Friday Care Package | The Care of Noticing
When we notice, we care; when we care, we notice.
Friday Care Package | The Care of Noticing
“To pay attention is to love.” —James Baldwin
Beloveds,
Care begins in the smallest gesture of attention. In the quiet act of noticing.
Whether by sight, by hearing, or by that subterranean sensing our ancestors passed down to us—when we notice, we care; when we care, we notice. Every act of attention is an act of devotion. Every moment of attunement is a soft refusal of the world that asks us to be numb, distracted, overextended, or obedient to the logics that harm us. This soft refusal is sacred.
When we slow down enough to silence the noise of the world, we begin to hear the faint frequency of our own sacred hum. We begin to hear the body whisper truths we’ve been too busy—or too afraid—to metabolize. We begin to hear the old stories that shaped us, and the new stories asking to be born. This is the practice of noticing: a way of tending, a way of care, a way of returning home to ourselves.
We are living in a time where everything feels like rupture—political rupture, ecological rupture, interpersonal rupture, spiritual rupture. The speed of empire is always pushing us toward dislocated fragmentation. White supremacy colonizes not only land and futures but breath, time, imagination, and the neuronal pathways of how we learn to perceive ourselves. It makes us forget the subtle signals—tight jaw, shallow breath, quickened heartbeat, that tiny ache beneath the sternum—that try to tell us when something is wrong, or when something is emerging, or when something is longing to be held.
Care is not only something we give away.
It is something we must return to ourselves—regularly, rhythmically—so that we learn how to listen for our own becoming. So that we learn to trust the signals our bodies send before the world drowns them out. So that we can interrupt the colonial demand to power through, to “push past,” to override our thresholds. To compost the eloquent rage and anger we embody, because of social conditioning.
Notice how the body tells the truth even when the mouth cannot.
Notice how the heart beats differently when it is safe.
Notice how the nervous system settles when it is believed.
Notice how the shoulders lower when we no longer have to pretend.
These are small miracles of attention. These are forms of care.
And beloved, this noticing—this gentle turning toward oneself—is not selfish. It is sacred. Because when we attune to ourselves, we become more available to each other. When we listen inwardly, we build the musculature to listen outwardly. When we learn to honor our inner signals, we learn how to honor the signals of the people we love—partners, chosen kin, community, strangers in crisis, the land, the creatures, the ancestors. Noticing is a widening practice. It stretches us toward relational honesty, toward radical tenderness, toward an ethic of accountability that can actually hold weight.
Right now, social repair is the work that must be prioritized.
Repairing trust. Repairing presence. Repairing our own fractured attention.
Repairing the relationships that make our survival possible.
We cannot do the work of social repair if we cannot notice ourselves.
We cannot build transformative relationships if we cannot feel our own thresholds.
We cannot practice liberation if we cannot honor the hum beneath the chaos.
Care begins with noticing.
Noticing becomes attunement.
Attunement becomes relationship.
Relationship becomes repair.
And repair—beloveds—is how we materialize harmony and peace in real time.
This is the slow work.
This is the beautiful work.
This is the unglamorous, everyday, sacred labor of our becoming.
May you notice one small thing today—a sound, a sensation, a shift in breath—and treat it as a holy visitor.
May you listen long enough to learn something true.
May you turn toward yourself with the same gentleness you offer others.
And may this turning open worlds.
Paz y ternura,
RCE+
🫶🏽 Field Practice Guide: Four Ways to Practice the Care of Noticing
A somatic toolkit for a revolution of togetherness
These practices are invitations—simple, accessible, rooted in the body, and oriented toward the collective repair we are building together. They are meant to be done gently, without urgency, as a way of returning to your sacred hum and allowing that hum to guide you back into relationship with self, others, and the world. These are the practices that I do on the regular, as I continue to lean into Experiential ways of healing and heeling. Embodied resilience is then way thru.
1. Breath as Covenant (5 minutes)
Sit or lie down comfortably.
Place one hand on your heart, one on your belly.
Take a slow breath in through your nose and exhale through your mouth.
Do this five times.
As you breathe, notice which hand rises first.
If your chest rises first, whisper: “I’m learning to soften.”
If your belly rises first, whisper: “I am safe enough to be here.”
This is a practice of covenant-making—with your own aliveness. Breath reorients us toward presence, toward truth-telling, toward the slow revolution of caring for ourselves so we can care for each other.
2. Micro-Attention Walk (10 minutes)
Take a short walk—outside if possible.
Walk slowly, slower than feels natural.
With each step, choose one thing to notice:
the pressure of your heel meeting the ground
the sound of your feet
colors you haven’t seen before
movement at the periphery of vision
breath as it shifts with your pace
This micro-attention is a counter-ritual to the speed of empire.
It rewires your senses toward presence, tenderness, and connection.
It trains your body to notice what is real rather than what is demanded.
3. The Gesture of Togetherness (3 minutes)
Sit quietly and bring someone to mind—someone you are in relationship with, or someone you are trying to repair with.
Notice what happens in your body as their face appears.
Do not judge what arises.
Just notice: a tightening, a warmth, a pulse, a breath held or released.
Then ask your body, not your mind:
“What is one small gesture of togetherness I can offer them this weekend?”
It could be a text, a blessing whispered in their direction, lighting a candle, sending a photo of something beautiful, or holding them in silence for one minute.
This is somatic abolitionism in practice.
Repair begins in the body long before it arrives in language.
4. The Sacred Hum Listening Post (5–7 minutes)
Set a timer for 5–7 minutes.
Sit or lie down.
Place your hands anywhere that feels grounding.
Ask yourself:
“Where in my body is my sacred hum today?”
It may be in your chest, your throat, your lower belly, your palms, your jaw, the back of your neck.
It may feel like vibration, warmth, pressure, spaciousness, or a faint pulsing.
Just listen.
Do not interpret.
Do not push it away.
Your sacred hum is your compass, your guide, your fugitive intelligence. It is the part of you that has survived everything and still seeks connection. Listening to it is an act of resistance, of decolonization, of remembering your inherent belonging.
Closing Blessing for the Practice
May your noticing be soft.
May your breath be a teacher.
May your gestures weave the fabric of togetherness.
May your sacred hum guide you toward the revolution we are already building.
Paz y ternura,
Roberto+