On the surface, everything is calm. But it’s an inner agitation that’s spreading like contagion. Fear has better communication skills than we do. If you think about it, social media was created as an extension of television when the box could no longer contain the escapist fantasies we sought to make up for our complacency in the collective soul loss sweeping through the planet. Colonialism didn’t end. It just switched dimensions from the physical to the metaphysical.
Love doesn’t have a home in me. I’m loveless, and so lost.
Every kind and caring and honest heart is the reason why God hasn’t destroyed this planet yet. One wholesome heart may be the reason why we live to see another day. And the day there remains not a single good heart on earth, that’s the end of the world because love is the only reason for existence. Where love is repelled life is obsolete.
I ask that I be patient with the things in me that are still dawning. That are silhouettes and not yet solid figures. I ask that I be gentle with the parts of me that tiptoes around my self-criticism, that hides from my frustration against myself. I’ve been reluctant to ask for 2 things ; patience and what my purpose here is. I realized today that the reason for this is because I really didn’t want life and i was just going to do the absolute minimum to stay afloat. I didn’t care about my purpose, much less being so willing to know what unfolds within me that I ask for patience to sit through the discomfort. I put myself on mute very early on. Maybe when I was 5. I decided then that it was easier if I was just here in the capacity of an observer and not a participant. I wasn’t willing to make my life a battlefield. Nothing was ever that deep, especially my life.
I’m an existential mess. I study my neurosis and work on creating new neural pathways, severed by a lifetime of dissociation and trauma. I don’t know what I do, I still haven’t figured that part out. I just try to do whatever soothes my pain, even if for one hour. Somehow that leads me down rabbitholes and I find myself frantically writing down my downloads and observations before they are buried by the next wave.
I don’t know about intelligence. I’m just really clear on what I see and what I feel.
The antidote to trauma is silence I think. I’ll try adopt that this summer in shaa Allaah. No planning, no restlessness, no pressure, no figuring out. I’ve been doing enough digging. I’ll sit anticipating nothing, accepting everything that comes. Just the thought gave me a heavy feeling in my gut. It’s the complete opposite of what my life has been in the past 12 years, so being still and silent feels like being on a yacht in shark infested waters. The imprint of terror is so strong that I’m pretty certain it’s changed my DNA. I just hope my healing gets encoded in my DNA so that I’ll pass that on instead.
Seeing the truth of your wounds also shows you the wisdom of the divine will that allowed it to happen. And suddenly the picture changes completely.