Tag: love

  • 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.

  • It’s not always about you

    It’s not always about you

    The truth is, if you want to matter that much to someone else, shouldn’t they matter equally as much to you?

    If they do, and you find that they don’t have as much time for you as they used to, or are behaving differently to what you know them to be about, do you claim your privilege to be treated better than that, or do you show sincere concern for what they may be dealing with?

    Busting mental health myths is essential to break the cycle that feeds toxic victim mindsets.

    The problem with this meme is that is encourages self-centered perspectives and denies the struggles that someone else may be going through.

    Sometimes the ones we love may be so overwhelmed by what they’re going through that withdrawal from the world is the only way that they believe they can cope.

    It’s not about how much you may want them to lean on you, or take comfort from you. Sometimes, their battle with themselves drives them to want to protect others from the impact that it is having on them.

    Don’t be so quick to write people off. When you do that, you lose the right to ask others to give you the benefit of the doubt when you’re going through a struggle that no one else understands.

    Sacrificing what you need in favour of understanding someone you love, is sometimes the greatest gift of love you could give anyone. Even if they don’t realise it at the time.

    It’s about what you want to gift to them, not what you need from them that matters.


  • 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

  • Thus, is love lost

    Thus, is love lost

    In affection, we focus on our beauty

    In rejection, we focus on our deficiencies

    Perhaps that’s why the world is so harsh

    Too many are waiting for their deficiencies to be accepted before they share their beauty

    Or need their grievances with one to be compensated before they accept the beauty of another.

    Each time we wait for the past to be redressed before

    we invest in the future

    We are discarding the future in favour of the very past we wish we could leave behind

    Thus is the gift of love discarded

    And bitterness courted.

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Exhale

    Exhale

    Breathing becomes laboured when I’m not sure if I want to hold something in, or let it out. Expressing my disappointment at the events that appear to be in an incessant loop feels like an indulgence in futility. I’ve expressed such disappointment before, yet, here we are. Staring each other in the face again.

    The cloying saturation of feigned optimism on social media leaves me wretching from the fake sweetness of it all. I feel a need to speak without restraint, but even that appears futile. Some may assume that such expression will at least rid me of the madness that stirs within. If only it was that easy to contend with the madness.

    The inconsistent flow of inspiration abandoned and its abandonment then inspiring me to write, and then discard, and then to restart what once was to be writ creates the taunting tinny tone in my ears that time seems to intensify, rather than subdue. Time doesn’t always heal. Sometimes, it mocks and jibes and laughs as I wait expectantly for it to harbour some relief of the madness that it nurtured.

    Breathing is laborious when it holds no promises, but promises only lies. Deciphering the one leads to the other, and abandons me somewhere between the two, leaving me spent in the past, yearning in the present, and disillusioned about the future. I exhale, deeper than I inhale, feeling faint, but the toxins still firmly lodged within. They won’t leave anymore. The process of eviction and welcoming them back after each cycle seems to point to the pointlessness of them leaving at all.

    Exhale. It holds so much expectation. As if the release of what is spent will create spaces for what is new. But jadedness turns new into old, and old into oblivion before either sets foot in the soil of my soul. The ramblings of this madman persist in cryptic notes understood by few, appreciated by even less, and ignored by all.

    The blessing of anonymity is compounded for one who is anomalous. Between the two, fading into the distance blends naturally with the landscape of a life soon forgotten, and love that never was. But, we must exhale if we hope to create space for the end that awaits. Holding my breath only delays the inevitable, yet I continue to ignore the writing on the wall, instead focusing on the written notes discarded by the fears that lifetimes before me have spawned.

    Fear. The ultimate destroyer of hope, and the aborter of dreams. It creates more heartache than loss ever did.

  • The balance of happiness

    The balance of happiness

    Without meaning to, life can become a trading exercise in which we give something with the expectation of receiving something else in return.

    That’s when it gets complicated. When the assumptions of one or both becomes entangled in the belief that happiness lies in a like-for-like exchange of sentiment or gifts, or perhaps effort.

    Sometimes, happiness is found in the opportunity to love without resistance to it.

    The ability to have your expression received graciously and appreciatively, because in such acceptance lies the happiness of the one who gives, and the gracious acceptance forms the expression of love of the one who receives.

    Happiness is found in differing expressions of love creating a beautiful whole.

    It’s when servitude meets devotion, or nurturing meets strength that the two complement each other, rather than compete with each other.

    Happiness is found in the balance that is born from the two, not in trying to create a singular expression between the two as one.

    Too often we assume the happiness of another to be dependent on our active contribution towards them, rather than realising that it is simply our appreciation of their contribution towards us that creates the fulfilment that would calm the souls of both.

    Calm souls create beauty, while anguished souls create destruction. Breathe beloved…just breathe…

    Photo credit: Adobe Stock

  • A gentle neglect

    A gentle neglect

    It is better to die of violence, swift and decisive, than to die of a gentle neglect, slow and painful.

    The violent episode holds the promise of a quickened relief from the anguish of life, while being abandoned offers a view of our decaying spirit, while tortured by hope.

    Living with hope is a curse when immersed in a reality of hopelessness.

    Hopelessness is a convenience that spurns love, and embraces the cold comfort of solitude.

    It is the absence of risk, but also the absence of joy.

    Nonetheless, it carries with it the promise of not being betrayed…again.

    Again, because hopelessness only sets in when we’ve been viciously abandoned before, making the hope of being cherished too painful to consider.

    We nourish the cruelty of the world that kills our spirit, when we abandon what we love in favour of holding on to the familiarity of what we loathe.

    Thus, we destroy the very remedy for which we’ve been praying to heal our broken soul.

    Our eyes reveal the hollow in the light of day, and the stinging brutality in the quiet of night, knowing that none look close enough during the daylight hours, while praying that the one who sees everything takes pity on our souls in the tortured darkness.

    Breathe, beloved…just breathe…hopelessness has no home in a cherished heart.

  • Hopeless dreams

    Hopeless dreams

    A dream without hope taunts us more than it comforts us.

    It teases us with its distraction while we indulge in it, but reminds us that we believe we’re unworthy of it when we cast our gaze once more towards reality.

    When we believe in our dream, we’ll find the signs and the opportunities to map our path towards achieving that dream.

    But when we believe that our dream is unreachable or unrealistic, we’ll focus on everything that points towards a struggle, an obstacle, or an assumed impossibility in our desire to achieve it.

    That’s how we harm ourselves. We convince ourselves that the good that we yearn for is out of reach. Or worse, we convince ourselves that we are undeserving of it.

    If only we paused for long enough…took a deep breath…and realised that there are experiences we had in life that we never thought possible, but they came to pass anyway. Despite us not believing that they would.

    Those are the experiences that inspired us to dream. And those dreams that they inspired are our truths that we know is possible if only…

    Breathe beloved, and change that ‘if only’ into ‘when’, so that the dream that fills your heart in the quiet moments may find space in your life in your daylight hours.

    Just breathe…