Tag: trust

  • 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

  • Fleeting Thoughts X

    Fleeting Thoughts X

    If I were to write without restraint, would you see my soul or judge my sanity?

    Sanity is elusive when it competes with the heart.

    The heart is not satiated by the intellect, and the intellect cannot reason with the heart. They both swim in their own orbits.

    Like the sun and the moon, each orbit complements the other and are never truly isolated in their purpose.

    Purpose is recognised when we look beyond the fear and connect with the value that we hold within.

    The value we hold within is only considered valuable if it is allowed to create something larger than the sum of our lives.

    The sum of our lives must serve more than us, or else it feels inconsequential.

    To be of consequence is the heart of fulfilment.

    To share what we have is the root of fulfilment.

    Gratitude is the fulfilment of fulfilment.

    Fulfilment is denied when gratitude is withheld in the face of expectation.

    Expectation threatens our composure when we doubt our significance.

    Our composure is dependent on our perception of our flaws.

    We focus on our flaws and ignore the one who appreciates those flaws to be the very reason why we’re enough because we doubt our significance.

    Self-loathing is spawned by our belief that we’re flawed, rather than the reality that we’re human.

    To see our humanness requires us to gaze upon ourselves with empathy.

    Empathy is subdued through a life of dutiful servitude.

    Servitude denies our right to need or to expect, but cherishes our responsibility to fulfil the needs and rights of others.

    Rights and needs are most often claimed but seldom respected.

    When we forsake our rights and subdue our needs, we lose the sweetness of life and focus validation from others instead.

    Validation from others distills into bitterness as we grow aware of the conditional nature of such validation.

    Bitterness is the fruit of shame, and shame is born from judgement.

    Judgement demands that we view ourselves through the eyes of others, while wearing the lens of our own self-loathing.

    It is through this contaminated frame of reference that we shape our contribution to the world, and then judge the world harshly for not recognising our effort.

    Our contribution is first done selflessly, then selfishly. Trust is lost between the two motives.

    When trust is lost, love is abandoned and hope departs.

    When love and hope are absent, life’s passion is dulled, and servitude beckons.

    Servitude is the true opium of the masses because servitude deflects attention away from our worth, and directs attention to our utility.

    Utility is the saving grace of a life unfulfilled.

  • Silent Protest

    Silent Protest

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    A protest that cannot be articulated, is a protest spawned by futility, to feed futility.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    My contempt for what I am presented with is rarely expressed plainly. My reservations to express at all is grounded in years of ridicule and dismissal around issues I have held with great conviction. Experience is a bitter pill, whether swallowed or not. Each cycle of decay results in a shortening of the fuse that prompts us into action. I believe that our response at break point is chosen long before we reach that point. It’s not something that happens instinctively. Instead, it has been internalised for so long that when we do reach that tipping point, no contemplation or deliberation is needed. The response is not intended to be measured. It is intended to finally release the silent protest that we chose not to express outwardly for reasons that suddenly fade from significance.

    Silent protests are born when our pleas for sanity or reason go unanswered in a setting that we feel compelled to embrace. It’s a cry for recognition of who we are and what we need that has fallen on inattentive ears, or calloused hearts, leaving us bound to the commitments we once made, while resisting the urge to respond in kind lest we be reduced to the same stature of that which we have grown to despise. But the contempt is not easily expressed. The contempt is reined in to ensure that the commitment remains the priority. After all, in the absence of the commitment, no such claim of aloofness would be credible.

    So the silent protest plays out, often for years, and assumes a sub-conscious frame of reference that we rarely realise exists. The weightiness sets in, the lethargy overwhelms, the fatigue smothers, and the passion withers. Life ceases to be life at this point. Instead, it steps aside to allow existence to take over. Existence, then, becomes the final protest. It protests the onset of death, denies the potential of life, and secretly yearns for both.

    Breathe. Exhale. Remind yourself why the silent protest started, if indeed you are able to remember, and decide if it is still worth the commitment you are trying to honour. If you can’t remember, then remind yourself about where your passion once flared, and use that as a point to return to in order to retrace your steps to the point where you lost your voice.

  • A bitter trade

    A bitter trade

    We lose ourselves to the bitterness of this world when we allow the self-loathing of others to define our self-worth.

    In our desire to be understood, we willingly adopt labels that limit our expression of who we truly are.

    It is a betrayal of the contract of kindness that we have with our soul.

    The contract that compels us to treat with gentleness that which we cherish, and to handle with care those who cherish us.

    When we allow the self-loathing that drives the bad behaviour of others to define how we feel about ourselves, we replace our gentleness with their harshness, and our care with their contempt.

    The labels we use to convince ourselves that this bitter trade is warranted include convincing ourselves that we’re alone, that were powerless victims, or that we’re worthless unless our betrayer tastes the cruelty with which they treated us.

    We hope to find significance in karma, believing that if we’re not avenged, then our experience was of no consequence.

    To be of consequence, even to the most despicable, fills that void of self-worth that we created when we betrayed the contract of kindness with our soul.

    Exhale. Release the toxins of a toxic past, so that you may fill your chest with the blessings that await.

  • Your perspective is your choice

    Your perspective is your choice

    Perspective is a choice, not an inheritance.

    Improve your awareness of why you believe what you believe, and it will be possible to consciously choose what resonates with your personal value system, and discarding what doesn’t.

    When we lose sight of why we hold the perspectives that we do, and those perspectives create a conflict within us, we feel an increase in stress and anger without always understanding why.

    At those times, it’s easy to explain our emotional state by connecting it with our perspectives that are being challenged.

    However, responding from a position of anger or defence because of a perceived attack on what we believe to be true is a defence mechanism.

    We would have no reason to defend that which we believe is based on an objective truth.

    The only way to achieve such a level of confidence in our perspectives and beliefs is by improving our self awareness, and thereby improving our ability to critically assess what we stand for, and why.

    This will go a long way towards finding balance in life, and knowing which battles are worth fighting, and which are not.

  • Yearning for a simple life

    Yearning for a simple life

    Life is simple, but it’s not easy.

    It becomes complicated when we look for the easy way out.

    Doing the right thing is often complicated by our concern for the consequences with those around us.

    The greater our emphasis on those consequences, the more complicated life becomes because we have that much more to consider before we hold true to our convictions.

    Often, it’s the easiest way to lose sight of our convictions, or finding reason to compromise it until it becomes an empty shell of what we once believed to be sacred.

    A simple life, by definition, would lack such complexity.

    But in that lies the demand for courage and clarity of thought.

    The clearer our thinking, the easier it is to muster up our courage.

    Courage is therefore contaminated by an unhealthy fixation on potential outcomes.

    Worse still, by preempting outcomes and changing our convictions to avoid conflict, we deny others the opportunity to grow by protecting them from the truth that we hold within us.

    Thus, life threatens to be complicated, and unfulfilled, because what we express on the outside ceases to resonate on the inside.

    And finally, this opens the door for a bitterness or regret that can no longer be expressed because we surrendered our peace for a painful compromise.

    Hold on to your truth, and allow others the space to deal with the awkwardness of their insecurities as they slowly learn to embrace a new understanding.

  • Authentic Toxicity

    Authentic Toxicity

    Therapeutic expression has been elusive for some time now. Deliberately writing to finish a compilation of thoughts tends to constrain the thoughts themselves. It feels like herding cats, a sensation akin to seeking constructive engagement in a toxic environment. The benefit of a toxic environment is that it tends to provide sufficient distractions from the emptiness that it fosters. That emptiness is most prominently experienced when you exit from such a toxic space.

    The toxicity provides a sense of morbid purpose at times. That morbidity, however, is only ever felt when the efforts to achieve a positive outcome from herding the cats results in the dispersal of the cats, and a box of litter in your hands. The optimist looks at the litter in the box and celebrates the fact that it is contained. The pessimist looks at the litter and feels cheated out of the purring comfort of the cats that littered only to be left with the litter and not the affectionate embrace. The realist takes the litter box, empties it out, and moves on to find another cat to fill the litter box in the hope that the next round of litter will be accompanied by an affectionate exchange as well.

    Sometimes we’re so fixated on the hurt or the pain of betrayal that we hold on to that litter believing that it is an essential and defining part of the box. The box, of course, being our capacity to embrace life. Speaking in metaphors remains a cryptic skill that avoids unwanted scrutiny. Scrutiny is only good if not practiced for the sake of gossip or morbid curiosity. There are too many that show an interest in the problems of others simply because they need to feed their egos by internally (sometimes overtly) comparing the wholesomeness of their own lives to the life of the one that is feeling at odds with the world. Far too often that sense of wholesomeness is grounded in the convenience of being surrounded by others that have less. It doesn’t feel so wholesome when surrounded by others that have more.

    The sincere ones focus on those that have less so that they (the sincere ones) can gain an appreciation for what they have, while the insincere focus on the same so that they can feel superior and be recognised for their superiority. Authenticity does not feature for the kind that live their lives in the spotlight, even though that spotlight is powered up by their own egos for most of their lives. The meek under-estimate what good is in their own lives, and therefore celebrate the same icons who power up their own spotlights. Icons can be created through manipulation of the truth, but authenticity will continue to escape such a manufactured reality. That lack of authenticity leaves most feeling unfulfilled, including the icon worshipers. The realisation of such a lack of fulfilment manifests itself in the lives of the worshipers as an incessant subconscious yearning to have more and do more than the fickleness of the idol.

    We cannot wish away problems or adversity just as much as we cannot wish happiness into reality. Both are outcomes of our contribution towards its ends. Inactivity never yields happiness, it only ever yields complacency at best, and a festering of adversity at worst. A sincere choice made towards alleviating the adversity will provide a sense of fulfilment even if the outcome was unsuccessful. There is much joy and reward in knowing that you tried and failed, than to one day regret not having tried at all. That reward lies in the fact that despite your best efforts, the good you tried to impart was not thwarted because of a lack of effort on your part, but rather because of a lack of gratitude or awareness on the part of others. In that lies the secret to a peaceful life. The willingness to accept that despite our best efforts, success is not guaranteed, but in spite of the threat of failure, we chose to prevail.

    A brain dump carries its own sense of release from the angst of existing. Existence is a consequence of being, whereas life is a consequence of choice. I have always chosen to live, rather than to survive. A deep breath was never about regaining my composure or my footing, but instead, it was to take in the sweetness of everything that defined my experience in that moment, be it good or bad. Internalising the whole of the experience builds character, while internalising only the palatable feeds the ego. The ego does not exist independent of our choices. It is our choices. Too many blame their egos on their innate nature, when their innate nature has been stifled from fear of owning their life because of the risk of ridicule, or failure.

    Authenticity is in short supply. Everyone goes out searching for it in others, but very few offer it to those that seek it. Even less offer it despite them defining it as the minimum standard against which they will choose to show others due respect, or consideration. In a transactional culture, instant gratification is only a symptom of the insincerity of the masses to give before they receive. The epic proportions we have reached in this regard means that dignity is optional, and self-respect is not a consideration because self-respect has come to be defined by the trinkets of success that we have on display to the world, rather than the sense of accomplishment we have as a human being.

    Being human eludes us, while doing in humans has become a global sport.

  • 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.]