I want to share a deeply human moment from my time at a shibari immersion — an experience that stretched me, humbled me, and reminded me of the power of presence and repair.
On the drive up, I was chatting with a friend who wished me well. He said, “I hope it’s everything that you want — and I hope there’s also something unexpected that emerges for you.” That prayer lingered with me as I entered the space, a gentle reminder to remain open to both intention and surprise.
In the immersion, I was tying with a rigger for the first time. If you know me, you know that usually I am quite reserved and choosy about pick-up play and new scenes. I am sensitive, and I put a lot of emphasis on meaning. Creating in this scene required me to lean into vulnerability in ways that felt beautiful, powerful, sacred and intentional.
During the scene, the yurt was full — about fifteen people witnessing, and three other rope scenes happening simultaneously. My face was hooded and wrapped in rope, fully immersed in presence and trust.
And then — someone outside of our scene, stepping through the room to a seat behind our suspension rig, accidentally kicked me in the face.
I was shocked and confused. Immediately, I felt waves of emotion passing through me. I was holding my breath between tides of tension and a deep sting of carelessness and disrespect. My precious body, so carefully offered to this practice of surrender, especially in front of so many witnesses, stung sharply. For a moment, I could feel my old patterns wanting to protect me by disconnecting or withdrawing. Immobilized in rope and shrouded in cloth, I felt myself praying to disappear entirely.
But instead of closing down, I paused. I breathed. I stayed present — with my partner, with my body, and within the scene. I let round tears well and fall. I noticed how my body carried memories, how attention traced old echoes of harm, and yet also how presence could transform them. I could see this narrow path glimmering in golden light — the path of compassion, forgiveness, understanding, respect.
Afterward, I approached the person who had kicked me. I could see her fear and shame, and I told her, “You’re not in trouble. I’m not mad at you. You’re not in trouble. I’m not mad at you. Accidents happen.” I was committed to interrupt the cycle of hurt, and to create space for understanding and repair.
In closing this conversation, my prayer was simple: may this experience bring us only closer together. From rupture into repair, from carelessness into connection, from fear into trust, we all carry the ability to transform.
This experience reminded me that even in intentional spaces, harm can occur. What matters is what we do with it — how we show up for ourselves and for each other, how we bring accountability and care, and how we allow repair to deepen intimacy, trust, and meaning.
Even as someone who is sensitive and reserved, I can choose presence over protection, repair over withdrawal, and allow unexpected ruptures to become bridges to deeper connection. I am reminded that this world is wild and unpredictable, that these bodies are both fragile and resilient, and that at any moment, may we always hold fiercely on to our capacity to choose.
