The Bitter Truth

For everyone who grieves. know that it is centered on love and that is our greatest human virtue.

Hyperion Sky

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the overwrought heart and bids it breaks

 William Shakespeare, Macbeth.

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When confronted with the loss of a loved one, we prefer the bitter truth to a life of not knowing why they disappeared from our life. Understanding why presumes closure and closure can take its own sweet time, coloring our world in unobtainable vignettes of the past and moments of profound sorrow. We search ourselves for answers, and with none available, we make up an answer that allows us to move a step further away from the searing flame of grief.

What is grief? How is it possible that it follows us for years when our joy ends after the trembling breath, the laughter fades, and the smile relaxes away? Research has shown us the reality of generational trauma. Year after year, the affected population suffers…

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The Stubborn Fighter

It eats me, whole and alive. The underlying current of resistance. The stubbornness I could never hide. The rhythm of which is diabolic in nature—forcing me to struggle profoundly, before I could really learn the flow of its tune; the right notes, the perfect configuration.

It suffocates me, all of me. The scorching heat of ground pressure. The freezing coldness of the judgment I give to me. I push. I push hard. Understanding that my limits are high. I, in most cases, can’t measure this right. I ran out of breath. An image where I start to fear Death.

It liberates me, the child in me. The part where I can do whatever I want. Oblivious of the eyes of the guardians. Hmm. Fine—intently doing so and partly playing the game of a stubborn child. What’s in it for you, she asked. Playing, for the sake of playing the game, I replied.

It honors me, the fighter in me. It contributes to the never-ending loop of proving. To show off to me, in fact. I don’t need no audience nowadays, I reckon. The relationship I am trying to strengthen now is with the one I see in the mirror. Could sound narcissistic in nature, but one that prepares for the strong foundation of the tribe.

It reminds me, of my future. Of purpose—of what I’m here to do and what I signed up for. Of the unbreakable soul contract. The destiny of the matriarch. Thus, the fighter fights. The fighter perseveres. The fighter stands back up as it was supposed to be. The fighter fights, over… and over again.


“War has been the breeding ground for some of our greatest dreams of accomplishment.”

Holtzman, The Butlerian Jihad.
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Chapter 16

BY Kyle Gray
The Warrior: Be fearless and stand strong
The Knight: Be brave and honest
The Shaman: Trust in higher forces
The Sky Father: Trust in the unknown

Arousing Thunder ䷲

Infinitesimal darkness outside the command center of the ESS Orca seemed like the ocean back on Eos on a moonless night. The stars floated in the dark, little beacons of light affording the universe depth and form. The Void was Admiral Ramos’ backyard where he roamed as the Captain of his ship and master of his fate and the fate of his 5000 crewmembers.

The command center was a plaza of activity. Monitors and gauges flashed their information as the command staff worked feverishly to ensure the wounded ship’s safety and security. The Admiral watched his dashboard panel of essential performance indicators progress from red to amber and finally green. He issued orders, and the staff distributed tasks and priorities to the crew stations.

Ramos recalled in his mind how The Orca had sustained crippling injuries in the battle over Manila. Orca had advanced to earth in search of Captain Rae and her ship, Aurora. On their approach, they detected a Western Alliance fleet over the earth’s horizon. The battle was joined with Orca giving more than she got, scattering the Western Alliance fleet and sending many of their expeditionary vessels crashing into the earth’s atmosphere, burning like stars in the Void.

Hypervelocity missiles rose from Manila just as Captain Rae’s AI had warned earlier. The Orca, outgunned, escaped to land on the dark side of earth’s moon to repair the ship and take care of the dead and wounded. It was what each person had signed on to accomplish. They all knew the risk and accepted it. “For Eos,” Ramos thought. Death here kept the awful burdens of war away from the homeland, so it was a worthy fate.

“G4, how are we on supply, The admiral asked his maintenance and logistics chief.

“All supply classes are green for 30 days operation, amber to return to EOS,” came the reply.

“What is the estimate for return to operational combat status? Ramos asked.

“Two weeks local earth time.”

Apprehension spread through the staff like the shrill tone of an attacking Eosian hawk. Admiral Ramos was planning his next move, and they would all have a front-row seat. Apprehension gave way to a subtle eagerness to take it to the Western Alliance for trying to colonize their ancestral homeland and recover one of their own. As fate would have it, the odds were stacked high against them. Just the way they liked it.

“Secure the bridge for war counsel,” the Admiral commanded. 

“Bridge Secured, Sir.”

Ramos collected his thoughts, turned to his staff, and let them in on his plans. “I want to attack the Western Alliance and at a minimum cripple their colony with the objective of as near-complete destruction of their remaining fleet as possible. We will use the attack as a screen to attempt a rescue of Captain Rae undetected, Ramos said. I want to execute this plan within three days.” 

The staff remained silent except to acknowledge the order. Each officer knew the Admiral’s famous father disappeared in the exact location as Captain Rae when Ramos was just a kid. To the staff, it was their duty to rescue Rae. To the Admiral, it was personal.


Sgt Hughes and Carter kneeled in the water, laughing under their breath, trying not to make a sound and failing. The remaining squad secured a perimeter around the two men, who appeared to have lost their minds.

“Sgt Hughes, What in hell is going on over there,” one of the crew asked.

“See for yourself,” Sgt Hughes replied while Carter wiped the tears from the side of his face.

The team gathered around and looked at the bloody water lizard in the spacesuit.

“Damn, those Eosians are ugly,” the astonished team member whispered under his breath. The squad lost it, trying to remain quiet in this god-forsaken jungle that demanded noise discipline to keep them from giving themselves away to anyone that might be close by and unseen. To their advantage, the jungle absorbed their noisy presence and gave no hint of the danger heading toward Ezra and Rae.

“Whoever belonged in that suit appears to be long gone now, Sgt Hughes said. Saddle up, ladies; we have a date with destiny up ahead. Let’s get after it.”

The team took up their positions, and Carter, still trying not to snicker at their folly, felt his energy renewed as he hacked his way up to the gigantic waterfall ahead. 


Zara made her way upstream and picked a place to swim across the river. She angled downstream and caught the current, rocking her shoulders from side to side, reaching and pulling with her arms as she moved through the water without leaving a ripple. Her long ponytail undulated from side to side like a snake.

At the far bank, Zara grabbed for a root and dug her toes into the slick mud. Reaching higher with handholds and toe holds in the roots, Zara was able to slither up the bank and into the forest. Kneeling and listening, she sensed she was alone. The newly freed half-breed moved as fast as she could toward the makeshift ladder the two natives had constructed to descend into the bowl of the waterfall.


“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.