By Jade Trueman
Listen to this song whilst you read the piece.
Try to keep up with the scenes (imagine them), overlays of expression and real heart reflections.]
I’ve come to realise that I am an empath. A vessel of reflective lessons. A walking unit of purgery. A vessel who constantly undergoes a process of refinement; one who has the responsibility of sharing these lessons with everyone around her. The last few months can be described as a whirlwind of 180 degree actualisations ‘of self’.
I went from playing it safe and living life according to the expected social norms which parents from a nuclear-esque type family set out for you. To the complete opposite. You know the usual: go to school, pass really well, get set for the university battlefield (by battlefield I mean, fee stress, emotional stress, coming of age stress and actual academic performance stress), meet a potential spouse, save yourselves for marriage, have x amount of kids, have a white picket fence etc. And by any means necessary stay obedient until the day you die or face the risk of going to hell and being labelled a heathen for an eternity.
And there I was in a pool of self-pity and the relentless desire to break out of anything related to ‘social norms’. I guess I got what I asked for.
Something found. Something that could never be searched for.
Life has a funny way of humbling you. It has a funny way of just showing up, saving you from eternal damnation [if only I listened to my intuitive feelings though]…
*Physically takes a peak into heart and re-members the cascading embers of light once felt and pushes the dark spaces away; in order to try and savour the beauty of pure intensity felt.*
She was such a beautiful onlooker. I arrived at a place. A place I initially wasn’t even meant to be. She stared. I glowed on this particular day. An inner glow of understanding selfworth and manifesting a curated speech about ‘when children start learning’. Stares exchanged. She saw me. Beyond the self I had been identifying with.
But when do children really start learning? I declare: at conception!
Nothing and yet everything was new.
She: Wonder set ablaze.
I: Set with intent, coupled with naivety and just blatant ignorance of how the mating dance comes to form.
Curiosity took over me. But none has ever pulled me this deeply before. Typical of a Piscean tide. So typical. And the fact that my Venus rises in Pisces. Lord, have mercy! I am not surprised that love at first sight manifested in actuality. Why did I feel this way? Why could I not eat? Why did sleep refuse to visit me? Why did I not care about the conditions? Why were the dimensions of my rudimentary socially cohesive judgements not in place?
Dimensions – Sarah Godsell
“I love your dimensions
The way you go down so deep
I hold my nose as I dive in to fetch you
The way you go up so high
I gather my balloons
As I float to find you
The way you go so wide big sometimes
I must untie my arms to wrap them around
you, with the whole world in you
Giving you indigestion
The way you go so thin sometimes
You turn sideways and disappear
I must speak nicely to the wind
If I am to see you again “
The intersection between realising that nothing is a coincidence and knowing that coincidence could potentially be the only truth?
Metaphysics, divine synchronicity: The purge I say.
The purge of innocence which slipped beneath the patented wind. It slipped away with passionate breaths, which lay upon the wings of a beautiful hummingbird.
I guess I had subliminally been seeking for her for months on end. Years in fact. My growth had felt like it had been stunted for 3 years. I termed my life ‘a state of never ending limbo’. I had even written long reflective pieces to myself about this particular phase of my life. LIMBO had been personified. Limbo was about a dance I had, with conscious and emotional paralysis. Unable to make decisions which would set off ‘adult-esque’ related choices.
Inadequate adulting, I called it. Weak, is what my mother called it. Naive is what the world called it.
Unable to move past the notion of being 24 years old, stuck in the social category of being an awkward 17 year old tween, stuck in the category of having a particular connection with identifying as an emotionally based 30 year old and simultaneously feeling like I had the romantic capacity of a 14 year old confused girl. But what was this urgent feeling which I constantly needed to fuel? What was this high which I had to attain?
The conundrum of metaphysical transformation and supplication. What was this?
Let me tell you: it was Naivety. And Naivety is Decorated Silence.
Naivety seeks those whom are consumed by the state of limbo. Naivety desires those who are in need of tainted body armour. [In order to build character]. Naivety will find you when you think you have everything together. Don’t get it twisted, just like death [hence the CAPITAL N], Naivety will find you. Naivety, like death and loneliness , has been personified too.
Blinded by the angst of eggshell seas. I knew that things would never work out. You cannot undo the hurt left by others who visited her seas before you.
Trust is like diamond which has fallen into the ocean. But this is especially true when people thrive off self-inflicted re-occurrences of pain. When they continue to chase diamonds lost at sea. Never to be found again, unless a special case of wonder reveals the coordinates of the depths of flowing waters. It matters not how much you show admiration, or how close the diamond wants to be to its claimer, it is the responsibility of the claimer not to wear precious stones to the ocean. And this is when the purge of eggshell seas take over. You clutch your knuckles in between your toes and sway back and forth. You think that you have grip and control of the state of ‘self’. You normalise and intellectualise falling in love. You think that the synergy is normal. That your composure is as balanced as the flex-zone. Until you realise that you are the diamond at the bottom of the sea. And that your composure is a reflection of your insatiable desire to be clasped in the heart of her ocean.
But reality hits and you are never to be found by the claimant who initially clasped you close to their ocean floor. Unless by a magical occurrence of fate the claimant seeks to find you despite the depths which they’d have to submerge themselves within.
Back and forth swaying and cross dimensional thoughts of: ‘All basic reasoning out the window’. You sit at the bottom of the ocean, reflecting the rhythm of desire lost, ever-flowing like the fading shadows found between a stingray and the ocean floor. You sit at the bottom of the ocean, in precious form, and continue to be just that. A precious idea of what was.
As I repeat and repeat and repeat: ‘I still adore you, you adore me theoretically, so now I’ve gotta shut the door on you, so I can find out who is next for me’. Jean Grae
Yes, the ocean was within her. She had no desire to find me…