Transcriber: Nika Kotnik Reviewer: Denise RQ
When last did you have...
some?
(Laughter)
Not sex.
Not some other strange rind, I mean some light.
Some catching, some unfolding, some unfinding.
Some re-existing.
When was your last resurrection?
When last did anyone create paradise out of your skin?
How long has it been since you've had your bones erased
for the spirit's sake and the extra wiggle room?
When last did you bloom?
How long ago were you smoke, dancing transparently present
in the shadow of fresh heat?
When last did heaven heather itself at your wrist
cat cradling hope between your fingers?
Have you ever bathed in the hush of another man's prayers
while soaking off all unreasonable doubt?
When last did you have some broken grace,
some music filled touch, some sweet falling?
It's been a while, hasn't it?
When I was in elementary school,
my friends and I used to gather on the playground.
And each of us took turns falling into each other's arms
in a game commonly known as trust falling.
I remember when it was my turn,
I closed my eyes, crossed my arms over my chest
and started to rock back on my heels.
Halfway down, I realized that there was more air
than there were arms to actually break my fall,
and that this was not about to end well.
I spent the rest of the afternoon picking pine needles out of my hair.
Needles to say, we don't really talk much any more.
But this was my first lesson in intimacy.
Those of you hoping I'll talk about nothing but sex for the next 10 minutes
might be a little disappointed.
And then again, you might not be.
But isn't it strange how when we hear the word intimacy,
our minds just jump into bed?
When you visit the doctor's office, or you talk to a friend,
or god forbid, a parent about your relationship history,
and then they ask you in that sweet yet probing little voice,
"So, have you been intimate?"
You usually give them a yes or a no,
or "I don't kiss and tell,"
or you might just say, "It's none of your business."
But I wonder, why have we given this heavy, vast word
such a narrow definition?
As a spoken word artist, I spend a lot of time looking at words.
At their fullness, and what purpose they have.
So when I hear the word intimacy, I immediately think of falling.
I imagine this diving, this self unraveling that happens,
and there's a kind of divinity to it.
When we acknowledge the sanctuary
that we have in someone else, and vice versa.
Ego becomes evaporated, and we give up a portion of our rights to be in control.
It's a terrifying concept.
But what a blessing it is that we even have that ability.
How beautiful is it to have someone,
not necessary a romantic partner or a lover,
but just another human being
that we can allow ourselves to be broken in front of?
Having someone with which whom we are not afraid to be scared,
having someone who reenforces our immediate completeness.
In intimacy, we surrender our perfect balance
into the hands of someone else,
while we're realizing that we very well could slip through their fingers.
Because when you think about it, none of us are immune to gravity.
Falling into anything is a universal common denominator,
and contrary to popular belief,
trust is not disposable, it is regenerative.
We experience both the rewards and the consequences of keeping
an open heart, and an open mind, and an open spirit.
When we're welcomed, when we're loved openly,
easily, our trust grows off of that.
But when we're hurt,
when our vulnerability is taken advantage of,
our natural instinct is to retract.
We develop calluses on our spirits
and avoid feeling the need to need anyone other than ourselves.
This defense mechanism that we have
creates a domino effect within our society where we say,
"Because I've been hurt,
no one else, from this point on, deserves to become familiar with me.
My will to remain undisturbed is a greater cause to work towards
than finding the resilient peace to remain open,
regardless of whether or not my environment welcomes it."
We forget that someone else may require our vulnerability later on.
We forget that someone else just might require us
to practice an undressing of pretence.
When I was getting ready for this TED talk,
it took forever and a day to find one poignant story
that felt naked enough to share.
And then I remembered this.
A couple of years ago, I went through one of the hardest breakups of my life,
thus far.
I literally remember watching this man walk out of my life.
It felt as if he had taken my heart
and slipped it in his back pocket as a souvenir.
The recovery period after this lasted for about five months.
And in these five months, I was on a quest to become numb.
I was doing a pretty good job of it, too.
Until I met this guy through a mutual friend.
We hadn't known each other for very long, but one day, we were talking,
and halfway through the conversation, he asked me, just plain as day,
"So, when are you going to tell me what happened?"
It felt as though a dam had broken.
Everything that I avoided feeling, saying, or thinking, poured out of me.
I said, "I don't know.
I thought I was enough. I tried everything."
I fell apart in his arms.
And he caught me.
To this day, we are still very close friends,
and I can honestly say,
that wherever and whenever I am with him, I feel like I'm home.
A lot of us are untapped sanctuaries.
There is light inside of each of us meant to be spread.
There are uncomfortable truths meant to be discovered,
but we will never reach them if we are too afraid to fall.
I challenge you, even when it is difficult,
when it is hard to remain human,
to feel and to do it, deeply and openly,
because all of us have fallen into something already.
Whether is a hard time, an unfair love, or just pine needles on a playground.
The important thing is that we get back up,
realizing that falling over and over again is welcome,
and that someone else down the road just might have the courage
to open their arms and catch us.
Thank you.
(Applause)