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The lighthouse

There I was, adrift amongst the ocean of monotonous routine and empty acts that had become my life, lost in a loneliness and pointlessness that had no horizon. The vastness and emptiness was consuming. Every attempt to fill this void with false people, empty relationships and hopeless hobbies. I was treading water, trying to keep my head above the surface whilst enduring wave after wave of loneliness, insecurity and frustration. I feared that I would be out here forever.

But then I saw her, a lighthouse, high upon the cliff, her radiance and light serving as a beacon telling me that there is hope. That genuine people and real connections do exist.

Though from where she stood upon the cliff she could not always see how far her light could stretch. Nor could she tell how many could see it. And sometimes all she could see was the drop.

She wasn’t always perfect either. At times she was cracked and broken, sometimes near thepoint of collapse. But her light remained true and bright. And as I was drawn to it my eyes were opened to how even those of us who were broken could still save others. And I learned how loving another could teach me how to start loving myself.

As a lighthouse may be just a building to somebody on land it can save the lives of those at sea.

The art of stillness

I’ve always been one for talking. Ever since I was a child I would talk on end. Even to this day I can find it difficult to remain silent. This is due to a variety of deep seeded insecurities and a fear of coming across as boring or disatisfying. Though over the years I have found that with practice it has become easier. This is not to say that I do not see the enjoyment or satisfaction of a genuine conversation. But my words were often without meaning or place.

However it was in early December of 2019 that I discovered how truly joyous and peaceful it could be to spend a few moments in silence and stillness. One of my closest friends and I met up that afternoon and decided to go for a walk, one of our favourite pass times. We strolled down to the creek in the forest near her house where we sat for a while. And that’s when I found a real calmness and tranquility. Whilst sitting at the side of the creek I realised that, for the first time in a while, I had nothing to say, and so I said nothing. I simply took in my surroundings and enjoyed being there with my friend. I listened to the water in the creek, watched the trees dance and bend in the wind and listened to the wind blow through them and would watch my friend as she sat on the rock with her feet in the water, admiring her innocence and presence in the moment. As we walked back to her house I realised that it had been a long time since I had felt so peaceful and content. To have been able to enjoy a moment for what it was and for two friends to enjoy eachothers silent company left me feeling balanced and happy. Feelings that I had never found in idle conversation. This is something that I will strive to continue and to perfect. More can be said in silence than in 1000 pointless words.

“The only people who will be upset by the raising of your boundaries are the ones who were benefiting from you not having any”

My experience with ayahuasca

fearfall

When I was a child, my parents took me to Rainbow’s End in Auckland, New-Zealand. Being the impulsive child I was, I dived at the tallest ride in the park. Before I knew it I was strapped into a seat which took me and a few others up a massive pole. At the very top, one would enjoy views all over Auckland; that is, before we were suddenly dropped. The drop may have only lasted five or ten seconds, but they were the longest seconds of my life. I begged for the ride to be over and it completely killed my motivation to go on most rides again. I used to get a thrill out of being scared, but this fear was another level altogether. That is exactly what my experience with Ayahuasca was like: being strapped into this thing with no control over its course.
Continue reading “My experience with ayahuasca”

Disenfranchised grief

A few years ago I discovered the term “disenfranchied grief”. The term describes grief that is not acknowledged by society. I think a lot of HSPs may be able to relate to this type of grief as, like most things, we tend to experience loss and separation more acutely. We love deeply and we grieve just as deep. It is hard for people to understand how we can hurt so much (or for so long) over something which seems relatively small or unimportant. We may find ourselves grieving the death of a relationship as though the person has died. We may grieve a friend as though we’ve broken up with a romantic partner (there is a great article on Psychology Today where Seth writes about how the emotional bond people feel with a close friend is as close or closer than the bond with their romantic partner). It may not even be a person we grieve, but an animal, object, place or loss of physical or mental function. Yet in our society, it is hard to get the same sympathy and support for these things as people do when someone, such as a family member, has died. Or when we’ve broken up with our partner. Sometimes we cannot even speak about our loss due to stigma. It may have been a secret relationship or we may have been diagnosed with a sexually transmitted infection. This also leads to disenfranchised grief. Continue reading “Disenfranchised grief”

Frozen in time: reflections

People, places, innocence,

Frozen in my heart and mind like glass horses.

Safe from the sword of time,

Of change.

Sealed with the kiss of eternity.

Now melting,

Dripping,

Escaping as tears. Continue reading “Frozen in time: reflections”

Toxic optimism: The curse in disguise

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions”

This won’t be a long post. I haven’t the energy or mind set to ramble on. But this is something I would like to talk about.
In recent months I have meditating on the man I have been. Thinking back on how I have handled certain relationships and the words I’ve chosen. But it wasn’t until it happened to me that I could truly realise the effect it can have. How blind I was.
About two months back I was in one of the worst places I had been in a long time. I felt as thought I was a breath away from rock bottom. Continue reading “Toxic optimism: The curse in disguise”

Lost landscapes

I lie on fake grass

Eating chips cooked in genetically engineered canola,

Under clouds that were planted by planes

Thinking of the words you said-

That I’m your baby

A sister to you.

A friend.

That you want to protect me.

That you think of me

That you miss me

That we will keep in touch.

Words that make me feel like somebody.

Words that wrap my entire being

Like a snake, whispering, tempting my heart.

Your words dance on in me

Even when the music has long ceased.

Continue reading “Lost landscapes”

Self-care is not selfish

Lately I have been thinking a lot about what it means to take care of yourself. About how important it is, how to do it, but also about the fact that self care is, in actuality, an act of selflessness.
For the longest time I, like many others, would always put others before myself. As a child I taught myself that perhaps that was the right thing to do. I would put myself last so that they may benefit. Even if it meant I would miss out or that I would suffer for it. I would do this everywhere. I would put others first in every relationship. In a class room or learning environment. At work. Even with strangers. Often times I would tell myself that I was simply being courteous or kind. When in fact I was only depriving myself of my own love. I was leaving myself wide open and vulnerable. Continue reading “Self-care is not selfish”

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