Tag: love

  • Soul Mates

    That dreamy look you get when someone walks into the room can mean only one thing. Your soul mate has arrived. The way they smile, the way they shift their gaze down and left with that reflective look before they answer, or the way they throw their head back when they let out a hearty laugh leaves you weak at the knees. Carefully caressing every movement of theirs with your gaze, their sigh becomes your sigh and their embrace becomes your completion.

    Such deep surrender can only be possible with a soul mate. It cannot be explained any other way, right? Of course it can, but in that moment of desire, logic escapes us and the loins take over where love pretends to play. But it’s not a singular desire that drives us to lose sight of reality and suddenly abandon our faculties in favour of love, sweet love. That would be far too simple a neanderthal response to explain why such sophisticated beings as ourselves suddenly drool with desire when the brain fog sets it.

    We go through life savouring successes, even tiny ones, bravely rising from each setback that befalls us. With each rising we muster a portion of renewed hope, a smattering of new wisdom, and a lowly regret that we tuck away neatly because it doesn’t quite complete the picture that we now present to the world. That’s the image of composed resilience that won’t be stifled. It would be fantastic if that cycle came around only once, but it doesn’t. It comes around more often than we’d care to remember, or even less than we’d care to admit. And so with each cycle we grow weary, but continue to exude hope and optimism, because all the fairy tales in the world cannot be wrong. My soul mate cometh, and I shall be ready and waiting to meet her at the door before the threshold, so that we can trundle in together, or not.

    The reality is closer to the truth of us spending our lives seeking avenues of expression so that we may be able to reveal ourselves to the world without feeling vulnerable in the process. Striking that balance leads to a tiresome combination of restraint and expression, until one of the two become more dominant. That dominant disposition shapes our character to the world around us, eventually convincing even us that it is who we are, until that fateful moment when that soul mate enters. That soul mate comes in the form of one who expresses what we restrain, and restrains what we express, thereby striking a cord with a desire buried so deep that just teasing it leaves us giggling like lovesick teens who just witnessed the de-flowering of the world.

    That completeness awakens us to the optimism and passion we once held dear, and with seeming abandon, we expose ourselves willingly in preparation for the embrace we yearned for since forever. Suddenly we wish to express to the world on their behalf what they restrain, trusting foolishly that they will express to the world what we restrain, and from between our loins shall spawn the perfectly balanced beauty of the sum of us.

    Whether they are soul mates or not is almost entirely irrelevant, or at best, subject to interpretation. We selectively interpret life, and love, and then follow it with deliberate action that either proves our views to be true, or abandons the world for being untrue. It is what we choose it to be, but such choices have to be mutual if the outcome is to be idyllic. Sometimes we meet one whose choices are inversely mutual, thereby syncing perfectly with our own, but sometimes what appears to be an initial sync turns out to be a novelty phase of fascination and not much more. When that phase passes, some will convince us that soul mates are not always intended to stay forever, while others will suggest that they weren’t ours to begin with. Either way, the outcome remains true, and the lessons we take will either build us up, or break us down.

    The amazing thing is, whether we’re right or wrong is not really what matters. That’s just bonus points. How we appreciate and grow from whatever or whoever comes our way is what peppers life beautifully, or taints it horribly. Much of life is wasted waiting for opportune moments or validation. Soul mates will be drawn towards us as kindred spirits when we live authentically and pause only for air to fill our lungs before we push on again. But authenticity is not easy to express, because we’re raised to find affection and validation as markers that determine our success. No wonder, in a world of emotionally stinted half formed adults, we wait for our soul mates to join us before we immerse ourselves fully in what is always only ever a one time offer.

    Life doesn’t wait for soul mates, nor should you.

  • The Silent Statement

    My thoughts are often as complicated to grasp as my writing is to read. I sometimes read through some of my older posts and wonder how anyone could have gotten the point when I struggle to follow the thought process myself. I used to relate it all much more simplistically in the past. It was relatable, not just to me, but to others that it resonated with. It’s not so easy to relate anymore. I find myself slowly receding into silence again. It’s like I’ve come full circle without having completed the journey. The contradiction glares at me while I try to make sense of it all.

    Silence often says more than any vocal statement we make. It’s the language of both lies and compassion. For me, it’s the language of understanding. When I’m inclined to believe that my perspective will most likely be misunderstood or unappreciated, I tend towards silence. It’s my restraint and my statement. It restrains me from verbalising much that will be found offensive, often because of the harsh truth it contains given my poor bedside manner, and it’s my statement because I choose not to engage about something that I believe will not have a meaningful outcome. That’s how I use silence to make my statement.

    Unfortunately there are too many that use it for very different reasons, the most common of which is to avoid being perceived unfavourably. In those moments when the truth is needed for closure, to understand the reasons for betrayal, or to know why the good we put forward was reciprocated with dishonesty or insincerity, silence cuts sharper and deeper than any harsh truths that could have been offered. In those moments the silent one tries desperately to hide their shame while maintaining a facade of arrogance or feigned hurt. Silence, in moments like those, is employed for no reason but to save the betrayer from having to share the truth of their betrayal.

    I think it gets worse when we hold the key to justice but deny the rights of the victims when we choose not to get involved because of the potential repercussions for us. At times when world powers abstain from voting or acting against rogue nations or human scum in order to retain political alliances, their silence does to the victims of those oppressors what the silence of a lover does to their no-longer-beloved. The impact is the same, it’s only the scale that differs.

    Every betrayal destroys a soul, and every soul holds within it an entire world. Each betrayal forces a reinvention of that soul, and each reinvention creates a more brittle soul. Brittle is not necessarily weak. It simply becomes more unpredictable as it gets closer to its limit. Fortunately for most, that limit is significantly more than most because of the reinventions. But when it is reached, the brittle snap that ensues leaves a wake of destruction that can rarely be understood.

    But there’s a more important point I wanted to make about how we use silence for selfish purposes. Perhaps my use of silence is not as noble as I’d like to believe it is. Perhaps just writing this post will provide insights that will disarm me at important moments when others will correctly interpret my silence and take the offence I was hoping to spare them instead. Perhaps there will be none of that because as we’ve seen so often, a shared sin is often overlooked because the collective guilt pacifies our conscience anyway.

    I think we all use silence in this way. I think the silence we maintain at times when we should be outspoken or brutally honest reflects our priorities in that moment. If speaking out will result in an increase of clutter or responsibility beyond what we currently wish to bear, then silence becomes the obvious choice.

    Another incomplete thought process. I know there is a truth in there somewhere…but like life, the essence of it eludes me.

  • A Long Drive With Me

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    I once heard that you’re never lonely if you like the person you’re alone with. Sounded simple enough, only to discover that most people I know don’t like who they are. Obviously that self-loathing or dislike is rarely displayed overtly, but that’s only if you don’t know what to look for. However, that’s beside the point. On a trip I undertook from Johannesburg to Cape Town yesterday by car, I found myself contemplating what it means to be just me, by myself, without distractions, or definitions, or perceptions to meet. It was interesting.

    I realised that the quiet moments are never quiet. What the mouth restrains the mind shouts out loud. My mind drifted to past relationships that I abandoned and relationships that abandoned me. But interestingly though, there was no bitterness attached to the memories. It was simply recollections of events that passed. Events that add to the compilation of moments that personify my life, but hardly ever defining moments. I gave up the ghost of the past a long time ago. It wasn’t difficult to do. I just stopped investing in it.

    So this journey by car, almost 14 hours straight, with no one but my thoughts and some nostalgic tunes to keep me company, allowed me moments of pause that is otherwise not possible in the daily clutter of life. It wasn’t a matter of leaving life behind, or trying to escape the race. It was more a moment intended to take a breath. A deep breath. Time to reflect, or not to reflect. Time to allow my mind to travel its own path without deliberation or purpose. It was then that a sobering realisation dawned on me. What was it that defined who I am today?

    Surprisingly, I found the radio or the music I had selected for the trip to be an intrusion quite often. In fact, so much so that even the sound of the icy wind howling outside proved to be a distraction when I turned down the audio. But the intrusion was not a harsh one. It wasn’t so because it resurrected unwanted memories or anything like that. Quite the contrary, it imposed on my quiet time with me. Those tunes and noises prompted a response. It demanded attention. I didn’t want that. I wanted time for solace. Time to reflect on whether the path I am travelling is a good one, or the path that I have travelled was in vain. It was time to take stock, but not deliberately so. Perhaps, all this simply prompted me towards considering whether or not there is purpose to being me.

    But even such considerations were not entirely the focus of my thoughts. There was no specific focus. That was the beauty of it. I had the soft nagging of deadlines in the back of my mind, but not loud enough to prevent me from stopping to find beauty in the gravel by the roadside. Beauty that is ignored because we’re always too busy with important things, like living up to expectations, or maintaining specific appearances. The bee at the side of the road didn’t care that no one was looking. In fact, after shoving my phone up close to capture the moment, it didn’t seem to care that I was looking either.

    But clichés aside, there is a more important truth to all this. A few wild flowers or straggling bees in an abandoned space is not what lent that space beauty. Nor did it detract from it. It simply was that way, independent of my appreciation of it. The fact that I found a moment to pause for long enough to admire and appreciate it in its natural state is what afforded me that moment of beauty. But such appreciation did not alter that scene in any way. Whether I appreciated it or not, it was still true to its nature. Perhaps in that is the life lesson I needed to take.

    Doing what I need to do, independent of affirmation or consequence, should not taint my intent behind doing it. The value or beauty that I choose to offer the world should not be based on how I want it to be received, or how it is appreciated or reciprocated. Instead, it should simply be an expression of me. An expression of the sum total of my life’s lessons that inform a more sincere offering without remuneration. But it still did not answer the question that begged a definition of who I am.

    I’ve always maintained a romantic notion that stated that I choose not to be defined. I think that ceased to be just a notion yesterday. In fact, probably a long time ago, but yesterday it became a conscious un-subscription from that notion. Definition by definition implies a final state. It implies a completed form, or a finite outcome. I am not yet final. I am not yet fully formed. I will never be fully formed and therefore will never subscribe to a specific definition. Except when I take my last breath. At that moment, and only at that moment, will the sum total of my life’s experiences declare my final definition, and only against that will I be judged.

    By those that consider the whole of me, I may be judged fairly. But by those that remain invested in only a single moment of time from a distant memory, they will only be able to judge an abstract moment of what I lived. Their fixation on me, and inadvertently on their own singular moments, will rob them of the beauty of the whole because they opted to remain defined from fear of the belief that they may not be able to exceed what they have already achieved. Some remain rooted in a moment that defined their insignificance, and the fear of discovering that they may be even less significant than that which prevented them from being more.

    The time I spent with me yesterday is time that is rarely experienced by most. Not because I am better, or more capable, but simply because the saturation of fear and self-loathing defines more souls than life itself ever did.

    I am me. And I am not yet complete. I am not a work in progress, nor am I a commodity for sale. And I am yet to be defined.

  • Poetic Relevance

    Poetry often belies the age of the poet,

    but always reveals the struggles of the soul.

    What we write of youth,

    applies to old.

    But most would rather resist it,

    Than bear the truth be told.

    I’m in love with life.

    But I hate the world.

  • Life Awaits

    Pleasantries aside,
    Life awaits.
    A release
    waiting to be honoured,
    A being of self
    resisting restraint,
    An expression of the soul
    refusing all rules,
    A delight of indulgence
    to tickle a child.
    Laughter
    Love
    Abandon
    Life awaits.

  • The Heroes We Want To Be

    What if I told you I had cancer? Would I suddenly appear bolder and braver than those without it? Or perhaps I lost a loved one, or suffered a traumatic event? Would that suddenly make me easier to understand or relate to? Why is it that we find ourselves compassionate only to those whose troubles we know, but assume that all others are privileged and therefore not in need of our consideration unless earned? It’s exactly this morbidity that drives the mentality of hero worship. We only perceive others as heroes if they have triumphed over a struggle that weighs us down, or achieved a goal against odds similar to our own.

    I can’t recall who said it, but they said it well when they suggested that:

    Each time we create a hero we diminish our own capacity for greatness.

    When we create heroes we create limits. The naïve optimist may see it as setting an aspirational goal, but the realist knows that it sets a limit to what we wish to achieve. It therefore defies logic and reason that one would go through life with the goal of being someone’s hero. There are two critical shortcomings in such an objective. With the first having been explained above, the second is more troubling though because it suggests that the one seeking such a status is shaping their life around the expectations of another.

    I vehemently oppose the belief that we should live our lives with the intention of fulfilling another’s expectations of us. The one that appears to be heroic in such an endeavour is in fact a martyr. Not all martyrs are worthy of celebration. Those that act impulsively out of conviction rather than a consideration for the consequential fame and admiration they may earn are of honourable, maybe even of noble intent. Those that act while consciously aware of the potential fame and good fortune that may follow are attention-seekers and should be spurned. They are the ones that will behave unethically and will lose their moral compass the moment their intended audience is not around to witness their foul ways.

    We are driven more by our ego than we are by sincerity of intent. Those that deny this fact are in fact in denial. So when we set out to be the hero of those around us, be they our significant others, or people whose respect and admiration we court, we must not fool ourselves into believing that such an endeavour is a noble one. Although the benefits may be so, the intent is very firmly grounded in our need for significance, or our need to allay the guilt of those actions that undermine the integrity of the relationship we proclaimed to have had with the one we now wish to serve. Simply stated, when we feel a need to compensate for past failures or betrayals, we willingly sacrifice our rights and liberties in order to repay our debts for previously abusing the rights of others. And to the casual observer, we may appear heroic in the process.

    I think every one of us harbours a desire to be celebrated. The greater the self-loathing, the greater the need for that affirmation and validation. Those that court such attention are often the most troubled. Those that don’t, seek fulfilment of a more substantial kind. But that is the musings of another post altogether. All this keeps nagging at me with one final realisation that many don’t grasp. The difference between rights and expectations. Some will read this and find reason to abdicate their responsibility towards others under the false notion that they refuse to live according to the expectations of others, when in fact the truth is closer to them searching for any reason to abdicate responsibility. Period.

  • When Love Fades

    That first look, when eyes meet, minds align, that moment when you find yourself appreciating a random moment of beauty with a total stranger. In that moment your hearts connect, a yearning of a thousand years collides and it prompts a moment of unexpected euphoria that leaves your knees in search of support, and your mouth agape with wonder. What follows is usually an indulgence of each other, sometimes only intellectually, but often physically as well. In those moments perfection was not sought. Perfection was not even a conscious consideration because the feeling inside made all such standards irrelevant. The unsightly spots, the skin blemishes, the dishevelled hair, or the mismatched clothing all faded from view because that desire of a thousand years was suddenly fulfilled. It didn’t leave enough energy to recede to a safe distance in order to measure what we were presented with. We allowed ourselves to connect, because that connection was always infinitely more important than the lustful satisfaction of two perfectly toned bodies embracing. But then it fades, seemingly for no reason.

    That feeling of love, infatuation, amazement, wonder, awe and all those other beautiful sensations don’t just disappear as a natural cycle. Look at any old couple that have kept the love alive in their relationship and you’ll see that it simply is not true. The wisdom of love lies not in knowing what to do when that happens in order to save what once existed. Knowing what to do. Just the thought of that sounds far too deliberate and onerous to make it joyful.

    Instead, the wisdom of love lies is in being consistently true to the image you portrayed when you first met the one you claimed to have loved. You see, we present ourselves in a way that makes us most attractive or appealing when we find ourselves in the company of those by whom we wish to be admired or accepted. It is an aspirational desire. The insincere will quickly revert to their default disposition of being less than that the moment they feel that they either accomplished the goal of winning said admiration or acceptance, or if they believe that it is a futile effort. That is when the love fades.

    It fades when you think that your best is not deserved any longer. It fades when you think that being lethargic, distracted, or otherwise inclined is more warranted than the giving of your attention in the same measures as you did when you first met. We confuse love with lust far too often. It is the lust that fades. Lust will fade if we grow intellectually and spiritually. That growth automatically demands fulfilment of a different kind. People don’t grow euphoric with physical stimulation, but rather with intellectual or spiritual fulfilment. Euphoria is a feeling of the heart, not the loins. The loins breed lust and indulgence, not euphoria. How many lay there emotionally detached while fulfilling the rights of their lovers while faking it? The absence of the heart renders any physical act impotent.

    When we expect the loins to fulfil what the heart needs, we delude ourselves into believing that physical attraction is more important than spiritual beauty. Relationships don’t go through natural cycles of decay. There is nothing natural about us losing interest in the one we’re with. That only happens when we grow separately, or when one grows and the other doesn’t. That is when love fades. And don’t be fooled into believing that it is anything more complex than that simple truth. Love fades when we leave the ones we love behind, or when the ones we love choose not to continue on the path that we set out on. That is when love fades. And then we set out in search of trinkets to distract ourselves in order to remain loyal to a cause that has long since lost any of the substance it once contained.

    Love fades when you stop caring. You stop caring when you stop paying attention. You stop paying attention when that which attracted you is no longer available, or you’ve outgrown the wonder that it offers. Perhaps that is why it is said that it is not love that keeps a relationship going, but commitment. But even that is not enough, because at some point, the cost of remaining committed will outweigh the benefits of the commitment.

  • The Folly of Love (Part 2)

    The previous post of the same title always felt incomplete, and most probably so will this one. There is another side to this concept of love that is almost entirely absent in our lives. Apart from the sincerity of gestures and goodwill towards each other, there is a bond that is established with each giving of ourselves that goes unnoticed. It escapes us because we have no expectations of it growing into anything more. Sometimes we even restrain ourselves actively from giving more because we are averse to the responsibility that goes with such a contribution. There is a beauty, a grounding, or maybe more accurately a homeliness in being able to connect with another human soul. It is accompanied by a sense of belonging and acceptance. But it is often short lived, if felt at all. I think love extends to every human interaction.

    I’ve found that with each interaction that I share with another, especially when those interactions continue over an extended period of time, and the more familiar I become with the struggles and aspirations of the next person, the more likely I am to fall in love with their being. We always talk about giving of ourselves as an act of love, but I think surrendering our defenses is equally indulgent. To surrender requires trust, and trust reflects more of the person that is trusting than the one who is trusted. It is grounded in a sincerity to contribute or receive that which would otherwise not be possible to bring into being. That sincerity is fed by a desire, or more accurately a need to connect in order to feel significant.

    The most fundamental source of inspiration that we receive is appreciation, or gratitude. It affirms our ability to make a significant contribution which indirectly validates our sense of purpose. Appreciation is an expression of love, but not just an appreciation of beauty. Instead, it is any form of appreciation that extends beyond the superficial. However, the intent (which can be argued is similar if not the same as sincerity) will either taint or embellish the expression of appreciation. It is in that moment that we find reason to fall in love, or to be repulsed.

    The cynic in me compels me to acknowledge that every act is an expression of love. However, that expression is not always aimed at the other. If we look closely enough, we will always be able to determine whether the lover is immersed in a love for themselves, or a love for that which they pursue or indulge in. Even in the most despicable form of aggression or cruelty there is a love that is present for that which drives us to the point of such powerful expression. This ramble is losing its focus and its meaning, and perhaps in that is the confirmation that any contemplation of love is indeed a folly.

    But the lingering thought that remains to be expressed is what affects me most profoundly. It is not the act of falling in love that demands the most of our senses but rather the gutting of love that does. In that moment of betrayal when the one whose being you have grown to love retracts or deliberately withholds their expression of love to you, it is in that moment that the realisation of the love that was shared is most often felt. Until that point it is most often taken for granted, if noticed at all.

    I fall in love with the human spirit more times than I care to admit. And I scare many who are afraid to even consider that love may exist under such circumstances. Given the rarity of true compassion in the world, it is easy for an innocent show of concern or affection to be misconstrued for lust or inappropriate attention rather than love. This moral decay is not only robbing us of a wholesome living experience, it is robbing us of the ability to express sincerity without fear of being unfairly judged or entirely ridiculed.