Seeing Without Carrying: Integrating the One Who Sees and the One Who Is Seen

I’ve come to realize something important: for me, seeing can feel like a threat.

And I’m not talking about seeing spirits or anything like that—it’s more about seeing others, perceiving things about them. Because that can imply discovering secrets that I then feel I have to keep, carrying weights that are not only mine. It can also mean seeing less সুন্দর realities and not knowing how to hold them.

So, the act of seeing becomes a threat to my energy.

I feel that this comes from a childlike place within me. Because when I place myself in the position of an adult, I know I have the ability to choose what I do with what I see. But in my body, this sense of threat still exists, as if seeing means having to hold other people’s things within me. And in some way, that also speaks about me—because if it is in me, it’s because it touches me.

This is a very central theme in my life.

And I now realize that this arose because I wanted to understand why I don’t feel seen. And I’m beginning to understand: I don’t feel seen because, in a way, I don’t see (I don’t see myself).

I feel this is deeply connected to my identity. As if “not seeing” or “being afraid to see” is part of who I am. At the same time, I feel it is time to stop being that way. Fears, emotions, sensations—they are not identity; they are something that passes through.

Then I did a small internal exercise, like a constellation: me facing my self that wants to see and my self that is seen.

I felt like I was in a ping-pong game between these parts, still separate. Until a moment of integration: I can only see if I am seen, and I can only be seen if I see. Because, ultimately, I am the one who sees myself.

This opened space for me to see myself as a multidimensional being and, at the same time, deeply human and grounded. I am a woman, I am human, I enjoy pleasure, life on Earth, simple and mundane things. And at the same time, I feel much greater than that.

All of this exists within me.

But this awareness still brings me conflict: there is a distress in feeling multidimensional and an anguish in feeling so human.

When I go deeper into it, I realize: there is a fear that, by embracing myself as multidimensional, I will stop being grounded.

And, on the other hand, there is a fear that, by embracing myself as grounded, I will stop being multidimensional.

Even if rationally I no longer see these as separate, in my body this division still exists.

And then I ask myself: how can I release this from the body?

The answer that arises is simple, but demanding: step by step, through habits.

It’s not about going to extremes, neither upward nor downward—it’s about walking with consistency. Integration is already available, it already exists, but it is not yet fully embodied and sustained in daily life.

And here another important realization arises:

I have resistance to habits. They trigger in me a sense of imprisonment, of limitation, of obligation. That’s why, for a long time, I moved away from them.

But I also see that I’ve been trying to follow other people’s habits, instead of finding my own.

And even more: I’m not even recognizing the habits that already exist within me.

The true turning point today is here.

My habits need to be mine, aligned with who I am.

And then something very clear emerges: what balances me is when I can be “in the sky and on the earth at the same time.” Not as something sporadic, but as a state cultivated through habits.

When I imagine that version of myself, with those habits rooted, I feel something very different: I breathe better, I feel more present, there is a mix of depth and lightness.

There is no imprisonment, no restriction.

There is safety.

And that safety allows expansion, an expansion that happens from the inside out, like a vast and living inner world.