Blessed are the few…

Blessed be the gentle ones who love too fiercely,

Accept too easily

And hope endlessly.

The ones torn between duty and love

Or responsibility and passion

The ones who sacrifice quietly

But celebrate others loudly

The ones who when sad

Find joy in making others smile

Who serve willingly

But expect none in return

Blessed be they,

For they are the whispers of the heavenly breeze

Amidst the howling dogs.


A bitter ache

Just as beauty is born of love, so too is bitterness born of loss.

I wonder what of the troubles of this world is caused by broken hearts, rather than wilful greed?

It is the sense of loss, or inadequacy in the eyes of those most cherished, that our worst behaviour comes to the fore.

But there is value even in that.

If not for still holding on to hope, such an expression of rage or harm would not have any purpose.

It is only when we still have hope of our pain being consequential that we choose to share our discontent with the world.

Therefore, it is not the raging lunatic that is most hurt, but the silent one who has no hope of being seen.

Sometimes their silence is the build up to the storm of destruction that they need to unleash in their final attempt to be heard.

But often, it’s the abandonment of dreams that perhaps the world really needed.

#hope #hopeless #love #loss #abandonment #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthrecovery #selfworth #mybeloved #selflove #selfawareness #selfrespect #mindfulness #zaidismail #anincompletelovestory

A brain dump

The irony of a brain dump lies in the fact that it is my search for my brain that leads me to want to dump what distracts me from its use. Distraction creeps up, sometimes slowly with warning, but sometimes with devilish bravado unseating my senses and leaving me gasping for reality.

Reality has never been a friend of mine. Each time I thought we were getting along, it slapped me in my face with a boulder. Not even a rock. As if a need to prove to me that living life in full measures means that life can only ever respond in kind. Kind. Now there’s a quaint notion that I hope to experience at some point.

I find myself caught at the curious juncture of being invisible while simultaneously lacking the benefit of anonymity. It means that I can do nothing worth noting without my efforts being dismissed, while having a keen focus on everything I do that may be judged to be lacking. It echoes in terse tones my relationship with society for almost half a century.

Someone guessed my age recently. They assumed me to be 30, instead of 50. Perhaps I did experience a kindness after all. But, they weren’t significant to the outcome of my life, so their generous gesture was lost against the rumbling of the thunder that was beckoning the next storm that threatened to roll over me.

Crescendos of joy quickly obliterate the years of struggle. And the years of struggle return in anguished chants, mocking my half-smiles when that joy is unceremoniously ripped away. The vagueness of expression, at least, appears to offer me the comforts of an old friend. Pathetically, my oldest friend is a writing tool and not a being.

Self-deprecation is such a luxury. I marvel at the possibility of being able to abandon life while indulging my self-loathing, oblivious to the unfulfilled duties and privileges that others have claimed. My fixation on fulfilling the same has left little room for claiming what I need. Even when I do, my attempts are so feeble that it lacks any convincing.

The lock down has tested my philosophies and my resolve. Both have passed, despite neither serving me. It only ever serves others whom I cherish, but never me. I suspect I need to rethink my belief that the purpose of life is to serve others, and in such servitude we shall find joy. I think I missed something important in that. Of course, it’s difficult to convince myself of this being an erroneous philosophy because the joy I’ve experienced in serving that elusive significant other has rewarded me with a joy so divinely sublime, its fleeting moments serve to torment me for the rest of my life. Each expired second since it flitted by has in itself been a lifetime of torture.

Love is for fools who have hope, live with hope, and believe in hope. Guilty on all counts. Only, when you live as precariously as I do, interpreting a love such as this becomes a mystery of its own. It’s the kind that cherishes deeply, loves intensely, holds endearingly, but releases gently. It’s the release that I need to work on. Perhaps if I didn’t make it so comfortable I may have more than a fleeting moment of divinely sublime joy.

Divinely sublime. The divinity and the sublimation both beyond the view of the one who offers it. It’s a twisted tale of contorted cynicism that life has heaved at me in buckets, or more likely troughs. It is my grasp on the subtlety of beauty, or the hints of romance that breathe between her pauses and between her aches that horror has imposed. My subject of beauty focused on the horror, while I, in my romantic notions, caress with care the breaths and the pauses, seeing in her the divine where she only sees the pain.

It’s a dance with destiny, with two left feet. Me being ill-footed while destiny laughs mockingly at my attempts to courts its lustrous beauty. I recede, full of angst, full of despair, but filled with joy in a conflicting sway of emotional upheaval that celebrates my ability to connect with the beauty that is so well hidden, while succumbing to the demands of the one who hides it.

A brain dump, or a heart dump. The two are so intricately woven into the being of me that attempting to discern between them is as foolhardy as my hope of fully embracing the beauty that I see. Just there. Within my grasp, but out of reach. Like a mirage, it demands that I revisit moments past, not retracting my hand, fear driving my reach, while hope connecting my sight. Until it is in hand, it remains elusive. A mirage. But so real that letting go is impossible, while holding on is prohibited.

As I slide further down this slope that extends from the recesses of my being, my efforts to dump that which clutters my thoughts only reveals the beautiful prose of life that it harbours. My contempt for it yet again misplaced, as I realise that I grew loathsome towards it for distracting me from my purposeful endeavours, while denying the reality that such endeavours were the distractions I needed to cope with the absence of what I buried so deeply.

Once allowed into that haloed space, it can never be released. Only peered at quietly and solemnly in secret. It will only ever again be revealed to the one who reached its alcove without even knowing. Such is the miracle of two, cut from one. So natural is their embrace that the ease with which it satiates the thirst of the souls leaves no scarring, or evidence of its visit. Only the quiet confidence it instils in empowering the hesitant decisions that have long since lost relevance. But relevance is defined by what is yet to be reconciled. It is in such reconciliation of the hurts of the past that the present in discarded, and the future laid to waste.

But hope. If not for hope harboured by the jaded fool who courts its pleasures far beyond its graveyards of happiness, the discarded gifts would forever leave the future wasted, and the past honoured. It is the jaded fool that disregards such constructs of nature. It is the jaded fool that seeks the divinely sublime, despite the backdrop of horror that threatens to disembowel any attempts to be glorious beyond the measures of the past. It is the jaded fool that resurrects the romance that love courts, or the love that romance beckons. If not for this fool, much will be spent in futility.

Some believe this to be the words of a writer. One who is perhaps endowed with the ability to express what others struggle to contemplate. However, it is more truthful to note that these words are of the one who pains to express clearly the lyrics of his soul, in the hope that its mate will pause for long enough to see the truth of what can be.

[If you’ve read all the way to this point, I am duly impressed and saddened. For anyone to connect with these words, you must first connect with my pain. Blessed be the gentle ones who love too fiercely, accept too easily, and hope with futility.]

It’s not always betrayal

Betrayal is not always a result of harsh words, lies, or cruel action.

I’ve found that the deepest cuts were always from the silence when words were needed, the restrained sincerity when an embrace was called for, or inaction from those when I looked expectantly towards them while recalling the times they drew on my energy in the moments when I barely had enough to sustain my own spirit.

And I often wonder how many may look at me and feel the same way.

We’re often so focused on what we’re not getting from others, that we don’t pause to consider what they may not be getting from us either.

#mindfulness #inspiration #introspection #reflection #ownyourshit #ownyourlife #theegosystem #embracingME #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthrecovery #selfworth #selflove #selfawareness #selfrespect #zaidismail

The impossible dream

When home is elusive, the world feels ominous.

A journey to a place you’ve never been holds the promise of peace, despite never having known what peace feels like.

It’s a cry of the soul, in tones and words that no one seems to understand.

But you keep crying, and you keep trying, because something deep inside convinces you that there must be more than this.

If only it was possible to know why this never felt enough, it would be so much easier to figure out why home is still worth searching for.

The impossible dream that is too important to abandon, but too wholesome to feel worthy of it.

It truly is a long longing, for something we imagine would finally reach the deep, dark recesses of our being, and offer it the light it has been yearning since our first breath.

Will the yearning remain even after our last breath?

Or is hope for fools who dare to dream despite living a recurrent nightmare?

#hope #expectation #dreams #whatdreamsmaycome #home #peace #rest #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthrecovery #selfworth #selflove #selfawareness #selfrespect #mindfulness #inspiration #zaidismail #mybeloved #depression #suicide #ownyourshit #ownyourlife #theegosystem #embracingME

In celebration of women

On this Women’s Day, here’s a message to the men out there.

If you have that special someone to share this day with, consider yourself blessed. Women don’t love selflessly unless they commit fully.

If their passion scares you, don’t grow defensive or feel threatened. Draw strength from them. They see in you what you don’t see in yourself.

They see you beyond the failures of your past, or your feelings of inadequacy in your role as a father, brother, son, or husband.

When they inspire you to be more than you are, it’s not because they think you’re not good enough. It’s because they believe that you’re worth so much more. And they want you to be all you can be.

It’s not weakness to show your heart to her. Weakness is found in protecting yourself from being discovered because you are afraid of not being good enough.

When you protect yourself from rejection, you deny yourself growth. When you deny yourself growth, you deny yourself the fulfilment of embracing the very love and companionship that you desire in life.

A woman is driven innately to nurture, and nurturing automatically inspires growth. So perhaps the tension between you and your partner is because she sees how much more you can be together, and you’re afraid to embrace that reality from fear of not being able to make the cut.

I know of men that would kill a bull to be in your position. And if you find it difficult to understand her, try to understand the men she had in her life before you. Including her father, or other male figures. The ones who treated her badly, or denied her a voice.

The sad reality is that there are a few good men who have to bear the burden of the many who have lost themselves to the ego of society.

I hope you choose to be part of the few. If you choose this, you will have the best of what this world has to offer by way of companionship and fulfilment of purpose.

To love, without restraint, and to be loved in return, is the greatest gift. Don’t deny yourself this gift by protecting yourself from a weakness that only you believe in.

And to the women, don’t stop believing in yourself. But recognise that when you judge a man by the standard of those who came before him, you have yet to fully heal from the harshness of your past. Don’t make a good man bad by holding him accountable for something that he had no part in.

And men…don’t make a good woman bad by expecting her to make up for the gentleness and compassion that you were denied by those who came before her. Including your parents.

Cherish each other…and gaze upon each other in the same way that you want to be seen. Anything less is an injustice to your soul, and to the beauty that is waiting to bloom between you and your partner.

Have a blessed Women’s Day.

Zaid Ismail
Author | Life Coach

#women #womensday2020 #mybeloved #companionship #relationshipgoals