Tag: companionship

  • The nuance of a good life

    The nuance of a good life

    It’s not the blatant acts of disrespect or rejection that hurt us the most, it’s the subtle gestures that leave room for doubt or interpretation that leave deep scars.

    Nuance thrives in those subtle gestures because nuance is what allows us to avoid conflict, or resist commitment. It allows us a graceful exit for just-in-case so that we can claim that we didn’t mean it that way, or that they misunderstood.

    Nuance is the art of saying more than you’re willing to say without actually saying it. Like the subtle brush of your hand against your partner in company when a full-blown embrace or heavy patting may be frowned upon. Or perhaps when you smile a half smile and don’t return the kiss to avoid an argument.

    Nuance allows us to test boundaries, and to test our significance in someone else’s life. We throw subtle hints about what we want, but won’t speak out openly about it because we don’t want to create reason for doubt within ourselves about whether they responded out of obligation, or because they sincerely wanted to make us happy.

    Nuance allows us to see if someone is ready to accept what we want to offer, without actually offering it, so that we protect ourselves from a hurtful rejection.

    There are parts of who we are that we’ve embraced so fiercely that no amount of ridicule will ever shame us about it. But there are parts of ourselves that we hide because we want to only give that one special person the power to handle it. It defines the sanctity of who we are, and solemnises the trust that we wish to place in them.

    It’s a vulnerability that we embrace and cherish because in its handling lies the essence of the bond that we wish to share with that special one.

    It’s the expectation willingly courted that holds the joy of fulfilment if fulfilled, or destroys hope if left hopelessly ignored.

    Once spoken, doubt is subdued and expectation justified.

    The unspoken word has destroyed more hope and created more angst than any revelation of love, or its denial.

    If left unspoken, it remains a torture within, without any claim to relief from the one in whose hands your joy rests, waiting to be roused into being.

    Perhaps it is in our efforts to protect ourselves or others through withholding what we don’t wish to impose on them that we destroy the very joy that we hope they will find without us, or us without them.

  • Reciprocation

    Reciprocation

    I’ve seen myself walking a path through a barren land. In the distance, the very farthest end of the horizon, beautiful clouds gathered, non-threatening and cool in appearance. Rolling over itself casually as if waiting patiently for my arrival. I did not rush to meet it, because my companion was lagging behind. The sun where I stood circling in the sand, was beating down mercilessly. I could walk towards the comfort that awaited me, but my companion was looking worn and disheartened. From where she stood, the horizon looked very different. It was barren, just like the area surrounding us. She was too far back to see the clouds awaiting our arrival. So she slowed even more.

    I too slowed down. I could see it for the both of us, so it didn’t matter that she couldn’t. What mattered was that we got there together. So I halted, waited, and slowly made my way back to her to help her along. Shielding her eyes with my hands in the hope that it may reveal the clouds, she continued to look back. Back at the barren land with traces of smoke still pluming into the sky from where she left. She kept looking back hoping for the smoke to stop, but it didn’t. And the smell still stuck in her nose taunting her with images of the horrors she had seen before leaving that place.

    So I pulled her closer, steadied her footing, and gently nudged her forward so that we could start our journey again. The horizon slowly fading, even the clouds dissipating as I dragged the weight of us both towards that horizon. What little food and drink I had, I kept for her. She needed it more than I did. I could see the end in sight, and it gave me hope. She couldn’t see it, so she needed hope. And the little sustenance that remained was hope enough for her. If nothing else, it delayed the inevitable, as she peered over her shoulder again staring longingly at the plumes of smoke still barely visible in the distance.

    She ate and drank and regained her strength, as I slowly wilted beside her. But I didn’t show my wilting spirit. She needed hope, and I needed to be strong. Each step drained me more, while each step infused a newfound sense of determination in her. As she picked up her pace, I started lagging behind. The clouds on the horizon now creeping into view for her, she finally saw what kept me going all that time. Almost spent, I needed a moment to gather my strength for that final push to tear us away from those plumes of smoke forever.

    As I paused to rest, she grew impatient. I looked at her with the slightest smile on my face, as if asking her if she finally sees what I was pushing for all that time. Instead of a soft word, I received a scowl. I had now become the weight that was slowing her down to get to the destination that I fought to reach for the both of us. But that didn’t matter. The plumes were now gone, or even if they weren’t, she found hope to distract her from those plumes. Nourished with the little reserves we had left, she powered on and left me there, catching my breath, taking a moment to pause, to gather my strength so that I could stand up tall enough to get a glimpse of the clouds that was enough to feed my soul and my battered limbs.

    The clouds. Even though I could no longer see them, I still knew they were there. She disappeared into the distance as I kept steadily advancing a single pace at a time, until I rediscovered my rhythm. The same rhythm that kept me going for the both of us before, was now more than sufficient to keep me going by myself. I gathered pace, and scanned the horizon. Suddenly, the clouds melted in a haze of heatwaves rising lazily from the sand. As I looked around, I realised it was a mirage, and to the right, a slight distance further, around the side of the rocky cliffs that flanked our journey for so long, it appeared majestically in lush green shades, and the whitest clouds. I wanted to call out to her to turn back, but she was gone.

    [This attempt at a creative abstract personifies the journey that many of us take in our efforts to uplift others. Sometimes we expend ourselves to the point where we become the burden that we hoped to help others rise above. And sometimes, if we’re fortunate, we catch ourselves before we reach that nadir of our existence. That point that is so low, that looking up is too daunting, so we keep our gaze firmly fixed on the ground before us hoping for a sign as to when it will welcome us home. Today is not that day.]

  • The Space Between

    The Space Between

    The hole in your heart can only be filled by the companion that knows that it is there. Sometimes we seek companionship in search of one that recognises that gap, but fail to realise that we in fact projected our need on their abilities instead. We flit between the calm and the clutter, the spaces of quiet, and the spaces of revelry and indulgence, sometimes being pulled towards the calm, but most often pulled towards the clutter.

    The clutter holds the promise of accompaniment, which deceptively veils itself with a mask of companionship. A kindred spirit is seen in common needs, more than in common goals. In those needs that resonate between two souls, familiarity is born. Familiarity, especially when it echoes similar pains and wants, creates an electricity that roots us to a point of temporary relief that lacks fulfilment. But that hint of relief, of a longer term repose, draws us in, and we find ourselves willingly sliding down that slope of abdication.

    Impervious to the effects of our inclinations, the taunt of the clutter that promises the calm draws out our demons, and subdues our virtues. Relief morphs into indulgence, and indulgence honours the need for significance. To feel worthy of more than we’ve been able to acquire, companionship drifts into the distance, and the vacuous space that elicits nothing but instant gratification beckons.

    The point of departure on that journey has to be grounded in faith if ever we are to find a rope on which to hold, as we cling to sanity. Sanity is quickly reduced to a concept of common relativity, while understanding is all that matters. As long as we feel understood, the principles by which we act, or the moral compass that once guided us loses relevance. After all, life is about priorities, and priorities are applied to needs. The greater the need, the more energy and hope we expend in its pursuit.

    There is an abundance of similarly troubled souls. The ones looking for companionship that holds that embrace. The embrace that completes the flimsy grip we have on life, in the absence of which a future state is all that we court, and the present moment becomes nothing more than a means to an end. An end that no one else can relate to. An end that rests only in our hearts, and is seen only by the one in whose hands rests our soul.

    But the clutter distracts and the indulgence beckons when faith waivers. Needs are tethered to the physical form, while peace is not. The physical form demands fulfilment, while the soul demands peace, but as long as we’re living, existing in a physical world, indulgence will always command our attention, and peace will always be elusive, except for those fleeting moments in the beginning. The very beginning of every embrace of a kindred spirit completes us in a moment of deceptive bliss. Sometimes we’re distracted by the clutter in that moment, and while we enjoy that moment intensely, we forget to see it for what it is. And so it is lost, along with the peace, as we draw on the indulgence that feeds our physical state, while the peace is shooed away.

    There is a delicate space between the peace and the clutter. So delicate that the slightest distraction breaks the thread that tethers us to it, causing us to drift aimlessly. Well, not entirely aimlessly. As we drift, our focus again shifts away from the peace, the calm, the tranquil, and instead, we go in search of that fleeting moment that is only ever felt in the most momentary seconds of the initial embrace. And the rest of our lives are spent in pursuit of recreating that one single moment that we experienced when we least expected it, and when we didn’t even realise it was presenting itself.

    The slope steepens as we drift away from it, and our burdens lighten as we see hints of it approaching. It’s a to and fro of warm bodies looking for a spark to create something greater than their individual selves, but find themselves lost in the rift between here and somewhere else.

    The hole in your heart can only ever be filled by the one in whose hands rests your soul. Everything else is a distraction, or a stay of execution. The more calm we experience, the closer we are drawn to the sublime. The more clutter, the more ghastly is the silence that visits our soul.

    [I once wrote without concern for the audience, or even for any concern of the rationality of my thoughts. I wrote because it was a momentary breath that filled my lungs beyond the needs. It’s been a while since I’ve felt my lungs fill with the air that once elated me. Now I write in search of those moments that were created when the distractions were what I described, rather than what I sought to embellish.]

  • Friends for Enemies

    Friends. I’ve always found this to be a quaint notion. Something that offers a sense of endearing companionship while providing a comforting distraction from our isolation in this world. I’m obviously cynical on the subject because I’ve experienced and witnessed true friendship quickly recede when reality became unpalatable. So I wonder if there is really something called true friendship?

    I think it’s all about that beautiful old principle about what’s in it for me. More than this, it also relates to our inflated sense of self, and how well the friendship nurtures that self-image. There are memes in abundance regarding the nature of true friends that would point out your shortcomings and not only make you feel good. But there are unfortunately not nearly an abundance of friends who want their shortcomings pointed out.

    One of my favourite sayings in this regard has been attributed to a number of different historical personalities, but its truth remains…well, true. It says that the friend of my enemy is my enemy, which in turn implies that the enemy of my friend is also my enemy. I guess that also means that the friend of my friend is my friend and the enemy of my enemy is also my friend. Anyway, point is, those that hate what we hate find a sense of association with what we value, and vice versa. Most would confine the understanding of this with just the relationship that they maintain with others, but I think it goes beyond that. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that it is more accurate to view this within the context of our characters, and which good or bad traits we recognise as friends or foe.

    Within the above context, suddenly the person that hates my bad traits and looks to encourage me to abandon such traits becomes my friend. However, that assumes that I sincerely want to improve that aspect about myself. It assumes that the bad trait is not something I hold on to as a definition of my self relative to a defence I need to prevail in this world. It assumes that I live with conviction, and that I strive to improve with every day that is offered to me. That’s a grossly inaccurate assumption. I struggle to find people that actively and sincerely seek to better themselves. To recognise their shortcomings and to bravely embrace the changes that are needed to raise the standard of their contribution to this world.

    Most are bent on embracing those struggles or shortcomings that resonate with others, and nothing more. When we show the world how brave we are to face off what everyone else is struggling with, it feeds our ego more than it develops our character. It proclaims that we are bold while others are meek, and in so doing gives us the courage to fight that good fight that defeats so many. And so we prop up our egos and assume that we’re sincere about improving who we are, while in the process convincing the shallow ones that we are indeed striving to improve. Yes, I speak with contempt of such endeavours because it only entrenches the insincerity that has eroded the wholesomeness of society and life in this self-indulgent world.

    The one who reflects, recognises the ugly inside of them, and then simultaneously celebrates the beauty within, is more likely to demonstrate gratitude for their lot in life than the one who only sees the ugly and tries to disguise it as a noble struggle. Those that live their lives out in the social network limelight need the affirmation that is lacking when they look within. They need to see themselves through the lenses of others because their own lenses offer little or no comfort at all. Their enemies become their friends, and robs them of peace and energy as they go through life painstakingly maintaining the defenses that they need to make them feel whole.

    The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The one who recognises the ugly in me and sincerely advises me about it is the one whom I should embrace. Not the one who convinces me that my darkness within is not a bad thing because everyone else has it. Not the one who tries to convince me that my darkness or my handicaps are not so bad because they want me to pull them closer for making me feel better about myself. They are self-serving at my expense, and I am left wanting because of it.

    With friends like these, indeed, who needs enemies. Friends or enemies both offer the opportunity for growth, but only if we are honest in our reflections and introspections about who we really are, and what we stand for. If we’re comfortable glossing over our shortcomings because we’re more inclined to celebrate our few strengths or successes, it will be a short while before we lose our footing and feel the stench of complacency strangle the peace out of our lives because at some point, everyone gets that wake-up call. Everyone has an innate desire to shrug off the yoke that has held them back for so long and to move forward with or without the significant others that pacified them while they carried that yoke around. That’s when relationships are truly forged and defined, or discarded.

    But it requires courage, and it requires conviction, and it requires brutal honesty, all of which are in short supply in a world of instant gratification where friends can be acquired and lifetime companions can be discarded in favour of a synthetic life. The more virtual our reality, the less real our lives will be. But death is not a virtual outcome. It’s not the end of a level or the expiration of a time limit on some game with in-app purchases. Perhaps that should read ‘inept purchases’. That is what we do. We sell our souls in favour of short term gains because we lack the courage to forge ahead into the unknown. We seek the comfort of certainty in the outcomes of our decisions, and therefore make decisions when we can rely on the predictable outcome, rather than making decisions because we uphold the principles that we profess to live by.

    Still think you have friends? In fact, still think you’re capable of being your own best friend? Go on, be honest. I dare you!

  • Out of Touch

    I sat up in bed this morning, looked at myself in the mirror, and asked myself a simple question. What are you losing sight of? I’ve been significantly distracted for some time now.

    The truth is, by most standards, I’ve been sad most of my life. It’s a natural disposition. Always aware of what is not. Any humour spawned by such a life must be dark by nature. So I hate that people can relate to my ramblings. I hate when anyone else can relate to my life experiences, because for the most part, it was not pleasant, and so I’m painfully aware of how unpleasant it must have been for them as well. As comforting as it may be for us to find those that share our afflictions, it’s sad that there is so much affliction to share.

    Contemplating this leaves me distracted yet again. The challenge of my life has mostly been to determine when that threshold is breached when giving others the benefit of the doubt translates into ignorance as opposed to kindness or understanding. Not that it matters. Considering whether I appear as kind or ignorant erodes the sincerity of the act of giving and in turn distracts me from the purpose of that interaction.
    A distraction a day seems to keep the devil by my side. Between the devil and my demons, much of the present moment is lost. Quiet contemplation is not quiet anymore. It’s rowdy and cluttered. The more we connect, the greater the noise and the clutter. The less we connect, the greater the void and the emptiness. Striking a balance is impossible unless you indulge sufficiently in the distractions to ignore the tipping of the scale in either direction.

    I need to renew my subscription to life. Confliction and ambivalence are cold companions, but in the absence of more, we should not spurn the companionship we have. Damn, that sounds so complacent. And the stirring of the spirit starts again, in search of the answers that every moment seems to cloud. If the questions are endless, so too must be the search for answers. Contentment and peace therefore must lie somewhere between seeking the truth, and knowing which truths are not worth seeking.

  • Dinner for one

    A seriously low self-esteem left me concerned that people were always looking at me and seeing how flawed and clumsy and stupid and awkward I was. My first wife made me realise that it wasn’t about them at all. It was about me indulging me. To hell with everyone else. I needed to spoil myself, spend on myself, and just appreciate myself because every day was a struggle, and I needed to reward myself for those struggles that I contended with and still managed to keep my head on straight and maintain my dignity and faith in the process.

    So now I cherish moments when I can sit alone in a restaurant, enjoying a meal by myself, allowing my mind to wander, and turning the tables completely. Where I was the one that felt like I was being observed and mocked and ridiculed, I am now the one looking at others and seeing the tell-tale signs of their insecurities and vulnerabilities being lavishly disguised by fashion statements and obnoxious behaviour…and occasionally I see a couple or even an individual that literally warms me up inside when I witness what appears to be their sincere appreciation of life, or of each other on their faces. At times like that it feels like I’ve come full circle, finally ready to embrace another lifetime of beautiful challenges.

  • That Nudge

    Life creeps up on us when we think we’re being smart and sophisticated by making elaborate plans to achieve things we assume is important. Then suddenly, the most subtle nudge jolts us out of that self-indulgent stupor and we realise that everything we were planning for was actually trivial and pointless.

    I recently begrudgingly settled into the assumed reality that life the way I know it is the way it will be until the end. I assumed the foetal position ready to be a martyr. I was ready to sacrifice my needs and desires for the stability and security that those around me would benefit from. But from a place I least expected, I was jolted out of my staid reality and infused with fearful hope that the fat lady is not yet ready to sing.

    I had planned in detail how I was going to explain to my daughter that she needed to be strong by herself without a mother. The arrangements I would need to make for my care should I reach an infirm age. My explanation to my estranged daughter that I had to simply make a very difficult choice in utilising my limited resources to help her sister recover from the trauma of a dysfunctional environment rather than continuing the ten year struggle with her mother to maintain a significant role in her life.

    And then the nudge came in a most unassuming form. A nudge that has unsettled my idyllic loneliness and forced me to peer out of my shell at a world that I had long grown to despise for its hypocrisy, betrayal and double standards. Part of me is whimpering in silent protest at the changes that that nudge is prompting in me, but most of me is smiling like a newly toothed baby assuming that the whole world is ready to smile with me.

    By I’m a decaying pragmatist at heart, so such euphoria will be tampered with reality no matter my romantic inclinations. My stubborn cynicism will endure a while longer until the reality of this hope is realised, because I know all too well that such hope can be fleeting, and such promise can be empty. Yet the fool in me remains hopeful nonetheless, and no matter what the outcome, I will spit in the face of futility and laugh at the fact that I hoped again, despite the gravest oaths I’d taken never to succumb to such a frivolity ever again.

  • Lilies in love…the natural arch of her body leaning unconsciously into mine, without restraint, nor with surrender, just leaning and taking comfort. Not a word need be uttered. Just a simple expression of the heart so sincere that never a word could describe. 

    This photo was taken in April 2010 at the Kruger Park Lodge in Mpumalanga, South Africa. (c) Cynically Jaded