What brings you peace?
If it’s likes, shares, and comments, then I’m afraid that peace escapes you too.
Reconnecting with the human condition seems to get more difficult by the day with the filters of online life shaping our perceptions and opinions of the struggles or triumphs of others.
Does an authentic human experience still exist in a connected world?
Peace grows ever more elusive when connecting with others is the only soul food you have.
They talk of dopamine and convince you that your emptiness or your fulfilment lies in chemical balances because they themselves lack the appreciation of sincere human connection.
Appreciating the quiet moments becomes more difficult when we lose sight of the value of silence.
The absence of clutter.
The presence of endearing company.
Finding peace in solitude is a gift, and a skill that appears to have been lost to the madness of this world.
Take time to recede, to allow your very valid concerns and urgencies to suspend its calling for long enough to let the breath reach your soul.
When last did you lose yourself in the gentle throb of your own pulse?
#peace #serenity #quiettime #tranquility #solitude #calm #meditation #isolation #worries #fears #introspection #focus #mindfulness #selfawareness #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthrecovery #ownyourlife #coachzaidismail
Tag: isolation
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Elusive peace
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Humanity for sale
The ones driven by the validation of others turn themselves into victims.
The ones driven by the belief that no one cares or no one understands, turn themselves into oppressors and abusers.
But when we’re so focused on our own struggles, we fail to see the struggles that we introduce into the lives of others.
That’s why we have no shortage of people reminding others to treat everyone with kindness, but rarely treating anyone with kindness if there’s nothing in it for them.
Even our humanity has become a transaction in this capitalistic world of individual worship.
We worship our needs before we revere any principles or values that we claim to uphold.
Hence humanity’s slide into the abyss of loneliness.
When will we awaken? 😞
#givingup #hopelessness #isolation #redundant #forgotten #selfishness #selfloathing #ownyourshit #ownyourlife #theegosystem #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthrecovery #zaidismail -

A Brain Dump
The short posts don’t allow for a meaningful purge of what rumbles inside my head. And there’s a lot of rumbling this morning. Having finally published my novel, the reactions I’ve noted along with the assumptions that people make about my reasons for doing so, are entertaining. I’ve always taken a morbid pleasure from watching people sum me up incorrectly, or assume to know what drives me. I barely know myself, so it’s highly improbable that anyone else will know either.
Despite my efforts at explaining myself, sharing my passion, living out loud, and scribbling my thoughts in digital ink for any passerby to read, I still remain a well-kept secret. A colourful life such as mine is intimidating for many to grasp. It’s much easier for them to find random points of entertainment instead. Of that, there is an unlimited supply.
However, it only serves to be morbidly entertaining if the ones who are peering in have no significance in my life. What then when one held dear takes a closer look and feels afraid? Those are the moments when the introspection shifts from morbid curiosity to flirting with regret. Being trusting has earned me more struggles than deliberate betrayals ever did.
When philosophy teases us, we play with words that talk of the strength of character of those most burdened by the trials of life, but when reality demands that we embrace them, we recede from fear of contamination. Sometimes, we recede from fear of feeling burdened by them. But from afar, from a safe distance, we admire and celebrate their resilience, as long as they keep their resilience to themselves.
The irony of society is that it will be more inclined to offer itself to one who appears untarnished so that it may experience the process of being tarnished by the experiences of life with them, rather than to revel in the joy of one who has already been polished by what once tarnished them. It’s the equivalent of wanting to marry a virgin, but hoping to have the sexual experience of a seasoned whore, and then realising that the whore may be more pleasurable, but looking for one who is still virginal in demeanour. We really are an entertaining bunch, aren’t we?
Sometimes it seems like we’re hypocritical in our approach to establishing or respecting respectable standards, but that hypocrisy is easily defended when such standards become our own to defend. Fear of the future has tainted many well-meaning men, and suspicion has destroyed many loves before they were allowed to bloom.
Words have been elusive, except in unpredictable bursts of late. The topics have been revealing, teasing my soul and flirting with my audience, but largely unfulfilled either way. Fulfilment continues to be a slithery one. Testing everything that I assumed to be true, and teasing it with new experiences and emotions that have long been dismissed as taunts of fairy tales.
Poetry has been a bipolar friend. Sometimes testing my skill at articulating the melody of my mindlessness, and at other times distorting my words to reflect the angst that defines my madness. Between mindlessness and madness, love is cradled in a delicate hammock, ready to tip over at the slightest sway, but even in its tipping over, offering laughter and joy in unexpected waves of delight that distract me from the sand in my face.
The ambivalence of life digs ever deeper. Joys grow more intense with each ravaging of happiness that passes, only to be followed by yet another crescendo of joy. Each time, the crescendo exceeds the previous pitch, creating an ever-deepening cavern into which to plunge when the joy is tainted. From depths of despair to wings of angels, peace is elusive. But peace fades from want in the presence of such joy. If only the joy would stay, perhaps then it will inspire a peaceful serenade of a life waiting to be indulged in hues yet to be seen.
An interesting life leaves a kaleidoscope of scars that form beautiful patterns in the stars, as we imagine constellations of soulful connections in spaces that remain empty and lifeless, if not for the gaze of the beloved into that realm. My vocabulary fails me much. Yet another double-edged dagger, fulfilling my need to articulate more closely what my heart yearns for, yet denying me attachment due to my increasingly complex expression in my efforts to be understood. Finding the most articulate words to describe in the smallest phrases has birthed the epitome of sophistication through minimalism. Only such sophistication serves no good end in the absence of one who seeks to understand, or heaven forbid, to embrace.
A dump indeed, this has been…but not of the brain, and more of the heart. A strange encounter.
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The Path You Take
Share your story. A prompt that suggests so much. It suggests that we have a story worth sharing, but equally so, it suggests that there is an audience interested in our story. We all have a story to share. So much so that it is an accepted cliché when seeing untoward behaviour from some, or a lack of ambition from others. We remind ourselves and others that we don’t know their story and therefore should not judge them harshly. That has its merits to a point.
Something not so often contemplated though is the story versus the storyteller. I’ve witnessed many times how a great story is dismissed simply for being told by the wrong storyteller. Not because they did a bad job of telling it, but because the audience saw that person as someone other than a source of credibility, wonderment, or inspiration.
The stories of our lives consists of the people and characters that we most often know first hand. Be that online or in real time, our first hand interactions with them shapes their perceptions of who we are and what they believe we are capable of. It is that perception that defines how our story will be received or how our advice may be taken. Good advice is always good advice. It only becomes tainted in our minds because we contaminate it with our perception of the advisor.
True emotional maturity and a healthy self esteem is defined by our ability to accept the truth, or criticism, regardless of its source. That probably speaks as much about the conviction we hold for objective truth (if such exists in normal human interactions) versus our subjective truth regardless of the facts that may challenge our views. But all this is beside the real point, and instead simply alludes to a much more important point that escapes most of us.
When we choose to change the definition of who we are, or how we are preceived (which is a natural consequence of the former), we forget that others are not as invested in the change that we wish for ourselves. For most, it is more convenient for them to maintain their firmly held beliefs about who we are or what we represent, because it gives them predictability and assurance about their views on life and others. They need that predictability or stability especially when their self image is based on how they compare to others. I think this is an important point.
When we realise how much the way we are strengthens the self esteem of others, we’ll realise why it is that the support that we expect is not forthcoming when needed. Their self esteem could be bolstered by believing that they’re better than we are, or by their association with us if we have admirable qualities that they want to be associated with. It is easy at this point to assume that they do not want us to be successful or ambitious, but the truth lies closer to the fact that they are not ready to reevaluate who they are relative to their changing reality.
When we assume that it is about us, rather than recognising that they suffer from their own feelings of insufficiency, we feel deprived or betrayed by their lack of support. Right there is the struggle of leadership. True leadership, not pseudo leadership associated with an office or title. Leading in your chosen field of passion or influence. Following a calling that demands more than just fitting in or complying with the norm. When you choose that path, one of your closest companions will likely be isolation.
Isolation is an inevitable outcome of influencing change. By definition, change means to be set apart from the norm. You cannot lead from within the masses, or by subtly hinting at improvement while maintaining the status quo to avoid disruption. Unless of course minor incremental changes define the limits of the leadership that you wish to provide, or the change you wish to see realised.
I guess it is therefore more accurate to state that disruptive leadership is a courtship of isolation. Only once the value of your vision is experienced by the rest can you hope to feel any sense of inclusion. However, by that time the harm or discomfort of isolation by those you expected to be your staunch supporters often results in so much damage to the fabric of your relationship with them that their inclusion or support no longer holds any merit. Ironically it becomes a reversal of the point of departure. You risk becoming the one not willing to reevaluate your perception of others because of a moment in the past, rather than accepting that they needed tangible evidence to overcome their cynicism or doubt about what you were striving to achieve and the value that it offered them.
Either way, when you choose your path in life, inclusion will leave you constrained and unfulfilled, while conviction will risk disruption that will set you on a collision course with the people that you hope to keep close through the journey ahead. If you have such people in your life, the ones that grow with you on your journey, cherish them. However, on this point I believe that not a lot of cherishing will be done, because not many earn such respect or gratitude through support and encouragement.
Perhaps it is just my jaundiced view based on a jaundiced relationship with a jaundiced society.
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Orphaned
I’ve found that the most unassuming leaders and role models are the ones with the greatest impact. They are not the ones that are celebrated from the pulpits. In fact, from the pulpits is where you will find them despised or judged. But that is not a testament to their being, instead it is an indictment against the bearers of those stations.
Seeing a father celebrated tonight left me ambivalent, as the subject of fatherhood often does. I looked across at one whose father was taken away at a young age. I saw the fight to maintain composure dull the eyes that was just a minute ago filled with the enthusiasm of youth. But even in that there is a blessing that I struggle to relate to, and I wonder if those that have lost truly appreciate the gravity of the grounding point that they have in life, even if only for those few short years beyond which they may understandably feel cheated out of a lifetime of love and affection, not least of all the wisdom that often accompanies such a presence.
Oddly enough it really is the presence more than the conscious efforts of fatherhood that appear to leave the most powerful impressions. Perhaps in that presence I can relate, but not much beyond. I often recall the words of a man I once met when he described the influence his father offered in his life. He recounted how he awoke every morning to see his father sit comfortably in his favourite armchair reading the newspaper, allowing all about him to continue uninterrupted, but equally uninterested. It was that scene that prompted him to be more than his father ever was, to him or to those around him. That is a reality I can relate to.
But tonight was a reminder for more than just that. I found myself questioning my views about celebrating life versus celebrating occasions and witnessed first hand how people that I have anyways recognised and admired for living a full life seemed to be galvanised by the occasion of marking a milestone in a life fully lived. Perhaps they, like me, don’t recognise the amount of life they live. Perhaps they too, looking from the inside through the lenses that filter their reality, may not recognise the amount of life they have lived relative to the struggles and loss that scarred their landscape.
The reality I’m faced with is that life is not separate from the bad times, or the occasions. Celebrating the occasions in the absence of celebrating life at least gives us speckles of appreciation even though I still spurn the distraction it causes in its wake. Contemplating all this, including some unexpected interactions this evening gnaws away at yet another old companion that I’ve held dear for so long. Jadedness is spawned by bitterness. It’s a response needed to dull the ache that a lost youth and an absent father etches into our distorted view of what promise the world holds. It’s this same distortion that often sees us fighting battles that exist only in our minds.
Maybe the fatigue of being me is suddenly not a fatigue, but instead it is a surrender to a reality that was self imposed. Self imposed or not, it is still my reality. Tonight, sitting here, isolated in my thoughts, surrounded by the warmth of an extended family of whom only a select few I have ever connected with but still feeling the familiarity of a blood line I am tied to in spite of my exclusion for reasons unknown to any of us, I find my soul oddly consoled, yet still restless. But it’s a fading restlessness, even if just for tonight.
Perhaps my jaded soul will learn what it means to feel human after all. Perhaps not.
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yesterday morning
I found our first time
sleeping on the stairsI walked around it
quietly2011-02-23 tanka (via mydreamsmoveslowly)
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Ultraviolet Kisses
Day light gently tugs me while I sleep and I curl myself a little tighter, hanging off the hems of a dream. It’s only been three hours since my lids gave up on me, but I feel her rising and flirting against my skin, warm kisses on my wrists and fingertips. She’s banished the shadows in my room and conjured a melody of birds by my window. She whispers promises in my ear and I pull my covers over my head and sink into an artificial night.
Leave me here.



