place, a new perspective can arise spontaneously, and a creative way can appear to resolve what had felt conflicted and irreconcilable.

This past December, however, I faced my deepest challenge to practice this teaching. During the holidays, I spent time with a very dear friend. Our politics are different, and although we had previously tried to discuss this in a polite way, the discussions usually resulted in anger and we would respectfully agree to disagree and avoid discussing politics for a while. But one day it all just spilled over. Some remarks were made innocuously, but I found I could not just let it all go. Despite my better judgment, I fostered a heated political argument. As the argument became more intense, I became more anxious. We were not only disagreeing, but also distrusting each other’s sources of information—not unlike the rest of the country. It felt like a hole was opening up below me, and I feared that without common references or shared “truth,” we wouldn’t be able to at least consider each other’s perspectives. I began to wonder if we even shared basic values, and if not, how could we still be close?

We were both deeply disturbed as we parted for the day. Afterward, I sat on my couch and felt my gut churning. I thought of Adya’s invitation to be that safe space, but I just couldn’t find my way there. Intellectually I could be “open,” but in my heart and gut it felt like too much was at stake to go there. I felt lost. I wondered how we could have any genuine connection again, and if we couldn’t find a connection, how could our country?

My own views shouted at me to hold fast to what I truly valued—to consider the other view felt too daunting and wrong. But another part of me felt this was wrong too. Here I was, contributing to the very dividedness that concerned me about our country, and with someone I truly loved. How could I engage in the very divisiveness I was hoping would be resolved? That was the gap, the little glimmer of light, that seeped into my awareness.

As I sat with this recognition, I felt Adya’s invitation to hold space for all that I had been pushing away. I felt the discord of both loving and fearing the same person. Part of me was protective and discouraged me from even considering any other view than my own, but part of me was curious. Could I open to all that I had been against? Everything in my body was resisting, and I felt a little sick as I considered what it would be like to view things from the other perspective. This was not just a cognitive act—it felt like I was entering another body, with another pair of eyes.

Slowly I slipped through some barrier of resistance, and I was literally seeing from this other perspective. It wasn’t that I had forgotten my own view, but I could also see the virtue of this perspective and why it could be appealing. It was strange, yet illuminating. I didn’t need to be afraid of or fight my friend. There was space for both of us and, in some uncanny way, a necessity for both of us to be part of what was now expressing itself in our country. I could still be true to what I believed, but there was also space for other perspectives. The battle had ended in me—a great resistance had subsided, and I felt peaceful.

The next time we met, I told my friend what had happened and described the peace that had come to me. I told him how much I valued him and respected that he had his own views. I said I didn’t want division between us. He expressed appreciation, and then we had the kind of respectful, open conversation I had always wanted. Something important happened between us, and I felt so grateful to share this with him.