A Beautiful Mess

The last year has been a beautiful mess. It has been a year of pushing boundaries and testing long-held truths. People, relationships, skills, passions, and even hobbies all came under close scrutiny as I peeled away the layers of assumptions that coated them over the years to test whether they still served me well, or at all.

I tested my hand at mindful living, more so at carving my own path through the forest and the lessons that I learnt along the way, most of which are still incomplete, have unlocked new realities and resurfaced old joys. My sense of self continues to evolve, almost on a daily basis. Accepting a truth about my reality on one day seems foolhardy or delusional on another. But in between it all there has been a lightness in my steps that has been absent from my gait for decades.

I lost myself to life over the decades. Courting authenticity with a naive mind can be taxing and expensive. Living out my convictions has increased the isolation around me. Only, it’s an isolation that holds much peace despite the loneliness that it threatens to share. The peace is the absence of expectations, except for the moments that the capitalist structures around me tear away at my being through the yoke that still weighs down on my shoulders. The realisation that what feeds the soul doesn’t feed the belly intensifies each day.

Uplifting quotes or extended hands to those that find relief in its offering falls short of its reciprocation of upliftment. The multitude of needy hands reaching out while their eyes look defiantly away cuts short any embrace that might once have offered some fulfillment. Fulfillment has been replaced by servitude and servitude proves to be no more than a payment of debt. Social debts and divine rights are pervasive. Harmony and a divine handhold not so much.

The unbeaten path always promised solitude. Perhaps that is the only promise that has been fulfilled. Everything else carries with it the weight of expectation or reciprocation. Distractions and virtual embraces offer more comfort than the distracted ones around us. Do we connect virtually because we see each other more clearly without the social stigmas and classes present, or do we connect virtually because it is the only connection that is accessible?

I no longer serve the social structures that I once courted, and along with it gave up any hope of finding the support that this new life demands I have. This used to be a cryptic space but I’ve realised that any confusion or mystery resulted only from my hope that there was more to be enjoyed, or acquired. Seeing the social constructs for what they are leaves little room for expectation, or even hope. Hope is only relevant in a symbiotic relationship, not a cannibalistic mutually exclusive one. Such has been the interaction between society and I for as long as life has held any promise beyond the immediate breath. Serving the divine is all that keeps me tethered to such contracts.

This beautiful mess is the freedom that such realisations and independence endows. The absence of belonging and only the belonging to absence. It once seemed so vapid in its concept but has proven to be utterly grounding in its experience.

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