The Lover and the Beloved

What is it about love that makes you want to become a better version of yourself?

Whether love broke your heart, or it lifted you to higher ground. Somehow, if circumstances are just so, love can inspire you to evolve.

I’ve had both.

I’ve had my heart broken by love, deep, powerful, intense love, and it sparked in me an unstoppable mission of self-actualization.

And I’ve had love uplift me to heights I’d never known existed.

Or rather, it jolted me awake and reminded me that not only was I unfathomably potent, but also that committing to a path of constant personal development was, despite all past evidence and patterns, worth the effort.

And this, regardless of any promise of love requited.

True love, felt for an other, begins with true love felt for one’s self.

This sort of love for self has dual effects:

First, true love for self is apparent to others; thus it will inspire others to love themselves, and, later, others, truly.

Second, love for self opens wider the eyes of the self so that it sees in others a mirror, of sorts, and, thus, this love for self extends beyond the self, to the others.

This love for others is not conditional.

And thus, it needs no requiting.

It is its own reward.

Never more so than when the reflections in others, the fruits of your unconditional love, become evident to you.

This is an unparalleled challenge:

It is a constant struggle to stay so true to self that love can be inherent in all thought, action, and interaction.

But with each moment it pulls through, each time a battle is won, this sense of self and awareness branches out wider, it takes route deeper.

The lover and the beloved become brighter.

And a dark sky becomes filled with the light of billions of twinkling stars.

Beacons shining to guide home the lost and the weary.

Advertisements

Scar Tissue

All wounds heal, in time.

However, not all leave no trace behind. Some leave tattoos of painful memories and traumas to wear like medals of honour, though for a degraded soul(dier).

Some scars even grow tumorous.

A scar from a lesion, such as those experienced by neuronal damage, is a double-edged sword.

The brain can heal itself to a certain extent, but even complete neurogenesis is not possible.

The healed cells can restore chemical and electrical functionality, but not without a few glitches. No. The scar formed will also prevent further growth.

Of course, without the formation of this scar tissue, there is only necrosis, the death of the cell, and, soon enough, the cells around it, and so on.

When thousands of a brain’s neural circuits are connected to a single node, tug on that one node and you have a complete collapse, a catastrophic breakdown of functionality, and thus the host itself.

Even long-term or repeated stress upon these circuits is enough to cause damage.

Emotional pain, physical pain, the brain perceives them both the same way, and that’s why it can physically hurt when you are broken inside.

Yes. Yes, you can heal. You will heal. It’s the natural order of things. But you’re never the same.

That scar tissue will be with you always, indeed, saving your life, but always an ever-present ghost by your side.

Outside

I’m always going to be

On the outside.

I’m looking at you

Looking at her,

She’s looking ahead,

And we’re all just running around

In circles,

Going nowhere,

Like there’s anywhere left to go.

Outside

Looking in

Through

Rose tinted glasses,

Or beer goggles.

Too simple for you?

Or too crazy?

Or just nothing to lust?

I know.

It’s fine.

I always knew.

It’s fine.

It’s still sunny here

On the outside.

Pink Hurricanes

I dream of pink hurricanes.

Yes, aside from my inception-esque dreams that delve layers and layers deep into my subconscious mind, I also dream of countless, more overt dream symbols. Two nights ago it was pink hurricanes. That’s a new one. I’ve dreamed regularly of catastrophic events like hurricanes but never have I had one with colour.

Now, I’m such a sucker for dream analysis, and I swear by it to such extremes, that I often find myself analyzing my dreams whilst still in them. When I awaken, I take great pleasure in spending those first waking minutes interpreting my night’s adventures into the self. For the fun of it, I sometimes look up certain symbols on this one site that I find inexplicably accurate in its interpretations.

Understandably, the hurricane represents strong and/or destructive emotions, and being swept up by one is quite like being consumed by your own emotions. This is very much what I’ve been noticing over the past week or so and thus the symbol didn’t reveal anything new to me. Until I considered it in context of the colour it was.

Pink is a colour traditionally associated with love and affection, right? (Now that I think about it, it all seems so obvious.) In my efforts to push past certain obstacles I’ve been having to deal with, one of the mistakes I had allowed myself to make involved displacing some romantic feelings. I just didn’t want to admit it until now. Such is my ego.

Admitting it now, though, is still a step in the right direction, and doing so had the profound effect of shattering the delusions my Freudian defense mechanisms had dreamed up. Something about confronting the things I used to go out of my way to avoid (short of putting myself in an actual coma) seems to loosen their hold on me.

Granted, there are certain feelings that remained after I’d removed my rose-tinted lenses. I know exactly why and what these are and I stand by them. They do pose somewhat of a problem for me and I shall have to take some time to consider their implications. But all in all, I can literally breathe easier now that I have this load off my chest, this pink hurricane of emotions now lifted.

Then again, I could just be in the eye of the storm. Only time will tell.

You. Yes, I Mean You

When we met,

I didn’t know that I would love you,

But I knew that I could.

I just didn’t know

How easy you’d make it.

You.

Yes, I mean you.

Don’t you shy away

From me now.

You felt it too.

You knew it

Long before I did.

You.

Yes, I mean you.

I won’t play

This game of chess

With you,

Dear.

I lay down my king to you.

You.

Yes, I mean you.

I don’t give my love

Lightly.

So be gentle,

Please.

I hope you know what this means.

You.

Yes, I mean you.

Misery

I love words. I love figuring them out, deconstructing them, putting them together. Probably why I got near perfect SAT scores. One of my few claims to bragging rights. One of the words I’ve been thinking about lately is a former top-ten word of mine: misery.

Does it sounds familiar? Misery. As in ‘miser’. Do those words sound related? Maybe not right away. You can have one without the other right? Well, they both originated centuries ago, like Dark Age stuff, from much the same root.

The now-obsolete meaning of ‘miser’ was ‘a wretch, a person who is unhappy or miserable’. Oddly, this came from a Latin word that meant ‘infatuation’. While we kept the meaning of misery on, we ditched the original definitions of miser in favour of ‘stingy’ or ‘person who hoards money’.

But the word ‘misery’ and my former obsessive penchant for wallowing in it got me thinking a little deeper. I was never a miser with money, but I was always a miser with my pain.

Forget the original meaning of miser. I had some masochistic pleasure in wallowing in miser-y. I was addicted to my pain, filled with self-pity and loathing. Whenever someone tried to pull me out of it, or gave me a thousand reasons to pull myself out of it, I would childishly kick and scream rather than let it go. I didn’t want to let it go.

There is something comforting in the familiar. When we’ve had years and years of conditioning and reinforcement, we become set in our ways. Misers, hoarders of our emotions, our beliefs, our possessions, our loved ones. We don’t want to share, so we feel jealous, angry, hurt, even desperate, driving us to extremes of which we never knew ourselves capable.

Change, however good or bad, can be distressing, because it can mark an immense upheaval. When the world around us changes, it’s like someone pulled the rug out from under us. Reality is shattered, and the cognitive dissonance sends our minds into a tizzy as we try to incorporate the change into our perception.

Our vision might adjust over the course of time and we get used to things, but then suddenly, everything changes again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

My way of dealing was, like I said, to kick and scream and regress, only to cause more and more shit to hit the fan.

Well, rather than dealing with change like this, there is a constructive alternative. When the world around us changes, we can change with it. Flow. Commit to being just dynamic enough in our character (if that’s not oxymoronic) to take change in our stride.

Got dumped? It’s going to hurt like hell for a while, but you already know that, and you can accept that, but it doesn’t take away from you the good stuff you had, nor does it prevent you from having more or even better stuff ahead. You can still move forward in full awareness and ride the waves. Like me, I’m using the last of my free days to write a book about my experiences. Psychologists call it sublimation.

Lost your job? Well, there are millions of jobs that could be a better fit for you, jobs that need people like you. Or maybe you have ideas of your own that you can now work on while in between jobs. Ride the waves.

But if you, like I was, are addicted to and hoarding your suffering, you won’t ever see progress, you won’t ever attain enlightenment, and you sure as hell won’t ever find peace.

I can tell you, peace sounds boring AF. But it isn’t. It really really isn’t. In fact, quite the contrary. Peace, as I’ve come to know it, makes every day profoundly fascinating and exciting.

No more miser-y for me. Hope you feel the same. Now go be awesome. I’m off to do the same.

Missaticum

A mystery

Tall dark and handsome

Can’t pretend I understand

But he sees right through me

I know he’s there

Watching

But I can’t stop

These games we play

The mask before my affections

Hides nothing

Maybe a conscious choice

To ignore

Do you see?

Do you know?

I shed the veil

My head held high

Stop

I’ll keep this to myself

I walk

Away