When Community Helped Me Lift the Boulder of Fear

Yesterday I made a post on Facebook about something I have struggled with basically my whole adult life. Something I could not shift no matter what I did. I shared what it was: a fear of letting the sacred come out of my mouth and into the world. I have no problem with this in one on one sessions or in my classes; those containers are built for it. But outside of those structures, something in me freezes.

And it is not a polite fear. It is a deep, visceral one. The kind that feels like memory, the kind that carries the sense of having been brutalized for this over many lifetimes.

So I made the post to my community to ask if anyone related and if they would share their experience with it. I wasn’t asking to fix it or be fed advice. I was trying not to hold it alone anymore, and to see if anything might shift simply by asking for support around this.

And then something remarkable happened.

People came in. A lot of people. And most came not to fix me. Not to pathologize me. Not to explain me to myself. They simply came in and shared their own stories, their own contact with the same boulder. Their own versions of how they have wrestled with it or been stopped by it or walked around it or carried its weight for years. Person after person said something that essentially sounded like: I know this boulder too.

And the more people who gathered around that shared recognition, the more something shifted in the field. The boulder did not get smaller. The fear did not vanish. The problem did not resolve. But the weight redistributed. I was no longer the only one holding it. The bandwidth that had been swallowed by the effort of trying to manage this alone loosened.

And in that loosening, something opened.

I looked down. I looked beneath the boulder. And what I saw surprised me. There was a treasure there. A treasure that had been impossible to access while I was carrying the burden alone. The moment enough people stepped in, I could finally see the context of the fear rather than being swallowed by the fear itself.

This is the metaphysics of community. Not community as a sentimental idea. Not community as emotional validation. Community as a field phenomenon that redistributes load and reveals what cannot be seen when just one or two  people are carrying the whole thing. Community as a metaphysical architecture that alters our perceptual capacity. Community as an extension of intelligence itself.

What happened for me yesterday is the lived truth of what I teach: relationality is not just emotional support. Relationality changes what is possible.

Because here is the truth that emerged once the field opened up enough for me to see it: My fear is not a pathology. My fear is not evidence of a personal block. My fear is not something I need to toughen up against. My fear is not something to get over.

My fear is wise.

It is the arising of the sacred in me alerting me to the reality of distortion. It is the way the sacred signals the need for structure before utterance. It is the guardian response that emerges when the holy is present and the world around it is not oriented to hold it. It is the sign that something deep in me refuses to throw the sacred into a field that cannot register it without desecration.

Because here is the context: in a world saturated with distortion, sacred speech is vulnerable.

The sacred gets mocked. 

It gets commodified. 

It gets appropriated. 

It gets flattened into performance. 

It gets extracted as content. 

It gets used as a prop in people’s personal mythology. 

It becomes a symbol for virtue signaling or spiritual identity instead of a living intelligence meeting the world.

My fear was not a barrier to truth. It was a signal of the danger of releasing truth without membrane, without architecture, without the holding structure that the sacred actually requires in order to enter the world without being consumed or twisted.

This is what I mean when I say stewardship of the sacred. I do not mean guarding it like property or hoarding it like treasure. I mean honoring the arising of the sacred in us by listening to the signals that tell us how it wants to come into form. Stewardship means being responsible for its passage into the world. Stewardship means recognizing that the sacred is relational. It does not want exposure. It wants right-relationship. It wants a membrane that allows contact without collapse. It wants a container that makes transformation possible.

My fear is not a flaw to overcome. It is an aspect of that stewardship. It is the part of me that knows the cost of bringing the sacred into spaces that do not have the architecture to receive it. I have seen this distortion my whole life. I have been wounded by it. I have watched the world treat the holy like inert matter, treat nature as lifeless, treat people as objects, treat beauty as distraction, treat intelligence as ego, treat awe as naivete. I have watched what happens when people speak from the depth of their soul into a culture that cannot register what is being offered. The signals get bent. The truth gets lost. The essence evaporates under the heat of other people’s projections.

So of course fear arose. It was never about danger. It was about discernment.

And once the community helped me lift the boulder of fear, once enough people placed their hands on the same boulder, once the shared recognition opened the bandwidth for deeper perception, I could finally see that the fear was not saying do not speak. The fear was saying do not speak without a structure worthy of what you are carrying.

That's the difference.

And when I finally understood this, something softened in me. The fear became possibility. Not because the fear disappeared, but because the fear revealed its purpose. The fear showed me that I need to build a membrane, a vessel, a context, a structure within which the sacred can be spoken without depletion or such high-cost.

And this is where the teaching becomes explicit.

We do not access the wisdom within our fear when we are exhausted by trying to hold everything alone. We do not access the wisdom of our own depths when we are crushed beneath the weight of solitary responsibility. We do not access clarity when our entire field is consumed by the burden itself. The metaphysics of community is not about fixing. It is not about solving. It is not about telling someone what they cannot see.

The metaphysics of community is about shared holding that frees the perceptual field so that the deeper intelligence already present can rise.

This is why solo work only takes us so far. This is why one on one work only takes us so far. It can help. It can support. But it is a drop compared to what becomes possible when a group of people hold something together. The shared field reveals the intelligence beneath the surface and redistributes the load. The shared field activates the living reality of relationality that is woven into the structure of existence itself.

When enough people hold something with you, the boulder does not vanish. But it stops blocking your vision. And what you are meant to see beneath it finally emerges.

This is what happened to me yesterday. And this is why the upcoming Feral Power class on True Contact matters so deeply. True contact is not about vulnerability. It is not about being emotionally open. It is not about performance. True contact is about entering the kind of relational field where intelligence becomes visible, where distortion loosens its grip, where shared presence reveals what isolated perception cannot.

True contact is a metaphysical event.

And yesterday I was given a living experience of that truth, not because people gave me insight into my fear but because they helped me hold the field long enough for the wisdom already alive inside me to arise.

This is why we need community that is aligned with the sacred. This is why we need relational fields that can register depth. This is why we need structures that can hold the holy. Not because we are fragile (even though we certainly are at times), but because the sacred asks for right-relationship. And right-relationship requires architecture. It requires membranes. It requires containers. It requires stewardship.

This is the last thing I want to say.

If you are carrying something holy, if something sacred is arising in you, your fear may not be a sign that you are blocked. It may be the intelligence of the sacred itself calling you to build the structure it needs in order to be spoken without being distorted.

Do not confuse that intelligence with pathology. Do not assume that your fear means you are not ready. Do not treat your sensitivity as weakness. Your sensitivity may be the signal of stewardship.Your discernment may be the first gesture of devotion. And your fear may be the threshold guardian protecting what is not yet meant to be offered without a vessel.

This is the real work. This is the real contact. This is the real sacred.

This is the relational metaphysics I talk about, the very thing I have been constructing a container for in my Feral Power work. This is the terrain of True Contact. Not because yesterday was for the class, but because the class arose from the same truth that made yesterday possible.

This is the lived metaphysics of belonging, the real thing itself. Not private work, not guarded vulnerability, but enacted contact. This is what emerges in us, together, when we allow connection itself to answer.

If this is the terrain you want to explore inside a living communal field, True Contact begins Wednesday, November 12th. If you feel called to come but genuinely cannot afford it, reach out. We'll find a way.