Vulnerability is powerful.
There are certain moments in life that we do not forget. What do you remember?
There are certain moments in life that we do not forget. And there are certain moments in life that at the time we think we will remember, yet soon cease to have relevance.
Can you tell the difference?
It’s funny — as I learn more about myself and the world around me, and have the courage to step into myself and love myself more deeply, I see so starkly that so much of what I believed (or perhaps feared) to be true is and was a complete fallacy.
I also realise that personal power is directly connoted with how vulnerable you are willing to be — first and foremost with yourself.
I feel blessed to be at a point in myself and my life where I am able to say that I back myself to a hilt.
No, I am not perfect. Yes, I make mistakes. But I believe, to the core of my being, that I am a basically good person. And that’s what makes all the difference.
Descartes — “I think, therefore I am”.
The mind is powerful. And there is power in vulnerability, too. So much power.
And perhaps said power is best expressed in different terms; not just as a form of power but as a source of power in its own right.
Vulnerability is powerful — period.
It is what opens the door to connection.
Hell, it’s what enables connection.
To be human is to be vulnerable.
And when you accept that, it sets you free.
I talk a lot about trauma because for a long time I lived in shame. Yet what I am realising now is not merely that I had no reason to be ashamed, but that this is something that many other people also carry with them.
In short, this is a universal human affliction.
At some level, perhaps, it’s just part of (making sense of) being human.
22nd August 2017
When the love in your heart is what gives you the most: it keeps you alive.
When you were “born to live, not just survive”, but it’s a good place to start.
The only place, in fact.
Single, solitary, self. We need that time, that space, that place, to face. Tete-a-tete. Don’t look, let alone walk, away — as if you could. As if you would. As if you could, would, want to.
I can’t give up on you.
I can’t, won’t, refuse.
That’s love: it’s not always beautiful.
It hurts.
But it’s strong.
I believe in you, in me, in us. Cradling. Gentle touch. Virtual *hugs*, for when the physical is too much. For when the body is shame is pain is suffocation, emanating; for when loss is lizard-skin, breaking; for when I am aching, shaking, tired of making the same mistakes over and over again — you are here. Always. I find comfort with you, in me. A miracle; make-believe.
I think therefore I am: philosophy.
I look therefore I see: visionary.
I love therefore I feel: beauty. What is and what can be.
That soft sinking feeling, collapsing. Into, unto, onto oneself. Sheets against flesh, body splayed canvas daubed, pawed, adored. To be is not, no longer, a question: implicit, prospective, redemptive — all in one sentence. These streets may not be paved with gold, but there’s life in the old dog yet.
It’s time to rest now; to sleep, perchance to dream.
May I, you, we find peace. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.
We all have trauma. And we all have shame. To be human is inherently traumatic at some level, because being human — and by extension, living — sometimes (often) hurts. And we develop elaborate coping mechanisms to numb or deny this to ourselves but nonetheless, beneath the surface, this fact of the matter remains.
If you are willing to go deep, if you are willing to be vulnerable, you don’t have to be afraid.
Often, our fear of pain is worse than the (feeling of) pain itself.
Either way, what we remember is not how it felt, but what we feel about it.
And for me, my pain, in the here and now, is cathartic. It reminds me of who I am; in some ways, it anchors me. It is what connects ‘me-as-me’ with past, present and future incarnations of self and propels me forward; it’s a guide and a talisman for what I still have to work through and work on. I am grateful for my pain. I am grateful for all that I am. And I am grateful for all the love that I see, experience in, and am able to give to the world.
To be able to love in spite of pain is the greatest gift, because it allows you to transcend any personal suffering that you may be experiencing. My pain is but a microcosm of something deeper and more eternal: a reminder that we are all wounded, and that “hurt people hurt people”.
And so, I endeavour to heal the world by slowly, gently, compassionately healing myself, one day at a time.
The littlest things mean the most, and sometimes it’s just about being kind.