“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.
Today, I felt empty. I buried my face on the table where I write, with my hands and arms reaching for one another like they both needed that warmth, that hug that could maybe lessen the intensity of the pain I have inside. I listened carefully to the chaotic rhythm my tears make as they run down my cheeks and each time it drops to the surface of the table like a raw melancholic beat. Tears that created a melody that nearly lulled me to sleep—that aftermath of crying that makes you want to just close your eyes, hoping for a beautiful dream that you believe show signs.
Apple Rae 