Roles

I've played many roles in my life. Most of us have, I daresay, but mine naturally feel particularly prolific and multifarious to me.

In retrospect, I rarely gave myself a chance to acknowledge any of these roles, to myself or to others. For when I sometimes stepped into a new role, I believed I could be extraordinary at it, but I unknowingly refused to ever express my vanity outwards.

So I wore each costume as blandly as I could, quiet, unassuming, and noncommittal. But secretly, I clutched onto a deep desire to be seen. I would merely be there, a fly on the wall being only myself. Then one day, without me asking for it or pursuing it, I desired to be recognized. To be admired. For someone to be wowed and bedazzled by my being or my skills, and to be told "Wow! You're amazing at X! Would you like to come do it with us?" Or "do you want to be in our club?". I wanted to feel like my true family had finally found me, its long-lost member, and to be called and embraced all the way into its center where I would feel, finally, that really, truly, with not a trace of doubt, pity, or pretense, I belonged.

The funny thing is, that happened. Many times. Over and over. I was told I was great at different things, and though I was never quite given the Hollywood treatment of "Choose the red pill or the blue pill", nor did I receive an actual wizardly letter of admission, I have received words and displays of admiration and acceptance many times. Yet my desire was never satisfied. Without knowing it, I didn't allow it to. In those moments when I was told I was great, I felt as if their words touched that vanity inside me that I hid even from myself, and as this vanity, this crumpled-up flower in the basement would respond and attempt to show itself, my automatic inner denial would panic and come to stomp it back into the basement. "It's not there! Nothing to worry about! I'm still not vain!". This was reflected onto my words as awkward and false modesty, a rejection of their words of approval, and a denial of their own view. But most importantly, I denied my own truth. And I didn't understand why I ended up feeling worse, and more resentful, than before.

I would also never admit my roles because I used to feel very afraid of being proven wrong. Why exactly is now irrelevant. But it was a terrifying prospect. So I took the path of least emotional risk: commit to nothing. If I have claimed no role for myself, then I cannot be told I am bad at something I'm supposed to be good at. I "take away their weapon". Yes, I deprive myself of devoted exploration of any one field, and I pretend the image of the perennial naive student lest I lose the patina of the dilettante. But I *take away their weapon* (this comes out with stubborn, resentful fierceness).

But I have now seen and known my own mechanisms of behavior, and the fears that once held me rigidly are melting away. These days I wonder what truths within me I have not allowed to come out and see the light. This is one of them.

Anyway, I wish to list the prominent roles I've dressed in. They're not all about skills as implied above, but I've felt I've worn them all at some point in my life.

– Mathematics prodigy
– Tenacious joker
– Nonstop gamer
– Ungrateful son
– Lonely teenager
– Free-thinking philosopher
– Religion rejecter
– Sexual reject
– Nimble programmer
– Globetrotting wanderer

– Family fugitive
– Psytrance maniac
– Scoffing skeptic
– Software engineer
– Unwelcome suitor
– Ashamed lover
– Skilful lover
– Greedy lover
– Guilty ex-lover

– Hesitant hippie

– Selfless saviour
– Condescending intellectual

– Resentful victim
– Word wielder

– Astrology inquirer
– Dynamic dancer
– Unpolished powerful singer
– Poetry ponderer
– Esoteric enthusiast
– Mushroom initiate
– Theatre improviser
– Extraordinary listener
– Monied man
– The miser
– The donor
– LSD secret-holder
– Epiphany vessel
– Mystical knower
– Worldview weaver
– MDMA partier
– Outright anomaly
– Emotional seer
– Tantric pupil
– Caged monster
– Wayward loser
– Unrecognized wonder
– Lyrical linguist
– Breathwork realizer
– Arcane student
– Music collector
– The renunciant
– Soul listener
– Financial fool
– Ayahuasca journeyman
– Polyamory practitioner
– Human Design addict
– Spellbound soulmate
– Sacred Geometry seeker
– NDE watcher
– Channeling follower
– Father figure
– Extraterrestrial explorer

Yes, these have all been prominent in my psyche at some point. They somehow lose their frightful "sharp" edge once I write them out loud, though. Like a rigid block of butter's corners and edges melt into smooth curves once it is taken out of the fridge. Not as sharp, not as dangerous. Just what is.

Unintendedly, this all ties nicely onto the mantra recommended by a video I found this morning:

I am who I am, and that is enough.

https://www.instagram.com/p/DawssQIuuSh/

...

...

...

But what IS "enough"?

Ok, that's enough.

Facebook

I have been on Facebook since 2008, so that’s 18 years for me. Social networks had been popping up like daisies during those years, and Facebook managed to hit just the right style, communities, and technology capability so as to viralize and grow into the enormous worldwide phenomenon and platform it is today. It is no exaggeration to say that it was THE catalyst that propelled the whole internet from a mainstream attitude of “oh that’s cool, I guess I could get into this whole internet thing” unto a de-facto utility service. Fewer things motivate human beings more than the upkeep of our social relationships, and a social network was the perfect method to make all humans agree upon a standard platform for communication and expression. Not that it was the first, nor has it remained as the most popular, nor that everyone has joined it, but I see it was the first sweeping worldwide brushfire that prepared the ground (the social receptivity) for the barrage of social media platforms that emerged in its trail, all of them geared towards connection and personal expression.

The spirit of “Here I am” and “Look at me” found expression through Facebook. “Look at me, I exist, pay attention to me. Do you see me? Do you see what I am, do you see what I have to offer?” A world still hurt and resentful from decades and centuries of conflict, unfairness, blame, shame, and self-recrimination found only scant clean emotional connection and intimacy within families and friends, most of whom still only knew to love conditionally. To relate with each other through roles of victim and savior. To hold back lest others see one’s vulnerable truth as an exploitable weakness. To attack those who showed themselves openly so as to survive, to feed on the scraps of emotional pleasure that comes from the illusion of superiority, and from the laughter of tribal mocking and a shared spirit, even if it were of exclusion. To hide one’s true joy and desire for connection, lest it be put down and rejected again. These were the lessons passed down across the generations that helped our ancestors survive, yet which held our true selves incapable of showing themselves, starved for the flow of pure love that was audited and curbed at every step.

Social media changed that. It provided us with an alternate channel to present ourselves to the world. A way to say “I am here”, “This is me”, not only to those present but to the whole world, to anyone who would listen. And a space much safer for those afraid to show who they were. With practically zero physical risk, only distant and choosable emotional risk, and with a potential impact and spread far faster and farther than anything we had before, Facebook gave the new generations a safe and instant channel to show the world who they were. A Book of Faces where every face was valid, where every face could be seen, and where no expression could be silenced (up to an eventual level of censorship that was still laxer than in many regions on Earth).

The emotional starvation that had permeated humanity first manifested itself as hungry expressions of “Look at ME”, “Connect with ME”, “Like ME”, and those greedy qualities are still visible across the network today. Fear-mongering, illusory glamour, financial lures, and sexual lures are still common, but a default universal exposure allows all of us to see everything there is, and thus have a wider freedom to choose what truly appeals to us, rather than from merely the best among a physically limited set of options (as was the case in the pre-internet era).

But as the years have released the surface-level pent-up stress of reactive unreleased expression, the masses have found the emptiness of being seen for what they are not. The older generation brought out their best masks, their flashiest costumes and products, and many found the praise, attention, relationships, and money they sought, and then realized they were still not fulfilled. What, then, could satisfy them? More likes? Better contacts? More engagement, even more business growth?

This is not to say that true connections and healthy growth did not occur. Much light was revealed and pierced out from beneath the grime, and countless new seeds of love have grown out through new projects, communities, and families who have dared embrace truer, more vulnerable ways of expressing and of relating, to themselves and to others. Those who have dared to step into their authentic self fully have found that was the key to fulfil what all their roles, masks, and conditions could not.

Indeed, the newer generations came into this connected world with fresh hearts and unjaded dreams, and could start life afresh with this new channel of expression, where everything was available. And as their true selves are showing up as they are, the whole of humanity is blooming with the truths to be revealed by their finer natures.

Social media content is still far from being all positive and glamourless, but the trend is clear. Humanity as a whole is sharing love and positivity much more often than it was twenty years ago, and these digital shifts have been bringing about visible physical results. Communities are arising, groups of dance, art, material sharing, the assertion of love and authenticity in relating, new systems to replace the older, healing, energy, extra-sensorial perception, channeling, esotericism etc, all of them exploding in size and diversity, eager to explore all the joyful possibilities that life as a human can contain.

As criticised and condemned as the platform and its parent company have been in recent years, their past and present impact upon the world are undeniable. Not the only one such catalyst, but a definite landmark in our history.

And something just opened up in me yesterday. I realized that, personally, I have been holding myself back from showing up on Facebook (or on any other social media platform) fully and authentically. Sure, my expressions there are the most authentic representations I have been able to muster, but I still feel they are all filtered and audited by my whispering fears of “What will they think?”, “Who will stop trusting me if I post this?”, and even “Won’t it be harder for others to find my oh-so-well-crafted texts from last week/month/year?”.

But when I considered posting on a newer, private social media platform called The Circle, I felt clearer. "Oh", I realized. "I have no fear here. I can write exactly anything I want, and my scared inner child who still trembles at the prospect of losing its friends can rest easier. So I can use it as a safer stepping stone towards true expression. I guess I'll do that".

So that’s what I’m doing now. These are the thoughts I had about Facebook and its ongoing role in the world, about how opening up new channels of expression serves as a way to release pent up fears, and about the burgeoning psychological and spiritual transformation that humanity is rising through at this very moment. Here we go, all together.

Drop

Tonight I realized

after speaking with my father from my truth

that he seems to always take on the role of teacher

whenever he speaks in close and intimate conversations.

Teaching is his vocation and avocation

It is how he connected with his children

And it is the role he still holds with them, almost 50 years later.

And if the child does not question that role of the teacher

then he inevitably embodies the role of the student

and cannot stand on equal ground

and cannot discuss as a true peer

for every word of the teacher becomes a truth, a hint, or a test

no matter if the student attends to it or not.

Most often as an adult the student pushes his words aside

as unwelcome corrections to his path

as unrequested advice

even when the teacher did not mean it so.

But this evasiveness does not dissolve the roles.

Rather it pretends the words are not there

with a hidden spirit of rebelliousness

which inevitably fosters guilt and wrong-doing,

piling up with the rest of it in the basement

because that is all the student role can muster

if it does not listen to its teacher.

For these roles are dug in

deep in the psyche

beyond the memories of the toddler

who could not assert his will,

and had to somehow reconcile his frustrated helplessness with reality

time and time again, resulting in eventual fracture

between intent and act.

Denied behind the unconscious triggers of the father

who could not bear the child to be what he feared

to embody those fragments he once broke off and hid away from view.

Behind the triggers that could not bear to see in his child

the memories that recalled his own fears and shames.

When the child realizes these roles

his first impulse is to prove them

to expand upon them in didactic fashion

clearly and logic-tight

and to bring them to the father

to prove how wrong these roles are

to prove how wrong his attitude is.

Yet this impulse is yet again

the student seeking to please the teacher.

To prove the teacher wrong, and thereby gain his respect.

The reward of validation from the teacher,

so high a prize desired,

though in reality nothing but another carrot in the goaded race.

Fodder for the fire of continued illusion.

Of believing that freedom lies "just beyond that next level".

There is no next level.

There was never a next level.

Only playthings meant to build our skills

but which many of us forget

were just convenient make-believe.

The role of the student cannot be fulfilled.

Its finish line is the endless horizon.

As long as the student plays he remains a student.

Then one day he simply remembers

he does not need to play.

Walking away from the playground

cannot be done by the use of any plaything in it

no matter how masterfully it is used.

Walking away from the stage

needs no validation from any other actor.

Not even from the director.

It is just a dropping

of the tools and trinkets

of the long-held script

that no one could ever teach him how to drop.

Human Design

I like Human Design.

These are the words I've been holding myself back from sharing for years. And even from admitting them to myself.

I like Human Design.

For those who don't know, Human Design (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_Design) is a system mystically "downloaded" in 1987 by Ra Uru Hu that uses planetary positions at the time of birth (plus other details) to describe the imprinted energy patterns on a human being, on the energy centers and channels that compose the auric body, and how these manifest as qualities, preferences, modes of living, modes of perception, sensation, and digestion, relational patterns with companions and with society, the themes and lessons in one's life, and in general all the patterns that make up a human life. It was presented as a synthesis between Western Astrology, the Kabbalistic Tree of Life (Kabbalah), the Hindu Chakra system, and the Chinese I Ching. And these days, a growing minority around the world is learning and experimenting with it in their lives, and finding enough value in it to continue to propagate it further.

(I realize this post is not essentially about Human Design, but I'll expand on it anyway).

The system divides the zodiac into 64 equiangular sections, corresponding to the 64 hexagrams of the I'Ching. Each of these hexagrams is denoted by a sequence of six lines, each of which can either be broken or unbroken (Yin or Yang). In essence, they are encoded in binary, though their number labels do not correspond to how standard arithmetic typically represents numbers via binary code.

Additionally, the human auric body is depicted as a "body graph", composed of 9 (not 7) energy centers, linked together by 36 different channels, each of which is defined by 2 distinct gates out of the 64 that are situated across the 9 different centers. Each of these centers, channels, and gates carries unique qualities and sub-qualities that manifest in a human life. All of these weave and intermingle in order to produce, in essence, the aggregate of the human experience.

Each of 13 "planetary positions" at the time of birth fall into either one of these gates (and into any of its 6*6*6*5=1080 equiangular subsections), which defines an imprint on one of the 64 gates in the body graph. Additionally, a time in the past is computed at which the sun was 88 degrees away from its position at birth (around 3 months earlier), and 13 planetary positions at that time define imprints on the body graph as well. The positions at the time of birth are an imprint on the "conscious personality", and the other ones are an imprint on the "unconscious body design".

These 26 imprints "define" their corresponding gates in the body graph, and that is the energy definition that one carries during the life. If both gates corresponding to a channel are defined, then that channel, as well as the two energy centers which it links, get to be defined as well. And that is how a body graph is computed. See an example in the image below.

As I said, though, the real point of this post is not Human Design. It is the question: "Why was I so afraid of admitting that I like it?"

Decades ago as a high school student, I was chosen to receive, along with some others, advanced mathematics education at a university in order to compete at an international competition, and that felt swell. I felt special. Hand-picked. "The chosen one". Different. Separate. Better. Proud. And clever enough to hide my hubris behind a veneer of fake modesty that convinced even myself so well, that for a long time I actually thought it was my real face.

And in one of those classes, the professor was explaining the constructive nature of mathematics. How from a small set of self-evident axioms and logical operations, the complete body of mathematics is determined and deducible. Provable beyond a doubt. Absolutely incontrovertible. An infinite abstract realm immediately unfolds, arises out of almost nothing, yet is a solid and timeless foundation of truth. This realization felt nothing short of magic to me.

And in this moment of bedazzlement, the professor spoke a quote from some supposedly famous scientist of the past. He was referring to how in theory, if one were to simply memorize the small set of axioms and possess an exceptionally-gifted intelligence, one needed not ever learn any more theorems, methods, nor additional "facts". The axioms and the logic could recreate anything at any time, and in fact could continue to discover new results. So he quoted: "Memory is the intelligence of fools."

I ate up that quote. I drank it, I soaked it in, and I tattooed it into my heart and mind. My hubris found in it a challenge worthy of my superior intelligence. "Memorize nothing, sharpen your deduction and constructivism skills, and then need never to learn anything else ever again. Prove to others thereby the superiority of your mind".

It was a foolish thought. A foolish challenge to devise, which arose only because I was emotionally undeveloped, and addictively sought ways to prove to myself and to others that I was worthy somehow. The irony that I undertook this challenge in order to avoid being "a fool" is not lost on anyone.

Yet I did. In my subsequent education, I attacked my own memory. I sought all pieces of knowledge that felt "strictly unnecessary" and decided not to use them, conceitedly trusting that my superior intelligence would be able to reproduce them. I implemented the mental equivalent of the computer-science concept "garbage collector", and evicted from my mind, irritated, every piece of knowledge that felt redundant or superfluous.

This brought me to despise history and the social sciences, from which basically nothing could be trimmed. I shunned the incarnate and embraced the abstract. I followed this hubristic, self-destructive challenge until it became automatic and I forgot about it, having fed me with not one drop of self-worth and only a questionable practice of mental introspection and self-flogging. And though later this was softened through honest emotional exploration, its old habits of mental derision and irritation follow me to this day.

Which is why it has pained me so to admit that I like Human Design. "What? A mystical voice told one man that there are 64 fundamental energies in the human 'experience', that they project upon the Earth via faraway celestial planetary positions, and that a fairly arbitrary set of them imprints upon the birth of every single human, and gives him/her the patterns he/she will carry his/her whole life? How? Why? How dare you present this knowledge without proof. Without causal links from first principles."

But what made it more annoying to me is that, once the few first principles are conditionally accepted, the structure of the system is composed of remarkable geometrical and conceptual elegance. The channels and the gates are positioned in the centers where they would make sense. The descriptions of the gates and channels describe with insight and precision many energies and dynamics of the human condition that I had never even realized existed, and which I could use to then deepen my own observation of myself and of human dynamics.

What's more, its description of my own patterns, of my own challenges, and of the ways that I relate to other people and partners often managed to surprise me, for it uncovered the causes behind the circumstances I encountered in my life, which my inner resonance could not honestly deny. Then when I shared my knowledge with other people and their charts, they found resonance as well, and I would often agree with what the chart described.

But my mind is still annoyed at it because none of it is materially proven. It may find inner resonance sometimes, it may produce positive results in people's lives who follow its recommendations, and it may be very popular, but it HAS NO PROOF beyond individual experience, which can always be faked. And this still vexes that inflated boy who believed that constructivism could save him from learning or accepting any more fundamental axioms in his entire life. He scoffs at the "deus ex machina" origin of Human Design, yet admires the built-in elegance, geometrical patterns, symmetries, fractal recurrences, and accurate psychological and social descriptions of the many energies.

What's more, after studying hundreds and perhaps thousands of pages, digging into the patterns of the structure, and listening to hours upon hours of its material, he cannot find anywhere sufficient inconsistency or trace of insincerity from either the origin story or from the educational material, and only little disagreement with respect to various other esoteric teachings, but much agreement. It is about as "tight" as one can expect esoteric teaching to be.

So only two possibilities arise: either Ra Uru Hu was a towering intellectual, creative, and psychologist beyond my reasonable fathoming who manufactured, either from mischief or from inspired delusion, a plausible structure of the energies that encompass humanity and life, and wove patterns of truth and logic superbly and gracefully enough into it not only for it to be internally consistent, but for people of all walks to actually experience benefits from it, and who pretty much dedicated the rest of his life to it with no discernible insincerity, since he kept up a continuous role of teaching it for over TWENTY years...

Or the system indeed originated beyond our ken, and of that of its maker. And it most likely holds truth. Then astrology, the I'Ching, the Kabbalah, and the chakra system also hold truth. And I can either choose to continue to scoff at it all as "immaterial evidence", or to finally let go of my derision, accept these systems for what they are, and take from them whatever can serve me in my life.

I choose the latter. This does not mean devoted belief and acceptance as fact, as yet more external authorities to follow. But simply as potential sources of information and hypotheses. Hints, if you will.

The point is not Human Design. It is that I wish to let go of the hubris and derision I once invited into my system, but who have never left since. Previous attempts at releasing them still see them in me, so now I do what they fear the most. I expose myself open and face my fear of losing credibility in front of many other people.

I like Human Design. It is called a pseudoscience by many, it is inextricable from the long-mocked field of astrology, and I, who once prided myself on objectivity and scientific credibility, and who mocked such fields myself, now study it deeply, apply it to my own life, and enjoy it thoroughly. And I wish to share it with other people, and offer readings to whomever feels they would like one.

Hubris and derision: You are not helpful to me anymore, for I know you cannot give me nor validate my own self-worth. In fact, your presence proves that my self-worth is not yet independent.

Thank you for soothing my emotional wounds by veiling them with the illusion of superiority when I most needed it. Thank you for distracting me from my pain by giving me an image to present to the world. I am ready to release this mask. I am ready to present my inner truth to the world, however it may land on others, whether it is believed or not. I am willing to make mistakes, to be seen making mistakes, and to admit my mistakes.

Thank you, really. I love who you were to me. And now I can stand by myself. Thank you, and good bye.

*****************************************************************

TL;DR: I explore the love-hate relationship I have had with Human Design over the years, realize the emotional root that kept me from admitting that I like it, and finally converse with my stuck emotions/patterns, thank them, and release them from my life.

Philosophical

I must've been between 5-8 years old at the time. All the children that I hung out with in my neighborhood, including my siblings, were all older than me, and I idolized them. I made every effort for them to see me, to let me play with them, to be seen as "part of the gang", and not just as the little annoying drag that I often felt I was treated like. I was smaller, but I was passionate about things.

(Deep cry and reparenting session just now)

That afternoon, we were around 6 people in the group. I don't remember what I felt passionate about, but it was in the realm of either religion, philosophy, or some similar abstract thought (in my own child words). I had realized something important, and I wanted to share it. I wanted to give to this group of people that I admired the best that I had to offer, while also thinking that if I told them this big thing that I had realized, then they would like me more.

So as we stood in a circle making conversation, I found an opening. I began speaking. My words flowed smooth and unimpeded, and I excitedly raised my voice so everyone could hear me clearly. I felt all their attention and eyes on me, it felt good, my energy kept rising and flowing, and I continued to explain this amazing thing I had realized. Then just as it felt like I was coming to the bombastic, magical conclusion, one neighbor kid whom I admired particularly cut me off. He retorted with bored dismissal: "Ahhh, that's too philosophical!", and turned to restart his conversation with the rest of the group, all of whom faced away from me and excluded me from their circle.

I didn't even really know what "philosophical" meant.

"¡Ahhh, eso es demasiado filosófico!"

I was stunned. Simultaneous waves of emotion crashed inside me. My words had been cut off at the peak of my expression, and the remnant energy had nowhere to go, blocked at my throat. The kid I liked the most did not want the best I had to give. The group I yearned to be a part of had ejected me, and I was alone again.

But most saliently, the world had rejected my truth, the best that I had to offer. I shone out the best that I had, and I was shut up and rejected as a result. And from having felt inclusion, truth, and free expression, in an instant I was cut down to feeling excluded, thwarted, and unworthy. I implicitly concluded that my person was not worthy of being in a group. That my expression was not worthy of being heard. That my truth was not good enough. Not good enough for the world.

The silent pain that followed I did not know how to share, nor with whom. I did not understand what had happened. There was no blatant physical or even emotional transgression I could point at, and I did not share enough emotional intimacy with anyone that could help me understand. But what I learned was that expressing my truth was dangerous. That others had the power to cut it down, to devalue it, and to prove to me that I'm unworthy. Unfit for life. Because if the absolute best that I feel I can give is not good enough for the world, then what the FUCK am I doing here?

Unworthiness stuck and festered. Resentment tried to defend my worth, and coated my core with aimless blame towards a world that did not listen, and did not want me.

(I'm just realizing... almost every interaction I've since had with the world has been filtered through this resentment.)

So I stopped sharing my truth. I filtered it every day. I reshaped it, I put it in other people's words, and I spoke only what was demanded of me, and even then with a venom that said "here's your fucking answer", which even I became unaware of after a while. All that remained was a constant, lingering frustration and resentment against the meaninglessness of my life, smeared on almost every interaction I've had since.

Maybe it was then that I took to preferring mathematics over humanities or arts. The answers required of me in math were succinct and precise, and their correctness was determined by sharp rules, which no resentment or frustration, no matter how potent, could color or invalidate. I could carry on my communion with my self-pity and self-recrimination, and all the while my mind could follow the strict rules to find the correct answer and have everyone continue to leave me alone. Humanities and arts required sugarcoating if I was to avoid unwanted attention, however, and to me that always felt disgusting. And software engineering, with its (once) deterministic link from code to behavior, felt like a good profession to follow in which I could continue to hide my truth behind sufficient and functional code.

And as time went on, my inner dynamics of expression and relating to others resulted in a sequence (which is not really a sequence) like the following:

1. In general, I felt the need to shut up. I felt that giving out my best was dangerous, for it could be used to devalue my truth. So I spoke with a mistrusting caution that had a hard time getting to the point, and which hardly ever inspired trust in others.

2. The impulse to share and relate never died, it was just suppressed. But somewhere in me I believed that for others to accept me I needed to PROVE myself to be worthy enough. So it induced a strategy in my mind. "Maybe if I can get something REALLY good to share, if I find something SUPER good and interesting, THEN they will like it and he/she/they will accept me."

3. So I went out and searched for lovely, amazing, extraordinary, and miraculous things. But my natural curiosity was tainted with the spirit of the bounty hunter. So when I did find amazing things, my reaction was not to fully enjoy them, nor to integrate them with my own life. I instead captured each pearl with my mind, and encapsulated it with words and models so I could market it as my own, yet removed enough from it that I could claim plausible deniability at any time. I would then seek out potential buyers, baiting them with a little bit when I sniffed out their peeking interest. And only once I knew that they would pay me with their full attention, I would share with them the precious pearl. Only then I could soothe my believed unworthiness a little, and tell myself "at least this thing that you share attracts a little interest. It has some value. You are still a little worthy".

4. And yet, none of those pearls was my truth. I knew it. I was merely regurgitating what other people said and wrote, clothed with my own words and interpretations so I could feel that they were mine. I was just trying to shine and be seen without the danger of exposing my own truth. But because it was not my real truth, it ultimately felt frustrating and unsatisfactory. My true self remained unseen, isolated behind its defensive barriers.

Yet there were times when I did feel my truth rising from within. Times when I felt and KNEW that what I had to say had value, and when I dared to timidly squeeze it into the group or the conversation. And/but/yet when I reached the moment of sharing myself fully, when I felt the excitement rising in me and my full truth was ready to come out again, I'd get nervous. My mind would get distracted. My eyes would dart and avoid direct focus. I would forget the words mid-sentence. I would jumble up the concepts, lose my train of thought. And what actually came out was mostly ever only an insecure, crumpled up, filtered, diluted shadow of my truth. Crumpled up by my mind who repeatedly said "that's not good enough yet" and threw the draft into the wastebasket, filtered by the fears of what might cause the others to reject it, and diluted because my system had learned that showing my truth in its full brilliance was dangerous, because it could be cut down and devalued again.

Even this my writing expression has grown through this pattern. Speaking does not lend itself to drawn-out essays that dance around the point for hours and revises its words again and again while trying to avoid all mistakes and warily cover all refutable points. So these days when something true rises in me and wants to bloom, it simmers for some hours/days/weeks in my subconscious, bits of it peeking out every now and then into my waking awareness. Then one day something is triggered, and it's as if all the words push out from within me, demanding to be born. And one more manufactured pearl comes out to market, asking to be seen. Waiting to be sold.

And today, the trigger were these phrases that showed up in my feed.

- "the peace in being able to admit when you are wrong"

- "the peace in not needing everyone to understand you"

- "the peace in changing your mind"

- "the peace in not proving your point"

Ahhhh... such peaces I long for. A release of my constant fear of judgement and mistrust, of constantly thirsting for external validation while pretending I do not. A release of a need to be right and correct from the beginning, and a release of my fear of being seen as indecisive and wishy-washy. Or of not proving my point with rich and sufficient evidence, ironclad logic, graceful eloquence, and solid proof.

Such states of peace my weary body longs for. weary of adjusting and double-guessing my every expression.

"My opinions always have room to change in the face of growth.

My peace is non negotiable."

peace > opinions. That's worth experimenting with. My mind protests already.

Anyway, reading these phrases today brought me to face the root of my long-lasting friction and frustration with my own expression, and to trace in detail for the first time the chain of events. From that first invisible yet deep fracture, through some of my life experiences, and up to the present day. I had a good conversation about it with my inner child, as well.

toodle-oo

Thank you, Tia Mason