Reclaiming yourself in a vacuum of support is probably the most challenging part of mindfulness. I say mindfulness because it demands a focus on what is, rather than what should be, or could be, or must be. That, I have found, to be the most deflating distraction of all.
The thoughts and the lamentations of everything that you have a right to, everything you deserve, and everything that is fair but is absent from your life or your relationships with those you value most denies you the composure or the absence of distraction needed to be mindful. Thus, the struggle for mindfulness is exacerbated by the struggle to quell the distractions. It therefore demands that it not be a struggle but instead, a quieting of the mind. But what quiets the mind?
The regrets of the past that fuel the angst of the future occupies the mind in the present. Mindfulness is therefore the result of reconciling the past so that it does not prompt fears of the future leaving your mind blissfully unoccupied in the present except with which you choose to busy yourself.
The test of self-worth is revealed in how you treat yourself when you are being neglected by those around you. Self-deprecation becomes an unhealthy expression of need in the hopes that someone will want to save you from yourself. If that someone is unfamiliar with your journey to that point, approach with caution.
I’ve found that naivety has exacted the heaviest tolls on my life. Moments of blind trust, maybe optimistic trust, resulted in tears of regret and struggle because of the residual mess left behind after trusting the wrong people. Sometimes, that residual lasts a lifetime, although it doesn’t have to. We choose what we value, including the value that we place on what has been and is no longer true. Understanding why we willingly surrender peace for what is no more further peels away the layers that reveal the source of our self-loathing, or our discontent.
To prevent a dulling of the spirit in the face of such upheaval, we must sharpen our resolve for what we claim is important in life. Clichés about life being short reveals the hypocrite in us when we use that short life to lament the past, or to exhaust ourselves in trying to demonstrate to others how badly it still affects us. Too many place life on hold while waiting for their struggle to be revered. They are the ingrates. The ones who chant about appreciating the beauty of life while being defined by its bitterness or its losses.
Poetry is most often written by the broken hearted. The rest of the time it is written by the euphoric victim who never expected goodness after their last torment. I have not seen poetry written by one who is content, because the contented ones have no need for such expression. It is only the forlorn or the euphoric that have such desires to be heard, or seen. This I have found to ring true of my experiences too.
Mindless meandering leads to pointless prose, akin to romantic poetry that calls out to the life we court, but rarely reflects the life we have. The journey through life is not life itself. Perhaps life is what is created by that journey while we presume to be pursuing life in our struggles during that journey. It’s a conundrum that the meek think to be obviously uncomplicated, but the troubled see it confounded beyond comprehension.
The philosopher in me has been dulled by the elusive balance of reaching into the hearts of those dear, while accepting that such reach is not mine to have. In that, I believe, is born the struggle that we value long after it no longer holds promise because the values that we live by dictate that such struggles cannot be abandoned. My ramblings isolate me further in the space in which is thrive. It seems that a journey like this holds only the promise of fascination but not companionship, nor an understanding gaze from one who believes themselves to be too simple for such contemplations. If only they saw themselves through my eyes, perhaps they would see beyond the horizon of their despair.
