Soulteachings | Nirmala K. Werner
Why do we actually set out on a spiritual path? Most of the time, if we’re honest, to get something. A better version of ourselves. A more balanced mind. A more relaxed jaw. Or maybe even: self-acceptance.
In Buddhism there are the “Ten Qualities that Open the Heart”. One of them is renunciation. Doesn’t sound very tempting at first, does it? And yet this is exactly part of the path. The spiritual path – at least the one I walk, which is guided by the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path – asks us again and again for a No. A No to the loud, superficial calls of our instincts, impulses and habits. Not because they are bad, but because this No creates space. Space for deeper listening. For the quieter voices within us that are often drowned out and that actually know quite well what is good for us.
This No is at the same time a Yes: to what is truly valuable and sets us free.
And what if the longing for intimacy, for closeness, for sexuality pulls at us so strongly that we believe our happiness depends on one particular person?
The Buddha spoke again and again of Tanha, thirst. This doesn’t simply mean ordinary wanting, but an urgent grasping that whispers to us: If I get this, then everything will finally be fine. If I am seen. If I am loved. If I find the right relationship.
There is nothing wrong with our needs. They are deeply human. At the same time, they can pull us into a kind of trance – into a searching that never really comes to rest. That is why mindfulness is, at its core, a practice of making space. Space for what feels tight. Space for sensations, thoughts and longings we would rather get rid of right away.
What nourishes my happiness – and what leads me into unhappiness? Deep down we have long known that our wanting never brings lasting satisfaction. And still, letting go is so hard.
Maybe you know phases like this: suddenly everything seems to depend on one particular circumstance changing. A person. A relationship. A decision. Something absolutely has to be different from the way it is!
Of course there are real losses and changes in life, and we are allowed to grieve them. People leave, relationships change, bodies fall ill. And yet the Buddha taught something rather uncomfortable: even our subtlest dissatisfaction has to do with this inner thirst. It doesn’t have to be dramatic at all. Often we simply go through life with this quiet background feeling: “Something here could be better. Different.”
I know this thirst from my own experience. And it is in times like these that the practice I am describing here has carried me.
When we long for another person, we easily forget: it is never really about that person. Beneath our longings lies something much deeper.
When we honestly feel inward, old experiences often surface: loneliness. The pain of never having truly been held. Of not having known that deep sense of safety and security a small child actually needs. Many of us learned very early on to regulate ourselves – and not necessarily in a healthy way.
The experiences of our childhood don’t simply disappear. The body carries them on. Later in life they resurface, often well disguised as longing for one particular person. And old attachment patterns are quickly activated too: the reflexive “I have to take care of this” – or the opposite, withdrawing as soon as it gets too intense.
If we look more closely, it is often not only about closeness. It is about merging, about a form of oneness. We all know this experience – the original, raw connection in the womb. Whatever we have lived through, our cells carry the memory of oneness and wholeness. Perhaps this is exactly what we keep searching for later in life, projecting it onto other people.
This is where a rather radical practice begins: really looking at what is happening inside us. When thoughts of this person arise and the body reaches out for connection, staying present – like someone who ties themselves to a rock so as not to be swept away by the current. And sometimes it also takes looking out into the distance instead of spinning further in the carousel of thoughts.
Something surprising often shows up here: desire, this strong wanting, doesn’t feel nearly as romantic in the body as it seems in our stories. More like tightness. Sometimes hot, sometimes restless. Honestly, pretty unpleasant.
This path leads through the tightness – with everything included. So we stay. We bring the light of awareness exactly to the place we would rather not look at. With the breath. With exactly these body sensations.
And sometimes very simple things give us support: snuggling into a blanket, a hot-water bottle, holding ourselves. Small gestures that help a nervous system find ground again.
A practice that helps especially in such times is RAIN: Recognize, Allow, Investigate, Nurture. Its decisive moment is a kind of inner U-turn.
Usually our attention goes straight to the object of our longing – to the person we believe could fulfil us. In the practice, we turn around and face the feeling of longing itself. Ah, here is this wanting. It is allowed to be here. Where do I feel it in my body? And at some point a new question arises: If I really got what I long for – how would that feel in my body?
The answer is often surprisingly simple. Safety, perhaps. Warmth. Relief. Belonging. And then another movement begins: Can I already sense this quality now – without anything changing on the outside? If we stay patient, sometimes exactly that appears. Very quietly. Maybe just as a breath of warmth in the chest or a small feeling of aliveness.
In this way, longing can transform layer by layer. What first looked like an unconditional craving for one particular person turns out to be something far more fundamental.
At some point the moment may come to bring what we have experienced into contact – no longer out of craving, but from inner clarity. To experience that a person simply stays – without drama, without withdrawing – while one’s own system is moving through so much projection, longing and pain, can be deeply corrective for the nervous system. What a gift!
Often the body responds as well, for example with a deep trembling that comes straight from the nervous system. In somatic work we know that a great deal of attachment stress and fear can be stored, especially in the area of the psoas. Trembling like this is a natural discharge of something that has been held for a very long time.
We don’t have to get rid of our longing! I believe the key lies in uncoupling it from the person we project it onto, and staying with the sensation itself. Allowing it to be here. Really be here. How do we feel it in the body – in the chest, in the belly? And what is it like to also make room for the fulfilment that sometimes appears in our own body once we stop looking for it only on the outside?
Longing and desire are not the problem. When we truly follow them – not outward, but inward – they lead us deeper, layer by layer. And at some point we discover: what we long for is already here.
Perhaps we can only long for love so deeply because this love is already within us. Otherwise we could not miss it so clearly.
R – Recognize
What is here right now?
A – Allow
Give everything space. Allow all the stories to be present.
I – Investigate
The U-turn! How does it feel inside you? How do you perceive it? What do you sense in body, mind and heart? Which beliefs and patterns do you recognize?
N – Nurture
Who are you when you make room for all of this – when you observe and feel into it? What is it like when what you long for is already fulfilled? How does that feel? Allow yourself to bathe in these sensations.
If you’d like to read on: Longing for Connection explores our deep need to belong. And if you’d like to rest more deeply in this practice, the Deep Rest Meditation offers you a quiet space for it.
This meditation helps you reduce stress, find inner calm, and feel grounded, centered, and connected again.
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