Soultosoul_with_ivy

In the worlds and words of Myths,

A story of love still holds;

The Greek Myth of Echo who loved Narcissus,

But Narcissus who fell in love with himself.

Its been said that they both were cursed,

Echo could only repeat the words she heard,

It was a retribution for her lies and deceits,

And Narcissus got a taste of his own medicine.

People who loved him were never good enough for him;

One day he saw his reflection in a lake,

And got enamored of his own image ;

After breaking too many hearts, Narcissus fell in love with himself.

As often as it does, it turned into an agony,

Just like those who loved him, he could never reach and touch his reflection;

His love too was incomplete.

It was a Poetic Justice crafted by Nemesis, The Goddess of Vengeance,

Reap what You Sow,

She saw to it.

• 

---

In Ancient Greek Mythology, looking at one’s reflection for too long was considered a bad omen (It does make sense as it makes you more vain).

In the next part,

Let us see what is means now to look at our own reflections, Shall we?

---

It’s the end of September 2021, it was a start of long waited new and end of something long due. Finally had the courage to walk away, doubted it so much and still doubt a little. However, it does keeps fading away as I feel myself whole.

I have been addicted to the pain for so long, happiness feels uncomfortable, wrong somehow, But I keep on overriding that thought, relentless love is my solution, when relentless neglect was the cause.

It is the end of September but September was the start, so I am so thankful for you September, for nudging yet comforting me through all.

Be Brave to close that door,

You will be rewarded with a beginning once more

Sticking around for the sake of hope,

Just listen to your gut, your body;

It will be honest

And tell you if that hope is worth staying for

You are a Sensory, Spiritual, Intelligent Being,

You register subtle signs, clues, answers;

Just by being, Just by existing

Don’t gaslight yourself and your body,

You know better than to doubt it

That anxiety, That itch, That ache unexplained,

It is the manifest;

Your soul, your body, your energy trying to tell you something

Let this moment assure you,

Let this be the sign,

It is not giving up,

If staying is so futile

Choosing to feel better is your freedom,

It is your right,

Give yourself permission,

To choose yourself

This moment promises you,

It is ok to let go,

Be Brave to close that door,

You will be rewarded with a beginning once more

Such a wretched existence,
Same dull every good, to how are you,
Same scrolling down to pass the in between moments.
Numbing all the idiosyncrasy of our being.

So horrifyingly melancholic,
To be reminded for a fraction of second,
That the trees, the rain, the ocean exist,
And how we are conditioned to look but just for a minute.

How painfully wasteful,
To live our ‘young years’ by working ourselves out of health,
And live the majority of our actual life with bitterness and regret.

Can’t take even a moment of this old ways,
Better no existence than such dreadful remainder of days.

Monday and the blues,
Friday and finally out of the woods;
Nerves that fire together,
Wire together, it’s true.

All the possibilities we can create, with our brilliant mind, body and spirit,
And this is what we settled for, an inadequate way of living!?

Breaking free of the shackles of our own making,
Taking the freedom to live, hence taking the responsibility,
Courage to face our own potential,
Bravery to put in the work to reach those potentials.

It’s all going to end after all,
But to be human is to not go gentle before the curtain falls.

Perfect for whom?
Perfect to what end?

Perfect, So you become more,
Perfect, Because what is, is not enough.

Fair enough, So what is enough?
Is perfection a set standard ?
But what if the standard is not enough,
Once it’s conquered.

Where is the end to perfection?

Should there be an end?
Shouldn’t we strive to become better?

Striving to be better, Yes.
Yet perfection is not a goal but a state that can never be reached.

Perfection is an idea one gives to oneself,
When one does not feel good enough to be loved.

But everyone is innately good enough to be loved.

Then maybe one punishes oneself with perfection,
For not being loved.

Home is the state I am,

My body, Each breathe, The feeling of being what I am.

Many places we born, live, struggle, thrive, die in,

But home is always the state of what you are in.

It seems that sometimes a place feel so comforting and familiar,

That leaving it feels like taking a big bad step,

You can never un-take.

Although, What is the outcome if not the step,

The comfort, the familiarity of the known

But the wonder about the possibilities of the unknown place.

To the steps that are courageously made,

To steps that are thought of towards the unknown place,

It might give a little assurance if not relief,

That All of our existence came to be known,

Also from such distant unknown state.

This is a pilgrimage, to find myself

To know that I am whole, even though in fact I am.

To want to believe in myself,

To want to trust in what I am.

This is a pilgrimage, to love myself

To go for everything, that I hesitantly feel I deserve.

To wish to wake up everyday,

To wish that there are more days.

This is a pilgrimage to myself

To be truthful to every speck of my energy,

To be authentic to express every cell that makes me.

This is a pilgrimage to myself

To the wholeness of my entity,

To the love that I starve for, yet already am,

This is a pilgrimage to myself.

If language solved all purposes,
Then A purple Rose would not create
Billion unique thought trains.

Knowing nothing about a painting,
We still can understand it’s meaning,
If we understand the context, which it is in.

Communication is not that difficult between people,

Maybe language narrowed our perceptions
Broken less, created more barriers.

It is like the cane to help you walk,
But now that you are dependent,
Don’t even know, a walk without.

The words, they are beautiful!
Each of them have power to liberate,
They can untangle, the most complex knoted states,
That relief is incomparable.

However,

Two people with same name,
Yet entirely different parable.
In parallel,
Two ‘Strength’, ‘Bird’, ‘Happy’, ‘Word’,
Different blueprint altogether.

Language is a support for our expression,
But the understanding individual expressions are key to effective communication.

A problem cannot be fixed,
If the fix is from the mould, what created the fault.

You cannot be free of addiction,
If you just replace, what you get addicted on.

The fruit remains the same,
If the seed never change.

More so, the seed is mere vehicle,
The soil is the road.

What is more important,
The path or the means of travel?

Because one is still lost in the desert,
Even if one can walk in all the possible directions.

A thought argues,
Choose any direction,
At least,
It’s better than to never start!

I guess so,
A compromise like the tree planted in an eroding soil.

A distance will be covered,
Like the tree growing in inches.

But never to reach the real potential,
Like the tree never growing to its cause.

This is a place,
I have reached today,
After many years, to be more precise,
10413th day.

A state of feeling still new,
Too good to quit.
Yet sometimes, A feeling,
I have had enough of this.

Mornings filled with,
Let’s do this!
Let’s be that!
While many of them,
Bland and flat.

What is the objective of this project,
That I am.
What is the question and the answer,
I am the exam.

“The meaning of life is to give it a meaning.”
But it is not convincing enough,
Hence I can’t stick to one meaning.

This is a place, I have reached today,
Seems like all the same,
Where I started.

This is a place, I have reached today,
Maybe time is a sham,
I never started.