Tag: mybeloved

  • 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

  • Dancing with destiny

    Dancing with destiny

    A snippet of a thought from the sequel to my novel, An Incomplete Love Story.

    We’re living in such uncertain times, and the uncertainty seems to be seeping into my thought processes.

    “Whether we were cut from the same cloth before time began, or we were shaped by life to be perfectly matched, it doesn’t matter. Destiny doesn’t always win. Sometimes, we avert destiny because we prefer the familiarity of our fears rather than the uncertainty of hope.”

    This, if ever it is written, will be central to the theme of my next novel, Taqdeer: A dance with destiny.

    Tell me what you think. Should I write the sequel, or should this be one of those love stories that should forever remain incomplete?

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Getting it wrong

    Getting it wrong

    An excerpt from my first book, The Egosystem, contemplating the impact of things not working out often leads to our greatest moments of inspiration.

    That’s part of the beauty of defeat. It creates a deepening appreciation for the dreams that we court.

    But we all have a tolerance level beyond which even the probability of hope feels like a threat to our sanity.

    When you reach that point, it’s important to understand that a new path doesn’t have to mean a new way to chase old dreams.

    Sometimes, it may mean abandoning dreams and pursuing new ones.

    Even if it’s just a dream of a solitary peace, after having spent yourself in trying to achieve a beautiful one with someone else.

    There are no rules to what you must hold onto, or what you must let go of. Similarly, there are no rules that dictate that you must let go of something before you pursue something new.

    Whatever balance you find in maintaining your sanity while believing in your reality, as long as no one else is affected, do it for you. Even if the rest of the world thinks you’re crazy.

    And don’t forget to breathe…

  • 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

  • The gratitude paradox

    The gratitude paradox

    Gratitude is a result of appreciating the absence of something.

    That absence doesn’t have to be experienced, it can also be observed.

    All that is needed is an event or incident that inspires the realisation of what life would be like without the value that we obtain from something. Occasionally it’s from someone.

    It is our aversion to the absence of that value in our life that instils a sense of gratitude for its presence.

    Gratitude is one of those things that apart from it being impossible to insert into another’s heart, it also cannot be given if you don’t have it for yourself.

    When one who takes themselves for granted, or undermines their self worth expresses gratitude, it is more an intellectual acknowledgment of the contribution of another, rather than true gratitude.

    This is easily revealed when such benefit is removed. The one with true gratitude will mourn its loss or even try to reclaim it, while the one who lacked that gratitude for themselves will find it easier to accept that it is what it is.

    Giving up on good is more readily practiced by those who don’t believe themselves to be deserving of such good.

    Thus, the absence of gratitude is not to be cursed. Instead, the pain of the soul that lacks it should be considered so that we may offer healing rather than rejection.

  • A brain dump

    A brain dump

    My inclination to write within the context of a universal experience feels insincere and superficial at times. To want to write at all feels like a self indulgent rant or feathering of my own cap. I’ve abandoned more manuscripts and drafts of old manuscripts these past few weeks than I have all my life.

    The need to recede grows stronger still. My flowery language weighs down in my efforts to express myself lightly. A fresh perspective is elusive in the midst of an old scene. Every effort results only in a new sense of the same old, but no new insights into old demons.

    To be is not as simple as it seems. It demands so much within and without that it commands being, long before it allows me to just be. The shards of madness accumulate as I contemplate the value of it all. Seeing beyond the facade is a painful truth that most would rather disguise. It’s that internalised scene of old demons that prevent new perspectives from shaping. It is the same vantage point that denies affection from those who see our demons as trophies of our humanness.

    The opinions of others have no bearing when we’re convinced that they don’t see what we see. But, even this assumes that our vision is perfect, and our perspectives perfectly informed. Therefore, it must be shame that shades our eyes from the brightness of beauty when the darkness is the only familiarity that we know. Especially when those opinions offer hope when we hope to hold on to the darkness instead.

    The need to expel the clutter from my head is increasing in frequency. Sometimes it’s a healthy release. Sometimes, it creates a shape and form for that which I would rather not have visible. But escapism has never served me well, so brain dumps serve to recalibrate my focus when focus itself appears to be elusive. It’s the counter-intuitive act of being dishevelled in my thoughts in the hope of finding a groomed sanity.

    The four seasons experienced this morning, coupled with tonight’s full moon, resonate with the fluidity of my existence today. Perhaps the tides will bring with it some newfound signs of peace, or serenity. I’m beginning to find a distinct difference between the two.

    One thought that won’t leave me is based on something I wrote in the darkness of late. In contemplating the nature of pain, I stumbled upon the realisation that pain is nothing. It’s nothing where we once had something. It’s the absence of a joy we once had, but has since departed. It, in itself, is not a thing. It is only present in the absence of that which offers us peace…if not serenity. It’s not possible to make sense of nothing. Hence the pain of having nothing after once having had so much.

    Such ramblings continue to tumble out of my mindlessness as I reevaluate everything I once evaluated to be true. There is much that others take for granted but of which I have yet to taste. Giving up on what I need or want has been a constant in my life. But giving up on duty is a luxury that I don’t have. Fixating on what was given up versus what cannot be abandoned has never led to any enlightened spaces. Only self-pity or a toxic sense of entitlement.

    To feel entitled isn’t as vapid as it may appear. Beneath such entitlement still roams the misguided notion that there is a self-worth that must be honoured by others. Whether true or not, social contracts of the like are only as valid as the willing subscription of those party to it. Such subscription has grown to define the value of many, both in its presence by building pedestals for the meek, and in its absence by destroying pedestals of the bold.

    Sanity roams freely in a neighbouring state.