With fear comes sensitivity

By Kanika Frings


It sure has been a sensitive month.

Writing about it, exposing it, as i am feeling sensitive, feels sensitive in itself.


Sensitivity seems to have so many aspects and facets, nooks and crannies to it, that it is hard to captivate them all in a short article. There is sensitivity in physical touch or peril, or in connection and relation to other beings. You have sensitivity in terms of tactfulness, like appropriate responsiveness, diplomacy or simply a perceived vulnerability or compassion in oneself, another, a thing or a situation. And the list goes on….


So i will talk about the one that has been most present for me in the past month, and possibly one of the most common companions of this particular sensation called sensitivity: fear.


I have rarely experienced fear as I have this July. Basic, primal, irrational fear. I had no idea where it came from and how exactly it had manifested itself so deeply in my being, but I do know that it has been there, lying dormant, for a very long time, and that feeling it is a necessity at this point in time, a needed next step in order to experience life more fully.

Just as Alan Watts has pointed out “we cannot be more sensitive to pleasure, without being more sensitive to pain.” It seems to make sense these days.


In the day time it would subtly creep up on me, a distant buzzing consistently reminding me of its presence, sharpening my senses as if my body was preparing for great danger on an instinctual level.

At night it would just wash over and through me uninhibited, with no conscious reason or rationality available for me to make sense of it or “get a grip on”.

All i could do was letting it pass through me, sometimes as a watcher with distance to its force, sometimes in it´s midst, being bashed and battered by the dark and the unknown.


The basic flavour is a trembling, desperate terror of death, of solitude and of loosing control.

I am sure many have experience it.

It is a feeling that strips us of all concepts and attained knowledge we have gathered in the vain pursuit of a construct that provides us with a feeling of safety, that allow us the momentary notion of immortality and sanity.

It´s a sensation that leaves you feeling raw and naked and incredibly sensitive.


The mornings are the hardest. Waking up as if climbing out of a washing machine, not quite certain where is up or down. Which is dream and which is reality.

Slowly, slowly the world pieces itself together again, leaving a fragile and dubious version of what you had previously known it to be.


And so I face the day, the commune, the people that are around me, the work that needs to be done. Delicately and sensitively I go about my business.

There is no alternative, no hiding from myself, no running away from the daylight or the care and scrutiny of those I meet.

It is a naked and open space to be in, one that needs much awareness and also sensitivity to navigate through.

It is so easy to harden to its softness, to pretend all is well, or overrun it´s delicacy and hide its weakness.


And often enough I do, I close to it, I project it outwards or look the other way, because it is the only way I know how to face the day with such sensitivity.

And sometimes I manage to simply be with the shaking and the limbo, surrendering to this profound uncertainty, as I chop the vegetables and sweep the floor.

Then I feel the sweetness and beauty in this vulnerability and ravel in the immense space created by just letting go of wanting to change, understand or control it.


Being exposed in sensitivity often makes us feel scared and vulnerable and therefor defensive. Living in a commune can therefor be a challenge when we are not feeling at our best.

At DIMA we have all been there and experienced the difficulties as well as the gifts of feeling equally violable and held by the open field we live in.

Of course everyone can relate to this feeling. Most people tend to become introvert and reclusive when feeling sensitive and sometimes it is just what is needed, to retreat, so we can lick our wounds or gather out wits.


Either way, I find being sensitive is also always a tender invitation to meet life unfiltered, honestly. In its splendidness and with its suffering. It is a sensation that seems to somehow engulf the entire, colourful spectrum of being human.


There is no denying it, comfortable or not, sensitivity is utterly alive.


with love,