The Skin of Us

Stories for Thriving
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Our skin protects us. That’s primal. That’s non-negotiable. Without it, we die. You can lose limbs and still survive. But lose your skin? There’s nothing left to keep the world out—or to keep you in.

Same goes for a cell. Each of our trillions of cells has a membrane. That boundary lets in what nourishes and keeps out what would destroy. No membrane, no life. Full stop.

And yet, somehow, when it comes to human behavior—how we relate, how we gather—we forget this. We act like the human “we” should be boundless, all-accepting, open to everyone and everything. But let’s be real: if you took everything into your body, you’d die. The fantasy of infinite inclusion is a lovely idea… and totally disconnected from how life works.

Every we-space—whether it’s a pair bond, a family, a neighborhood, or an entire culture—needs its version of skin. A divine filter. Something sacred and savvy that says, “Yes, this belongs here,” and “No, this does not.”

Think of a quiet space—a sanctuary for deep reflection. What happens when someone brings a drum? Maybe they’re certain in their heart it will add to the energy, offer a heartbeat to the stillness. Bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum. But for those who came seeking silence, that beat may feel like a rupture. Suddenly, the skin of that we-space has been pierced.

We need filters. Spoken ones, unspoken ones. Agreed-upon behaviors and energetic agreements—some written, some woven silently into the air. Whether we admit it or not, every space does this: allows, tolerates, excludes. Not because we’re bad or exclusive, but because we’re alive. Because thriving requires discernment.

I used to resist this. Part of me still does. I crave freedom. Total, unboundaried, capital-F Freedom. But then that little voice in me goes, “We should be free,” and I hear the lie hidden in the “should.” It’s a trap—a Magical Misconception that ignores the structure of life.

Reality? We either steward the “we” space and do a decent job—hell, a B-plus job—of honoring its purpose and protecting its aliveness… or it disintegrates. Just like a cell without a wall. Just like a human without skin.

It’s not harsh. It’s not cruel. It’s just how energy works. Over time, we’ve evolved not just to survive, but to cohere. And thriving—true thriving—builds on that. It says, yes, survival comes first. Skin comes first. But then… what textures of aliveness do we welcome? What interactions delight the skin of us? What contact brings us alive, and what makes our skin crawl?

Because our skin feels. It offers joy, warning, pleasure, boundaries. Rub up against another’s skin and you may feel connection—or repulsion. Our skin teaches us Divine Filtering. That sacred “yes,” that grounded “no.” A little is delicious. Too much is too much. And all of this is holy. It’s the wisdom of being alive.

So let’s bless our membranes. Let’s stop pretending every space should include everyone. Let’s get Savvy. Who’s this space for? What energy is it cultivating? What belongs, what doesn’t, what’s tolerated, and what is expelled?

That’s not exclusion. That’s life.

If we can accept that every we-space needs a membrane—needs clarity, purpose, and tending—we stop pretending, and we start thriving.

Not just surviving.

Thriving.

Together.
Skin to skin.
Soul to soul.
Alive and aware.

Useful Concepts for Thriving in This Story

  • Divine Filtering
    Divine Filtering helps us attune to what truly belongs—and keep out what depletes or distorts our thriving.

  • We-Space
    A We-Space is sacred terrain where collective care, connection, and co-creation unfold.

  • Savvy
    Savvy blends practical wisdom and emotional intelligence to navigate complexity with clarity.

  • Stewardship
    Stewardship calls us to tend to the energy of our spaces so they nourish and protect what matters most.

  • Magical Misconceptions
    Magical Misconceptions cloud our vision with unrealistic ideals that ignore how life actually works.

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Skin as Sacred Threshold

  • Every living being survives through a membrane—a boundary that both protects and allows. This is not optional; it is elemental.
  • When we forget this in our human relating, we invite harm, not harmony. To take everything in without discernment is not generous—it’s lethal.
  • Boundaries are not barriers to love; they are conditions for aliveness. They shape what can thrive within.

The Fantasy of Infinite Inclusion

  • The dream of boundless openness can become a subtle violence—against our own nervous systems, our relationships, our collective spaces.
  • Inclusion without discernment becomes chaos, not connection. It flattens the sacred differences between silence and sound, intimacy and intrusion.
  • To honor a space is to ask: What does this space need to be true to itself? Not everyone. Not everything. But this.

Discernment is Devotion

  • True care asks us to filter—not to judge with cruelty, but to listen with precision.
  • Discernment is not about exclusion out of fear; it’s inclusion of what nourishes, in fidelity to the space’s soul.
  • We can bless the drum and ask for silence. These are not opposites. They are different devotions.

The Lie of the “Should”

  • Freedom becomes a trap when it forgets form. The voice that says “We should be open to all” ignores the wisdom of skin.
  • We often inherit ideals that sound noble but are disconnected from how life actually functions.
  • Tension arises when we crave openness while also needing boundaries—and in this tension, deeper truth can emerge.

Stewardship over Collapse

  • Without conscious tending, a we-space will dissolve. Just like a cell without a wall. Just like a body without skin.
  • To steward is to take responsibility for what lives here—for how the space breathes, digests, heals, and dances.
  • A Be+ job at care is enough. Perfection isn’t required. But presence is.

Sensation as Compass

  • Skin speaks. It tingles, recoils, softens, tightens. This is information. This is wisdom.
  • What feels delicious to one may feel invasive to another. Our job is not to deny the feeling, but to honor the signal.
  • Our skin teaches us the holy art of “just enough.” A sacred yes. A grounded no.

The Holy Work of Tending We-Spaces

  • Every we-space—dyad, group, community—needs clarity: Who is this for? What is it cultivating?
  • Silence can be a sacred boundary. So can laughter, agreements, rituals, tone.
  • Let’s stop pretending we’re bad for setting terms. Life requires this. It is not cruelty. It is design.

Thriving Together

  • Aliveness doesn’t mean more, more, more. It means right texture, right tempo, right touch.
  • When we steward the membrane of a space, we protect its purpose—and our shared capacity to connect, create, and heal.
  • Not everyone belongs everywhere. And that’s not unkind—it’s true.
  • To thrive is to live with integrity, not just breath. To honor what nourishes us. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. Alive and aware.