Category: Love

  • The personification of madness

    The personification of madness

    Perspective, when shared, provides a sense of sanity and inclusion.

    It convinces us that what we see is not a figment of our imagination, and therefore must be real.

    Perception is what convinces us of our place in this world. It suggests that we belong in spaces where others see what we see.

    Madness, is therefore the absence of such a shared perception.

    Madness is what we feel when we search for familiarity in what appears obvious to us, or at least, what we wish others would see because of the beauty or the pain that it offers.

    Not finding such familiarity isolates us in our own reality, leaving us questioning our grasp on what we once believed to be true.

    Thus, the sane begin to appear insane, and the source of our sanity begins to feel like the source of our insanity.

    Reality doesn’t exist. Only perception does.

    The more we find others who hold a similar grasp of what we’re experiencing, what beauty we see in others, or what horror we see in the vile, the more comforted we feel about the experiences of our lives.

    In the absence of such familiarity, insanity draws nearer as we question what we once were convinced to be an absolute truth, the sanctity of which we cannot even dare to think of abandoning.

    It is at that moment that it feels like the world has gone mad, and that there just isn’t enough of us left to resurrect its sanity.

    Perception, therefore, is what makes or breaks a life. Those who are skilled at holding on to their perception despite the reality around them conflicting with their perception, are the ones who ultimately appear insane.

    It’s all relative. Until we try to understand that relativity, kindness will forever be elusive.

    Photo info : A shipwreck in Cape Town that has often resonated with my perception of life. Firmly grounded in the earth, the relentless waves of madness around it, staring defiantly at the incessant storms that approach. Madness personified.

  • All that matters is right now…

    All that matters is right now…

    Reminiscing about the good old days becomes a toxic trait when it distracts us from what we have now.

    Our distracted state is what causes us to lose sight of what we have, so that at some future point, we may once more reminisce about what was.

    Such an indulgence, when done in excess, convinces us that the best is over, leaving the future barren, with no inclination on our part to find opportunity for new growth, and greater joys.

    Gratitude about the present moment is a result of appreciating what the past has contributed towards what we have, while reflecting on this inspires us about the possibility of what is to come.

    At some point, we need to realise that this moment, right now, is the past that will create our present moment in the future.

    Think about it. We’re so busy thinking of how good things once were, that we don’t realise that all we’re doing is giving ourselves reason to sit at some point in the future contemplating how much of our past was spent reminiscing about the past that came before that.

    Sounds ludicrous? It is, because that’s how ludicrous it is when we abandon the future because we chose to hold on to the bitterness of the past.

    The past, no matter how bad, does not dictate what the future holds. It only ever gives us a point of reference as to how much better things can be, and should be.

    Breathe, beloved…breathe…and release the toxins of the past with every exhalation, so that you create space for the promise of joy that the future holds.

  • Have a little faith

    Have a little faith

    Believing is not the same as faith. At least not in the way that I experience it.

    When I believe in something, it’s because I’ve attached evidence from previous experiences that convince me that what I believe to be true is probably true.

    While there is an element of faith to that, its not really faith. It’s more a belief based on deduction.

    Faith comes in when the evidence may conflict with the belief, but because everything we know to be true about it makes it impossible to believe anything else, it’s then that we develop the faith in believing that somehow, some way, the outcome is still possible.

    This is especially true when everything tells you that it’s impossible.

    Of course faith of a divine nature is different. But the above approach to faith is what determines how much we invest in others, or in what we believe is possible with them.

    Photo trivia : This is a table cloth that was woven by female prisoners in India. An endearing design with dark undertones.

  • Lost moments

    Lost moments

    The pendulum of time brushes ever so lightly against the arc of eternity, and in that very finite moment of its contact, an entire lifetime is lived. Some are deluded into believing that the pendulum will swing back, realising too late that once the moment is passed, it is lost to eternity.

    For some reason, this thought always chokes me up… :'(

    Why do people take life for granted and wait for ideal moments before allowing themselves to embrace life more fully and sincerely?

    Moments pass so quickly.

    The current trends are to catch moments through meditation, long after the moment is lost.

    Or to reminisce about why it could have been different if only something else was in place at the time.

    The most gut wrenching heartache is caused from moments that held the promise of beauty or peace, but were lost to bad timing, or fear.

    I think the secret to living joyfully lies in trusting those who echo the sentiments in your heart.

    But such a trust is daunting when it was abused by another, and thus courage becomes a prerequisite for trust.

    Discovering the secret of courage then becomes the next pursuit of the heart.

    Breathe, beloved…slow deep breaths. And courage will emerge from the depths where it lays dormant after having been subdued by calloused hands.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Prisms of beauty

    Prisms of beauty

    If you keep chasing rainbows, you won’t find the time to notice that you’re the prism creating the beauty that you so desperately court.

    Breathe beloved, and pause for long enough to appreciate the beauty of you, despite the ugly of them.

    (From the sequel to An Incomplete Love Story that may never be written)

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Chasing ghosts

    Chasing ghosts

    Of the multiple lifetimes that I’ve endured, reality flirts between the beauty that I saw, and the ugly that I experienced. Sanity was relegated to an after thought when what I saw was a vision uniquely experienced by me. Too real to dismiss, but too fantastical to be believed.

    It’s the belief that I need to share it with others that taints the experience. But I often wonder if it’s really a belief, or is it a dictate of nature that I will remain incomplete if my experience remains my own. Is the purpose of life not to share our wonders with others?

    The pervasiveness of ugly has revealed the ugly side of ugly to me in moments when I was distracted by the beauty of a being. My fixation on beauty was never enough to turn their gaze away from the ugly that gripped their lives. Unfulfilled vengeance shreds a soul with the promise of making it whole.

    Fighting the shredding has left me chasing their ghosts of beauty while they invested in the ugly of being. But my ghosts, despite being beyond reach for an embrace, are mine to behold, and mine to court. Offering shards of light into their darkness, teasing them into the light for a few brief, magical moments, before they recede again, the fear of the light turning to darkness echoing the horror of hopes so often destroyed by the ugly of their past.

    This tug of war. This wretch between beauty and pain. If not for the beauty of the ghosts, sublimely serene and mesmerisingly aching with the promise of peace, succumbing to their ugly would have overtaken my tender soul. But tenderness is not formed through frailty. It is the deepest gashes that revealed the tenderness within, without which the hardened crust of my contact with the world would have had me convinced that my ghosts were mere apparitions, and their ugly was the only truth.

    The ghosts of the betrayers have unwittingly gifted me with the vision that they spurned. A vision of wondrous enchantment, seeing the tenderness of their soul, while they focus on the crust. Hope feels like a threat when the lifetimes that nag at my back remind me of the many occasions on which the ghosts were defeated, and the crust grew thicker over the beauty that I courted.

    Until now. Until my latest skirmishes with their darkness revealed an intensity of light so beautifully complete, that my strongest resolve to abandon it proves futile. A new tug of war has been birthed. This time, between my resolve to block out the ghosts and the beauty that they keep revealing in the silent, taunted moments when the world is asleep, and my unfailing desire to surrender to the ghost before I give up my own.

    The end is not near enough, and peace too far away.

  • A silent betrayal

    A silent betrayal

    The betrayal of trust is not always due to blatant acts of dishonesty.

    Most often, it’s the silence or the restraint from a loved one when their words or their embrace is most needed.

    It’s the shrug when we reach out to them or offer them support, or the deliberate obliviousness when we express our need for them.

    It’s the trust that bonds hearts that is more fragile than the intellectual trust.

    Reconciling dishonesty is easy because we have tangible evidence to work with.

    Understanding what’s in someone’s heart when they keep it a secret, or when they become subdued after having been expressive, leads to more anguish than any lie of the tongue.

    It is the not knowing that tortures and tests the trust we once placed in someone, especially when all the evidence conflicts with their claims.

    That’s when breathing becomes a labour in search of love, and exhaling feels pointless.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • My silent scream

    My silent scream

    When rage is all you have left in you, know that you’ve surrendered yourself to the betrayal of the world.

    When rage becomes a silent scream or a deliberate protest, despite your best intentions, you are still defined by that betrayal.

    When rage colours your view of the world, you see demons in angels, and persecution in love, because they both, the angels and the love, carry with them the threat of a broken trust.

    Worse still, when rage defines your response to life, you not only reject anything that demands trust, but you strike preemptively at the hint of what you once courted, hurting the ones invested in your peace.

    When we view the world through angry eyes, innocence is tainted, sincerity appears as manipulation, and affection feels like a self-serving act of the one offering it.

    Discarding the good doesn’t only deny you that good, it also creates space for the festering wounds of the past to contaminate even more beauty and innocence that once filled those spaces.

    Breathe, beloved…

    Just breathe…

    Don’t let the betrayers of your past cause you to betray your future.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock