Allowing

“I felt its warmth. Wrapped around me like a cotton duvet of comfort and love. It was not assurance, nor certainty. It’s just.. knowing. Allowing the sensation to be felt. Allowing the colors in my head to prove its magic. Allowing every piece unfold in its own intelligence. A feeling of observing. Of not holding anything in.  Of just, allowing. Opening up the gates. Receiving and believing. Coming up with ideas, expressing. And then writing—thru spaces in between, with no explaining. Clarity in the midst of complexity. No need for validation. No need for a guideline to follow. No need to restrict oneself with old rusty chains of death. No more. It’s ending.”

I worked out intensely a couple of days ago and my body still feels sore from it. My boyfriend told me that the culprit is this thing called “DOMS” (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness), and that this is normal. I believe it so. It’s not the first time it happened. But, something dawned on me as I whined about it while I massage my shoulders and arms using my usual Chinese ointment—I am feeling. I am feeling and I know it’s quite a normal thing, but I’m celebrating. I am feeling and I am connecting. There were times I craved to put the heater of my shower on max just so I can feel that sensation. That hurting. The subtle pins of torture, but ones that were satisfying. Could hardly explain why numbness occurs. Maybe it’s ‘cause of too much suffering that it kind of loses its own purpose. Or maybe your dosage kept on increasing, as your pain threshold stretches, like the strong caffeine in my coffee that now makes me sleepy. How ironic. Like when you experience an anxiety attack and its frequency multiplies, then you become numb, clueless, unconscious, unknown. A dark void. Dark poetry written out of confusion. Dark set of words being dictated, unaware of its source. What’s going on? I wanted to talk about my body and how happy I felt to feel again. But the dark side of me wanted to own the spotlight, again. I’m allowing, nonetheless. I’m allowing myself bathe in these shadows. Because, this is the only way I could feel. The only way I could let light in. 

I say, jump and be embraced by the depths of your darkness. Fear not, for it is fleeting. Feel your skin as if you are your skin. It’s funny how my connection to my body mirrors my slow internet connection here at home. Every time I play my favorite FPS game Valorant that requires a low ping, it disconnects, then I had to restart, then it connects again. The cycle repeats. I need an upgrade. Both my Wi-Fi and myself. Would I also pay a higher price when I upgrade myself? Maybe. Or maybe not. But most likely. The point is, sometimes I am connected, sometimes I’m not. It’s more volatile than the fluctuations of the crypto market. I’m allowing, nonetheless. The meditation helps. But the inconsistency doesn’t. Often times during meditation I ask myself if I’m doing it right. Or I debate with my own inner dialogue that questions the idea of my feet touching the ground when I’m living at a high floor and the ground is way below me. It’s insane. The voice would say just observe and yes I’m trying. I’m getting there. At least, that’s what I think. A wise friend of mine suggested a book called Awareness by Osho which helped me exercise observing my thoughts. I haven’t finished it though but it’s cut-throat with a straightforward punch. I like it. 

And this is what I like about my allowing. I allow myself to tell stories completely irrelevant to the previous points and find my way to its connection to one another. There are some dots that do connect in here though, don’t you think? Nevertheless, I enjoyed releasing what this complex mind has to say today. And I’m glad I get to share it with you. I write everyday but I don’t like posting everything publicly here. But today it’s different. I am being called to post something here in my blog. Again, I’m just allowing. I don’t know why I wanted to talk to you today. It’s just, freeing for me to do so. If you reach the end of this nonsensical and complex maze of thoughts, thank you. Maybe it’s about time you do this too. Like having no solid plan of what to write, what to create; what to accomplish. And completely unattached to its results. Just allowing your fingers do its role, as it becomes the Executive Assistant of the CEO in your brain, and heart (if you write from the heart too). I’m writing, in the now. With no attachment of whether or not it’s grammatically aligned. The heart knows no rules. And in this piece of writing, my heart is the one who allowed me to be in this state of, you know it, allowing. I think my babbling have to stop here. That single-word title have already proven its point. Contradicting an old belief structure of having clear goals to hit. I do think that I enjoy more when I am not expecting to accomplish a particular result I picture in my head. I love it better that I don’t aim to be perfect nor the best. It’s fun to observe the process takes place naturally and to feel that sense of fulfilment, every step of the way.

Dead End

Running in circles. Breaking bad. Holding tight.

Would you call it a waste of time? If one travels the same path with another, and found a dead end but kept on trying, otherwise? Would you regret the times spent in stagnation even though filled with illussion and obsession—but one that was felt in its highs and lows with purity, innocence and undivided attention? Would you sigh a sigh of grief or would it be relief, after realizing there’s no more way out or even in; or would you contemplate upon the art of releasing with ease and complete surrendering? How does one learn anyway, other than breaking? Breaking of hearts, building of spirit. How it intersects, i have no inkling.Which one weighs heavier—totally confusing.

Would you dare to start again, when you’ve already reached the ending?

The Spirit of the Untethered Horse

Over the past ten years, I’ve been chasing after something. Moving in a direction of “always doing” and achieving a particular goal to prove and make believe. It was a fun ride, if I’m honest. But, it was never easy. Many times I’ve tripped over my own clumsiness, due to my fast-paced nature that knows no boundaries. It was painful and terrifying that eventually took a huge toll on me. Nonetheless, I never regret any of it. I’ve learned so much by getting hurt and allowing others to hurt me. I developed certain forms of trauma that I created on my own and prescribed myself a high dosage of numbness through a destructive behavior that made things worse. In other words, I embraced all of my darkness by falling into and upon it, by seeing pain in all of its glory right in front of my very eyes.

My eyes, yes, my eyes. My eyes have seen it all. At least, at first this is what I thought. But all these years of fast-moving approach, like the spirit of the untethered horse inside me, I missed so much around me thinking that there’s only one way and no other. I was highly focused on moving forward in a direction unbeknownst to me. All I know was that I need to keep heading towards north, not knowing what North truly means. And when I did, I reached that high level of exhaustion, and figured that it’s not what I was looking for. I got drained, tedious and lost touch with my own zest.

Reaching the peak of it, I decided to free-fall. Not fearing death but acknowledging that it’s possible. I didn’t know why I wanted to jump high and fall back onto the ground but a whisper told me it was safe to do so. I trusted in that voice that lasted for a mere three seconds. I trusted but it failed me. I got hurt. I mean, who wouldn’t get hurt if you fall from the peak of the Northern Mountain? It was, unbelievably excruciating. I cried a ton but the pain didn’t go away. I wanted to cry for help too, but afraid that no one would hear me. The only choice I’m left with was to take the time to heal by staying on the ground and tethering myself at a nearby home. The voice told me to jump but it didn’t mention it’s going to be painful, not to mention, a long process of healing needs to happen so I can move the way I do before. I was a fool, to think of this, I know. And although I didn’t die, I felt as if I was dying everyday. I hated what I saw in the mirror when I checked all the bruises and wounds that the fall gave me. I blamed myself for trusting the voice and allowing myself to go back to ground zero. There was a bunch of shame, guilt and anger that I entertained while I was hiding. I didn’t want people to see how disgusting I’ve become. I stayed and I stayed, and stayed a bit more, down here, longer than I expected. Over time, an epiphany dawned on me. The most beautiful things I missed while I was running like a free horse aiming for goals, were all around me. They’ve been around me for so long that I never had the chance to even see it. I was blind, therefore.

My eyes, yes, my eyes. My eyes thought they’ve seen it all. If I didn’t make the free-fall, I might regret staying blind for the entire duration of my human experience. Moreover, the voice that whispered to me to take the fall guided me to finally see and freed me from the shackles of obscurity. Like I mentioned, I never regret any of it, no matter how painful, no matter how absurd. It was a decision I made out of trust and faith into nature, faith unto a Higher Being who knows the best path to take. I’m now taking the path down here, where all the flowers bloom, with its people whose smiles on their faces make my day. I am walking slowly this time, so I don’t get to stumble often and for me not to miss the beauty of Gaia. I am journeying in the present, laying down my bow and arrow, targeting no specific goal to reach, no mountains to conquer. Slowing down, breathing in, cultivating the gift of the now.

eyes that feel, body that aches

Depth. Warmth. Mystery.
Too much. Too much of it. 
Sometimes i feel like I’m going insane.
For questioning—
the how i feel quite intensely
with no proper reasoning.
How the outsides quickly mirror the insides,
how the dreams manifest in real life,
how the symbols contradict
only to synchronize in time;
and how you never seek for signs
but have them knock on your door
way too many times.
How you sometimes deny
the magic and the fire
as it burns you to death
and to be rebirthed with its own light.
Dying and living—and a loop that is never-ending.
The crying to bed at night
and the waking up with swollen eyes that feel its aftermath.
No, I don’t see it.
I don’t see why.
But i was given two sides of the coin of life.
The duality of which, i have to master in time.
No, i don’t see it.
I don’t even get it.
But i was given this depth of feels to be felt,
and maybe not yet to understand
the sudden body signals,
the splenic insights,
and the ancient whispers of light.
No I don’t see it.
But the eyes that feel and the body that aches,
has always been right.

Becoming Who You Are | a dramatic video essay

If you’ve been craving to find meaning and understand yourself more, this video is for you. Knowing who I truly am is something I’ve struggled to understand for years, and coming out of that confusion has set me free and finally, I have put to words my contemplation around self-mastery thru this 8 min video of my own story of awakening. However, I intentionally made it short and metaphorical to not reveal all at once 😉

Click this link below 👇🏻

Tribal-15

There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.

Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist.
Image Source: Jef Cablog

TRIBAL

Chapter 15

No Fear
BY Rabindranath Tagore
 
Where the mind is without fear
and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken 
into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee
into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, 
let my country awaken.

Darkening Light ䷣

Zara weaved her way across the jungle floor near the edge of the cliff. Her senses enhanced from life as a tracker on planets too numerous to remember flooded her with sensations and scent. The panther that followed was an orb of silence where the sound of small creatures once chattered in gossip and song. The monitor lizard’s claws scratched across stone and roots of trees converging on her location.

Echoing in ears that could locate the drop of a pebble in a running stream came the clatter of metal and the hum of voices. Zara knew this was not the team of scouts she abandoned to the dispassionate whim of nature. Who was it then? At the edge of the cliff near the waterfall, a glance down into the bowl answered all her questions. Two natives clamored around the silver remnants of an Eosian escape pod, the one Sgt Hughes had come to destroy.

The half-breed heart pounded in Zara’s chest as she studied the two natives. Sgt Hughes would kill them outright and then destroy the spacecraft. Zara knew she couldn’t stop the men she had shared her life with since age 17. Freedom and the right to live with her mother’s people were all she wanted, not blood or vengeance. 

Below was Zara’s Tribe. She had to warn them before Hughes spotted them and ended their lives and her chance to join the fantasy of life her mother promised if someday she returned to their native lands on old earth. Wind wheezed in a constricted chest. Sorrow and longing filled the dark shadows of Zara’s memory at the sound of her mother’s voice, soft and dripping with her native accent reciting her village’s stories. The childlike pitch of her mother’s voice filled Zara’s thoughts with songs of ancestral deeds, deities, and the last gasp of breath before mom left Zara an orphan in the hands of the war. 

The tall figure, wild as the big cat tracking her, eased back from the abyss. There was no need to live long. She had come home and to die here among her ancestors free of indenture to her father’s blood was good enough. 

Zara whipped her body around in a blur as her laser ended the panther’s life in mid-leap, its mouth open wide and claws extended in a failed grasp at survival. The smell of burnt hair and boiled blood forced a snarl of repulsion from Zara as she hurried away from the scene. Reptiles the size of tree trunks adjusted their attention from the fleeting figure to the smell of blood wafting along on currents of air that breathed life into the jungle.

❂❂❂

The hacking sound of a parang through vines and brush fell to silence only a few meters upstream from Sgt. Hughes. The rushing water drowned out all sounds as it washed over boulders and trees fallen into the river.  Sgt. Holmes halted the men in a jumble of stones the size of houses that hid them from view.

“Damn slow going, Holmes said as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. The salt in his uniform stung his skin and eyes. Take ten minutes and camel up on the water.”

The team relaxed and sipped water from their water bladders as they checked their weapons and supplies. Holmes looked at the map on his communicator and saw they had 200 meters to go before arriving at the bowl where they detected signals from the Eosian craft. He figured they could torch the ship, make a quick look around for survivors, and get the hell out of here. 

The place gave him the creeps. It had swallowed up Zara without a trace, and she was the most prepared of them all to face the jungle. Tough way to go for the girl, he thought. Hughes choked back his emotions. There would be others, but none like Zara.

“Carter take point. Report anything you see, and Carter,” Sgt. Hughes paused.

“Yes Sergeant.”

“Watch out for the damn wildlife around here. Everything is big, toothy, and hungry,” Hughes replied in a matter-of-fact tone that didn’t do much to boost Carter’s confidence.

“Fuck me to tears,” Carter replied under his breath as he leaned over and picked up the parang from his scout member and crunched his way across the river bed near the bank.  After 20 minutes of slogging through the low hanging brush, mud, and rocks, Carter halted the team and signaled Sgt. Holmes to move up to his position.

“Whacha got kid,” Holmes whispered when he was close enough to feel Carter’s wretched breath on his face as they lay side by side in the mud and debris at the edge of the water.

Carter pointed to some rocks that shielded the head and shoulder of a figure in the water. The soldier wore an Eosian Expeditionary Force flight uniform. The legs and arms moved and twitched as if treading water to hold a position. 

“What is he doing?” Carter asked.

“Let’s go find out,” Hughes replied. The sergeant slid off his tactical pack and load-bearing equipment without making a sound. He drew his bayonet and motioned to Carter to follow him. The two men eased into the water, and like countless times before, they made their way toward the figure in the water. Sgt. Hughes motioned for Carter to approach from directly behind while he would slide in hidden by the rocks. When they were in position, Sgt. Hughes counted down with three fingers, and then they lunged. The water exploded in the fury of violence.