In silence, I hear the deep pain reverberating through the earth, absorbed through the aching feet of people whose bodies express their pain for them. Through the noise I feel the extreme incongruence embedded in social conventions that like a game of Jenga people are hoping they can keep playing without it collapsing on them.
It never made sense to fixate on a compartmentalized life when I can hear the din over the walls. I tried, but I could never fool myself into believing the illusions. Maybe that’s also why I haven’t married yet. It’s impossible to believe someone’s hollow words that are meant to seal me off into a niche.
I don’t know if pain brings clairvoyance or if clairvoyance brings pain but I realized too late that all my peering into the voids also magnetized to me the shadow forms and unclaimed pain that are like massive land fills of the collective’s energy.
The other day I joked with my therapist that it’s not only I that come to these sessions but all the unhealed aspects from ancestral trauma and unresolved conflicts in Somalis. I bring them to my sessions to release what I couldn’t metabolize through my intellect alone. It’s through these alchemical transmutations that I often gain insight into us, into our people. The noise has been tuned out to reveal the harmony in the sound. The image has been made symmetrical. It’s easy to see the potentiality in all things then.
I thought this path was going to be easier, but I accessed things that carry a hefty import tax, and I’m still paying off the debt of insights that I’m not entirely sure what I’m meant to do with?
I asked myself the other day if I’d have felt fulfilled in the conventional realities I so often compare myself to, and I wouldn’t. I guess being filled and feeling full also means that you don’t get to cut out what you don’t like. You have to taste all the flavours to develop a rich palate. You have to allow the opposites to co-exist because they give each other meaning and definition. I’m not here to define things, only to experience things as they already have been defined.
Perhaps the grief of our age is that definition often decontextualizes the opposites. Detached intellect compartmentalizing what was created concurrently. The connection is lost, and all we’re left with are pieces stacked on each other, like the Tower of Babel, like a game of Jenga. Building constructs that no one can inhabit or embody.