No signal reception

I guess what I’ve always been looking for is divinity in things and people. The spark, the awareness that I’m not alone in what I’m noticing. And it’s been so difficult to find it growing up in the West that has wiped clean any sign of the metaphysical or supernatural, at least in the establishment. School, books, movies, peers – everywhere I turned to I was met with this stonewalling of the divine, as if my intuition and spiritual perception was being shut down and gaslit. Not by any overt or even conscious effort, but by simply using what’s provable and what’s established by experts to gauge and guide one’s exploration and expression. And before I could even take a step I was hamstrung.

Although I decided to stop showing that side to me, it was as if it had autonomy in what it perceived and discovered. It spat right out everything I tried to shove down my own throat in a desperate attempt at fitting in. Eventually the inner conflict grew to such cataclysmic proportions that my psyche fragmented, not counting the unrelated traumas I’ve been through.

My mind is thirsting for something and the echo chambers of academia and postmodernism is like a desert to me. It’s absolutely uninspiring and not welcoming to curiosity. It has no soul and no connection to the divine whatsoever.

Carve out life

Suffer the consequences of your sensitivity. Feeling deeply is being connected to the terrifying beauty of life.

I changed my mind

I would never feel comfortable around people who manage life. I’m too passionate and in love with life for me to be nonchalant about any of it. Every corner, every sign, every fork in the road, every hue – i want it all. I want to ingest it. I want to unite my sensory and existential experiences, I want to unwrap and unfold and unveil the things that electrify me. Perhaps that’s not sustainable for some, those seeking equilibrium in pivoting their life on their careers and social lives. But for me, death and being rejected or looked down upon or neuroticism is a more tolerable outcome than holding my soul back in favour of the collective.

I can’t know something and not have it affect me. I can’t know that someone did my friend dirty and not blacklist that person for life. I can’t know questionable ethics of a person and not distance myself from them. I can’t know the truth and not sacrifice everything to embody it.

This isn’t meant to be an indictment of anyone who doesn’t feel the same. Feel being the operative word. Some feel more than others – call it nature, innate disposition, temperament, soul signature. I just want a world where we are honest about what we feel and lead a life congruent with that, regardless of how it reflects. Because I believe that what feels wholesome for the individual IS wholesome for the collective. I don’t believe for one moment that the heart would feel pleased with something that is toxic or harmful. The heart feels no separation from the whole. Only the mind is that compartmentalized and calculating.

Can I Mourn Another Morn’? 


Earlier today I was told of the abrupt passing of someone I met once a few months ago, and who last emailed me last week . I don’t know how to cope.
 His name was Mattias, a tall and dignified gentleman in his late 30s, early 40s. He was the coordinator of a rehabilitation project geared towards young adults 18-29 with psychological distress to reintegrate into society through helping them with whatever connections, networking, training they need. I keep remembering the last email he sent me after I had to cancel our second meeting, “ it’s ok Mulki, let me know when you feel better and we’ll make a new appointment.”
I’m in denial. I don’t know how to react. I’m not a crier but I’m crying, in short bursts whenever I remember our first meeting where he was listening very intensely to what I had dealt with and what dreams I wanted help with. And how he was so validating and warm. And amazed at my intelligence and wisdom. 
I keep asking myself, how is it possible? He emailed me a couple of days ago…

The first meeting was an intial assessment of my needs after which he’d convene with his colleagues to see if they could take me on ( they are like a support group that helps you with customized and inclusive plans) . I didn’t make it to the second meeting because my ptsd was triggered and it sent me into an intensely painful episode that I’m still engulfed in, 3 weeks on. 
In a way, I’m glad I couldn’t make it because if I had met with him more times, I don’t know how his death would affect me. 
I’m very very sensitive. I feel so connected to everyone. Just today, before I got the bad news , I was at the local pharmacist’s to order my antidepressants and a Somali auntie was there who didn’t know much Swedish. She was fairly new to the country and she asked me to translate for her as she had prescriptions she wanted to take out. I said alright.
The pharmacist was an old white lady with a faint eastern European accent to her otherwise impeccable Swedish. She was completely cordial with me, but when she turned to the Somali auntie, she became a stone-hearted bitch. She was rolling her eyes and sighing and showing frustration. 
She even told me to explain how to take the medication to her since there was no point for her to explain it as the Somali auntie was most probably going to forget. 

I said, you don’t know that. Explain it to me and I’ll translate it. 
She dismissed me saying that the directions are written on the package. 

I told her not to dismiss me and explain it, it wasn’t my obligation to read. 

She told the auntie the total price and as I was explaining to her – she was also illiterate btw- the pharmacist snapped and told me to wrap it up as she had customers!
I fucking blew my fuse and told her that she had no goddamn right to treat that auntie that way JUST BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T SWEDISH! I told her that she was also a customer and had every right to take her time! I told her I didn’t like the way she was discriminating against her. 

The auntie isn’t getting why I’m fuming and I told her let’s go. I had only met her 10 minutes prior but I felt so protective of her, and after we parted I thought of creating a support group for Somali immigrants. I couldn’t imagine what they must be going through, all the passive aggression and covert racism and condescension.

I was in those thoughts when I got the email. 
I say that to say, I have a bleeding heart and my empathy is so extreme that I end up experiencing people’s pain as if it were mine – even from pain I glean from what’s left unsaid. And setting boundaries to protect ME has been an uphill battle. 

I always end up numbing myself, keeping my pain to myself. I guess this post is my way of telling myself that I have a right to feel broken and sad. That my feelings are more than fleeting inconveniences or afterthoughts. 
So yeah.

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