Finding Inner Safety. Dr. Nerina RamlakhanЧитать онлайн книгу.
amazing capacity to heal. I believe it can also teach us how to break free from patterns of survival and truly thrive. For too long we have been obsessed with our world of technology, speed, and consumerism and this is what we have looked to in order to feel secure. Right now, with our whole world in chaos and crisis, we need a different perspective and one that brings us back to who we are, our true nature.
Part Four: Doing the Real Work (of Finding Inner Safety)
The final part of my book is practical. Here, I share the resources that I have been learning about, practising myself, and teaching thousands of people for years. These are the practices – some of them very simple – that I have been sharing with people for decades, as well as practising myself.
In this resources section I share the tools that are based on my unique methodology. I take you through a process that is focused on bringing safety to those four crucial levels – physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual – that I describe in Part One. Ideally, you will work your way through the practices and decide which ones work best for you. The nature of this work is deeply personal after all. However, I recommend that you start with the RESET practice, as my experience has shown me that preparing the foundations in this way sets you up to do the deeper work that comes later. I hesitated to call this section a ‘toolbox’ but I suppose it could be considered to be that, as embarking on the journey of building inner safety really is about ‘Doing the Work’, a label which I use throughout my book and which I ask you to become familiar with too. This is about doing the ‘the Work’ of becoming a more evolved human being, more self-actualized. I will share with you an array of tools that I've learnt from others, developed and practised myself, and shared with countless others. Over time, you will become more adept at selecting the tools you need at different stages of doing your own work.
In conclusion, Finding Inner Safety ends on a message of hope and joy. I am writing this book at a time when many feel hopeless, afraid, and even suspicious. All around us there is chaotic, uncomfortable change and we don't know where it is taking us.
However, it is time – at least for the sake of our younger generation, the future of our species – to spread a new type of contagion. One of realistic optimism and joy even in the face of life's inevitable suffering. I say ‘realistic’ because this isn't about toxic, fake positivity. This is about finding those moments of real hope, real joy, real gratitude, and real kinship that do exist … and spreading it. We're all connected and we're all in this together. We might feel we have no influence but we all do. Each one of us has the power to tap into something deep within us – a wellspring of safety from which true thriving is created.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book is a solitary experience and doing this while the whole world was in the throes of the Covid-19 pandemic and we were all in lockdown could have been a lonely experience had it not been for the friends and angels who anchored me, held me safe, and came along on the journey.
I have many to thank …
Not least Mira – my canine soulmate from the streets of Cyprus who arrived, uncannily, just at the right time. We soothed each other's nervous systems and made each other feel safe. I'm not sure who was rescuing whom. You are a joy in my life!
Beautiful friendships were made thanks to the River Thames, just at my doorstep. Thank you, my river buddies, Denise Yeats, Jessie Laute, Luisa Kuramapu, Amaresh, Rick, and Jam Cam, crazy human beings who help me to laugh and breathe deeply – the only way to self-regulate when immersing in icy waters. Strangely, the murky but steady waters of the river provided the most magical support for writing this book, especially when I was stuck for words or just plain stuck in my head.
Soul sisters and dear friendships that have deepened even throughout the isolation of the last year – Gosia Gorna, Carolyn Kolasinski, Lindsay Doy, Kirsten Samuel, Heena Thaker, and more recently the divinely special Jackie Boothe. Thank you for listening to me, and for holding space when tears flowed in the unveiling process. Your voice messages were such a welcome relief from the voice in my own head during those isolation months.
Yasmin Ibrahim for being there just at the right time and the amazing connections that have resulted from you turning up on that fateful day. Heartfelt thanks to you and the Bingham Riverhouse for helping me get my mojo back and remember that the best form of healing takes place when you're shaking it out on the dance floor.
To my wonderful support team at the Adia PR agency – notably Laura Coppock and Ruth Shearman and my lovely VA Polly Buckley. You all bent over backwards to help me protect precious writing time. Kerry-Lyn Stanton-Downes who has held space and walked with me since the inception of this book.
Deepest gratitude for my ancestors whose presence and guidance I felt throughout, not least in my dreams. Funny how the dreams have stopped since submitting the manuscript. I have written this book to honour your journey, your tenacity and courage, attributes which I feel ingrained in my deepest taproots.
For the family that I chose in this lifetime and especially Mum – I can't wait to see you again. It has been too long. Dad, you always said I should be a writer and you were right. I miss you.
To my wonderful friend, agent, and Book Angel Wendy Yorke for your unwavering support and belief in me and this book throughout the whole process. I am so grateful to you.
And finally, thank you to my daughter, Maya Nirvana, my best teacher. You continue to both inspire and test me and I love you.
Prologue: Lost and Found
It is 5 o'clock in the afternoon and the sun beats down on the Portuguese mountains and my bare shoulders. My throat is dry and sore, parched from thirst and my futile screams for help. A few minutes ago, I turned my right ankle sharply when I scrambled down the slope, searching in vain for the trail I'd started out on two hours ago. The pain is irrelevant at this point. What started out as a 30-minute run in the Portuguese mountains that I've done many times before has gone horribly wrong and I'm lost lost lost …
I'm aware that my breathing is jagged and panicky, and I force myself to exhale slowly, trying in vain to take control of my body. Cursing myself for not having told anyone back at the yoga retreat that I was going for a run. No one saw me leave. I have no phone, no torch. Just me in my running kit with a watch. Dinner is at 7 p.m. Will anyone notice I'm not there? Will my friend raise the alarm? Will they send a search party for me? Can I sleep out here in the mountains? What about wild animals? Will I survive? What will happen to my daughter? Will I ever see her again? Panic mounts and I give up the battle to deepen my breath.
An hour later the sun dips down behind the mountains. Nature is oblivious to my terror and a golden-red glow spreads across the sky. I see butterflies of every colour flirting with flowers, a herd of wild boar gaze at me with disinterest, a leggy fawn spots me and darts into the undergrowth. I'm a nature girl but I'm in no mood to appreciate. Right now, I'd give anything to be on a packed commuter train in the middle of a concrete jungle. Thirst leads me down to the depths of the valley and, fighting my way through wild grasses and thorny bushes, I lie on my belly and drink gratefully from a gushing spring. The sky darkens and night falls. I've never felt so lonely. In desperation I bargain and pray – dear God please help me. Show me the way back. I promise I'll be a better mother, daughter, sister, friend, human being … No response.
Night time falls and I'm walking, stumbling along by the light of the stars and moon sliver. I abandon an attempt to shelter in a deserted barn. What is that rustling noise? Are those snakes or rats I hear? I had thought I could stay here until sunrise when I might have a better view of the valley but I can't do it; I have to keep moving. By now I'm freezing and I fashion a makeshift cloak from a torn plastic bag lying amongst the rubble in the barn.
As the light levels drops, strangely, so does my panic. I have less choice now as