If nothing is cast out of Presence, if we can never be separate, exile was always only a human invention.
Hello friends,
In this season, a theme has come of exile. In my clients and students, there’s a great deal of repair of familial estrangement happening.
I’ve also been in a process of looking at the dynamics of my own relationships, specifically at where there is reciprocity and flow, and where there is transaction and extraction, where to stay and repair and where to loosen ties and release.
The question arises: how can I be full in myself and not rescue, or exile, just be soft in my heart and strong in my center amidst the comings and stayings and goings. With Brahma the creator, Vishnu the sustainer AND Shiva the dissolver all present, no gripping anywhere, as it were. So I began looking at this question of exile and departure in my own life, and with a growing sense of the importance of the topic as a fractal of our warring cultures. Fundamentally, it comes to me, the act of exile between people, families and cultures is one of the roots of armed conflict.
One point I want to make in advance of the core essay is that some preferences protect a life, and distancing from actual danger is protection, not exile, and nothing in this essay should be read as an argument for returning to harm or tolerating abuse. My personal and cosmological bias is toward integration and inclusion in general. I have found this question helpful: does this distance protect a life, or punish a difference?
If you like my work, and want to join live, for community based embodied activation and study:
Fall classes are up: I’d like to invite you to join the fall Living Tantra courses. Basics & level 2 start in September. The 4 week Breathwork Course in November is a dual online and live program (with Richard Bock). The next Neo-Tantra course on Eros and Sacred Sexuality course will be held in January. More at Living Tantra Institute.
November immersion update: Adam Bauer and I are very deep in planning the November immersion, which runs November 1–22 in Hawai’i. The first two weeks are from the classical tantra teachings, the deep yogas, playful vibrant embodiment. Options include a juice detox and participation in the teaching track. The third week will lead from Adam’s expertise, a deep immersion in the I Ching, a tradition he has carried for 45 years. We have 5 rooms remaining. If you are called to this, you can join for 1, 2 or 3 weeks.
Bookmark for March, 2027: 8-day Angkor Wat (Cambodia) pilgrimage ending at the Spring Equinox, and 4-day Mystic Heart of Easter weekend in California.
Sending so much love to all of you.
Christine
The Phenomenology of Exile
A story: A few weeks before our wedding, a letter arrived from my soon-to-be husband’s father. He would not attend. He wrote to say that he had watched his son say forever twice already and found it hypocritical to witness a third round of vows. For many seasons, he wouldn’t get on the phone with his son. It felt harsh at the time, but now I see that he was just acting out his conflict programming. In the 1950s, ironically, he had been cut off by his father for an unsatisfactory-to-the-family spouse. He then refused his son’s wedding, then the son cut off a boy he raised also for loving the wrong woman. Four generations of exile. And its not just father-to-son. The husband cuts off his wives. The daughters cut off their mother. A new stepmother closes out the daughters. And so it goes.
Some families’ conflict technology is argument. Some families go silent for a week and then show up with a hot dish and an extended hand. There are those who stay present and work it out. Some families exile.
When a member disappoints, the family solves the problem by removing the person. The formerly exiled become the exilers with regularity, just copy-pasting removal.
Each severance can feel, to the one doing it, like discernment or standards, or protecting oneself from a flawed person. Exile is persuasive because it can read so much like integrity. The empty chair becomes evidence of principle rather than evidence of loss. The person who leaves becomes the person who had to leave, whose absence proves the necessity of the absence. There may be a sensation of deliberate cruelty by the exiled, but more often it’s a sense of standards upheld or a house set in order.
Underneath every one of these departures runs the same fantasy, which is that the next person will be different. The next spouse will hold the right ideas all the time. The next friend will never mirror back an uncomfortable truth.
Exile treats human flaw as a defect in the unit rather than a condition of the species, so it keeps ordering replacements, forever one relationship away from the flawless companion and forever surprised when the replacement turns out to be a person too.
A family that runs this program never develops repair, because why learn to sit in the fire of a hard conversation when you can delete the other party? The skills atrophy across generations until no one alive in the house has ever watched two people fight and stay.
The children absorb the curriculum early: love here is conditional, and the condition is performance, so be pleasing or be gone, and many of them learn to close the door first, preemptively.
Overall, conditional love can shut down the light of a person, especially the young. The constant possibility of losing love for saying or doing the wrong thing can make them risk averse and self-judging, timid and fearful and closed.
Exile happens when a person’s capacity to metabolize feeling is exceeded. Removal is the only regulation technology they have. A person with repair skills processes it in relationship: the hard conversation or the rage or the grief is allowed a scene and is resolved in connection.
A person without repair skills experiences the feeling as an emergency with no exit.
Removing the person is really an attempt to remove the feeling. It rarely works, which is why the exiled stay so present in the exiler’s inner life, but it feels like it works in the immediate term.
Underneath that, there are a few distinct engines, and different exilers run different ones.
There’s overwhelm where the nervous system has flooded past capacity.
There’s preemption where the person who has been left before, or watched leaving their whole childhood, striking first because being the banisher feels survivable and being the banished does not.
There’s identity protection: sometimes the disappointing person is a mirror, and what’s unbearable isn’t their behavior but what their existence says about the exiler’s own choices, hungers, failures.
And there’s the theological or existential engine. For some people, the whole architecture of self rests on being right. A relationship that requires holding wrongness-with-love threatens their very being. They don’t exile the person; they exile the ambiguity.
In all four, exile is a regulation strategy whose function is relief, but it presents as a moral judgment. The person who exiles is often the person with the least capacity in the room, wearing a mask of “high standards”. (PS which is why litigating the story never works as it’s not what the exile is about.)
The body of the judge
There are costs to the exiler. Each eviction feels like purification and each one shrinks the world: holidays thin, the circle tightens to the not-yet-banished, spontaneity becomes a risk. The absent ones harden into caricatures, frozen forever at the moment they became disappointing, because allowing them to have changed would require reopening the question, and judgment can’t survive an open question. Exile asks the person who performs it to remain certain, which is a kind of prison and rigidity of its own.
Judgment also has a physical posture. Anyone who’s been working with me on somatic release (or read The Body Keeps the Score, or any of Peter Levine’s work), knows how the body tells stories. To hold someone in permanent verdict, the jaw sets, the breath climbs out of the belly into the high chest and goes shallow and vigilant, the chest wall stiffens around the heart. The body maintains this contraction for as long as the sentence stands, which, in an exiling family, means decades.
The sentence you pass on others, your body serves on your own fascia, gut, immune system, the lines on your face and capacity for sleep.
Moreover, the outer exile mirrors the inner one. You cannot banish another’s messiness without first having banished your own.
Every door we seal in the world matches a door already sealed within. The work of presence and repair travel in both directions at once: every verdict you soften toward another unseals a room of your own.
The cultures of banishment
Exile in the WASP register is often rage refined into manners, the confrontation transposed into the carefully composed letter, the injury preserved under excellent posture. People don’t scream or keen here. I connect this to the unwept grief of centuries, lineages that never processed their dead and learned to pre-empt loss by controlling attachment: love thinly, judge quickly, and when a person threatens to cause you feeling, remove the person through documents and cold absences. Composure can simply be an acculturated freeze response.
I see a similar thread in communities built by the exiled, where people who had been evicted from families and churches and hometowns for being outside of “the norm” have built refuge, where the imperfect word becomes evidence of an imperfect person, and their own superiority a mask over the original hurt. The one who knows the pain of the closed door learns how to hold the key, and being the one who banishes feels safer than ever again being the one banished. Such is the voice of cancel culture.
And the list of such instances is long: A friend of mine was disfellowshipped by the Jehovah’s Witnesses, who have exile written into doctrine, down to instructions about who may greet him on the street! Another was pushed out by the Adventists in their softer register of the same rite.
Set them all side by side: the letter, the call-out, the announcement from the platform, the invitation that simply lapses without communication, the ghosting, and you are looking at an emotional Tower of Babel.
Every tribe speaks its own moral dialect, disfellowshipped, cancelled, cut off, no longer welcome in this house, each certain its own exile is sacred and everyone else’s is cruel, and none able to hear that the act underneath is identical.
So this gets me to the fact that the world we make outside is a mirror of what we hold inside, individually and collectively. Enemy-making and separation are the precursors to war and they live in the heart of each person.
The nation state runs the program
The nation is running the program too, and I will keep this brief because the pattern needs no new proof, only a wider lens. More than a quarter of Americans live estranged from a family member, and politics has become one more language in which families perform the ancient act of exile. The algorithms of social media have allowed the purification fantasy to be technologically achievable at scale. You really can build the flawless companionship of the perfectly agreeing feed, and it will narrow your life with a similar efficiency.
Democracy is a mechanism by which people who consider each other catastrophically mistaken remain in shared life and keep deciding things together, handing power back and forth on the assumption of return. The loser of this election is not banished but seated in the opposition, expected back. Democracy demands the exact skill the exiling family never teaches: repair among people who think each other wrong.
A citizenry that loses the capacity to stay at the table with the “mistaken” has lost something no constitution can restore, because the constitution assumed we could do the one thing the family that raised us never showed us.
Release is not the final answer either
There is real wisdom in putting down things that have gone out of season, or in my case people I tried to rescue, and blessing someone toward their own life, requiring nothing further of them. That is not exile. Exile is a verdict plus a removal plus a guarded door. Release is a blessing plus open ground. One says, you are banished. The other says, you are free. I don’t want to flatten that difference. But as I sat with it, I began to notice something else. I was still looking for an ending. I wanted to know the story was complete, the account settled, the relationship placed in its proper category. Even release, as I was holding it, was protective. The longing underneath was the same longing that had always animated exile: the desire to decide the future.
The emergent alternative is presence.
Exile says, you must stay gone. Enmeshment says, you must stay. Release can quietly become, now I have let you go. Three different verdicts, all trying to settle tomorrow before tomorrow arrives.
Presence has no interest in such verdicts. People change. Seasons change. The estranged daughter becomes the one who calls. The absent brother returns. The beloved who once needed an ocean of distance now needs a chair at the table.
The future keeps refusing our rulings. What I wanted was stranger, and perhaps more difficult than release, as it lives with ambiguity. I wanted a relationship with no verdict in it at all.
I have started calling it permeability.
In a permeable family, people come and go, and the coming and going means remarkably little. Distance is read as information, not as indictment. “He is far away right now” is the entire fact. It is a fact about this season, not a finding about his soul or mine. There is no gate left generously unlocked, because there is no gate. There is only open ground between sovereign people, standing at whatever distance this season requires.
If you want a measure of a family or system’s health, I would offer this one: how little it costs to repair or to come back. For the exiling operating system, a return requires confession, relitigation, and the formal reversal of a standing verdict. In a permeable one, return costs a phone call and a plane ticket.
Boundaries as scaffolding; fullness as the building
This is also where the fashionable language of boundaries began to fail me. The boundaries discourse arose for honorable reasons, and I don’t intend to hand ammunition to anyone’s intrusive relative, and I also hold boundaries in a lot of fields, especially at Sundari, to create a safe container, and sometimes that means someone goes on the Do Not Admit list. We have 15 people on that list from going on a decade of having the center, and they are all for protective reasons: peeping toms, thieves, predators, and in a couple of cases, the mentally unstable. The few people on my personal DNA fall into similar buckets, with one exception, and they are renamed in my phone to remind me of their foundational character (—-“has a wife”—-, —-“self serving”—-, —-“does not tell the truth”—-) so that I don’t override my intuition the next time around, until I don’t need the boundaries or the nick names.
But listen to the vocabulary: walls, lines, gates, defending your space, protecting your energy. The whole lexicon is territorial. It imagines the self as a small parcel of land under constant threat of trespass, and relationship as a problem of border security.
I don’t think that is our final form.
The language of boundaries emerged because generations of people had no permission to refuse anything, habituated to people pleasing, and because many people climbed into adulthood from homes where there had never been a safe no. For someone emerging from violation, collapse, or enmeshment, a stated rule is sacred technology. It is often the first experience of sovereignty.
But it is scaffolding, not the building. Boundaries exist so that something stronger can be constructed beneath them. If it remains forever, we have mistaken the means for the end.
The tradition I practice points toward another possibility: pūrṇa, or fullness. A person who is full of herself occupies her whole interior.
She is fully at home in her own body, rooted in her own experience, available to the world without being governed by it. She is neither defended nor diffuse. She doesn’t disappear into another person, nor spend her life arranging them at the proper distance.
She simply remains where she is.
Intrusion works on vacancy, and goes where you have left yourself. The manipulative comment, the guilt, the demand, the seduction all search for the little empty corner in the heart mind that is susceptible to that. When you are home in your fullness, they still arrive but they have nowhere to settle. They pass through an open pavilion.
The pavilion doesn’t need walls, only a center pole.
From that center, the “no” remains entirely available, but it is no longer a defense thrown from the perimeter. It is information arising from the center. It carries no resentment, tightness in the body or need to convince. A full-hearted no can be warm, joyful, loving. In fact, a true no is more loving than a half-hearted yes.
Fullness discovers that safety doesn’t arise from a perfect perimeter. It arises from inhabiting yourself so completely that distance becomes fluid again.
Presence measures continuously: some days love asks for an embrace. Some days it asks for an ocean. The same beloved may require both within a single year, which is happening for me, right now, and I breathe with that reality, feel the pain of that reality, and stay committed to not making it wrong.
Exile, enmeshment, and rigid boundary-making all share the same hidden impulse: they attempt to decide the future before it arrives. One sentences a person to absence forever. Another sentences them to presence forever. The third writes rules for encounters that have not yet happened. All three mistrust the intelligence of presence.
Presence makes no ruling in advance. It meets this person, on this day, in this season. The right distance does not have to be remembered because it can be discovered, effortlessly, in real time.
The deepest loss on every side is futures. We lose the versions of each other that everyone would have met, had anyone stayed long enough for the meeting. How sad this separation, in this beautiful world.
All exile is mine. It is a frequency in the human experience across space and time. But it is an illusory choice, based on separation.
The people around my table disagree with each other regularly and repair regularly, and some chairs sit empty right now — a few emptied by others and a few emptied by me, and I am still investigating what I owe those.
The chair is empty right now, but the room is larger than this absence. Those walking back across that open ground will find the metaphorical soup on the stove.
-CMM, Easton, CT, USA, Earth, July, 2026
Notes on the Tantric Cosmology Beneath This Essay
Mostly from Kṣemarāja’s Pratyabhijñāhṛdayam aka “The Heart of Recognition” (HOR), an eleventh-century text which I was fortunate enought to have studied in 2008, in Christopher Hareesh Wallis’ year-long immersion.
On exile as the primal contraction. HOR Sūtra 4: the individual perceiver is Awareness itself in contracted form, containing the whole universe in miniature (citisaṅkocātmā cetano ‘pi saṅkucita-viśvamayaḥ). The separate self, in this reading, is contraction, not severance. This is why I can write that every human exile reenacts an original one: when a father banishes a son, he is performing at the family scale what this contraction performs at the scale of a single consciousness becoming a person. The drawing of a line where, underneath, no line exists.
On concealment and grace. HOR Sūtra 10: even in the contracted state, the individual performs the five acts just as the Lord does — creation, sustenance, dissolution, concealment (tirodhāna), and grace (anugraha), scaled down from cosmos to person. The exiling family lives inside the fourth act, relationship concealed from itself behind verdict. But the fifth act is always pending: grace arrives, often through no visible mechanism, as the sudden capacity to see what was always there.
HOR Sūtra 12: not recognizing that you are the author of these five acts, you are bewildered by your own powers — and that bewilderment is the state of the bound soul. This is the exiler bewildered by his own concealing power, mistaking the verdict he authored for a fact he discovered. Leave room to be surprised by what you are discovering.
On permeability. HOR Sūtra 1: Awareness, absolutely free, is the cause of everything accomplished. HOR Sūtra 2: by her own will she unfolds the universe on the canvas of herself. Reality here isn’t a fixed structure defended against intrusion but a freedom continuously exercising itself. A fixed verdict is a metaphysical error because it tries to arrest what is, by its own nature, will in motion.
On the return as recognition. HOR Sūtra 13: when recognition dawns, the mind itself turns inward and ascends to the status of Awareness. Nothing acquired, everything recognized. This is why return, in a permeable field, costs so little: nothing must be reversed, confessed, or relitigated, because nothing essential was severed to begin with.
On embodiment and breath. Vijñāna Bhairava Tantra Verses 24–25 direct attention to the pause at either end of the breath, where the outbreath turns to come back in and the inbreath turns to go back out. This is my favorite of the practices in the sense that it is SO accessible. The tradition's name for what discloses itself in that pause is bharita sthiti or the filled state, the same fullness Kṣemarāja's sūtra 17 locates in the expansion of the center. The unclenching of the jaw and the descent of the breath aren't only nervous-system hygiene, in other words; the texts treat the breath's own pauses as a standing invitation back into fullness.
On fullness. Sūtra 17: from the expansion of the center comes the attainment of the bliss of Awareness (madhya-vikāsāc cid-ānanda-lābhaḥ). The text closes, in sūtra 20, on pūrṇāhantā (perfect I-ness) describing entry into it as the potency of the great mantra whose essence is the joy of the Light of Consciousness.
On the three deities. Brahma/Vishnu/Shiva as creator/sustainer/dissolver is pan- Hindu theology. The Śaiva tradition’s version of this triad is the five acts above, which place creation, sustenance, and dissolution alongside concealment and grace.
On the heart. Hṛdaya is the Heart as the seat where apparent opposites resolve without contradiction, for example, capable of harm and not reducible to it, beloved and absent, wrong and welcome. A verdict, in this frame, is what the mind produces when it cannot reach the Heart.
If you want to read the original texts:
The Heart of Recognition: Pratyabhijñāhṛdayam (प्रत्यभिज्ञाहृदयम्) is one of the central texts of Kashmir Śaivism, written by Kṣemarāja in the 11th century.
The Recognition Sutras Christopher Wallis (accessible translation and commentary).
Pratyabhijñāhṛdayam: The Secret of Self-Recognition (Jaideva Singh’s scholarly translation, Sanskrit text with English translation).
Practices for Recognizing Consciousness: 112 contemplative doorways into recognizing the ever-present nature of awareness
Vijnana Bhairava or Divine Consciousness: Jaideva Singh’s direct-from-Sanskrit translation of the VBT’s 112 dharanas, the standard-numbering reference edition.
A Translation of the Vijñāna-bhairava-tantra (complete, no commentary) Christopher (Hareesh) Wallis’s working translation of the full VBT text., coming soon in full form. Also an app now: Tantra 112.
Wallis’ Concordance to the VBT (VERY helpful)
The Radiance Sutras: Lorin Roche’s popular, poetic free rendering of the VBT’s 112 gateways. Not a direct Sanskrit translation, own numbering scheme.
Divine Presence from which we are never separate. Hard conversations can happen in relationship with respect and curiosity. We learn we can disappoint and disagree and still belong. Repair is our common tongue. Every person is brave enough to look inside themselves, and see what needs to be seen, nothing excluded. Our bodies are loose and supple from non-judgment, hearts are open with nothing left to guard. We are full of ourselves, centered in the heart, needing no perimeter: free to love without rescuing, to refuse without hardening. We let the right distance arise for this day, this person, this season. Grace arises in our willingness to be present with all of it. And so it is.
Loved reading this today. Thank you.