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That nagging whisper graces its chipped fingernails down the side of a tensed neck of muscle fibres trembling to the point of snapping. It hisses, and growls.
"You know what's going on; what's going through that mind. You can't believe what those lips form - you know this: the crude fact that every being under the umbrella of homo sapien is inherently self-centred. Everyone does what they want to do for themselves, when it is most convenient for them.
Some want to be the one in the spotlight; others want to be called humble and down-to-earth and charitable - a grotesque sleight of hands to boost themselves - perhaps albeit unconsciously - for all your readings in psychological cases have exposed the blatant, gruesome truth: there is no true altruism."
----
My heart breaks. Does yours too?
Somewhere along the lines of frustration and disappointment, a seed of vexation has dug its roots and claimed its territory. The very notion behind that spiteful whisper is none other than the exercise of "self" that it so brutally slanders. The irony burns ice-cold. What more could one say? Is it not true that every person is, to an extent - regardless of whether they are conscious of it - out and fighting for themselves and their place in the name of finding oneself?
Or perhaps, it could be for something greater. Something beyond what the universe could begin to encapsulate; to comprehend.
----
"Keep your heart soft, always, then only will you truly be strong."
Another whisper, this one gentler, warmer; loving. A whisper of truth, of grace, of acceptance; that we are not lone wanderers, we are not but brittle bones; we will not always be kind and gentle and joyous and generous and modest and patient - and that's okay. It's okay because I don't have to rely on my own strength. It's okay because love has and is and will ever be first and foremost: rubbing my numb fingers; kissing my snow-topped nose, cushioning my fall. But only if this heart - this rose soul breathing within is willing. And it is. It regards its own inequities its own. It accepts its failings its own. And yet, it knows there will always be more to turn to, more to seek refuge in, more to believe and entrust faith upon. More, so much more. It overflows and grows and reaches places no eye has seen, no ear has heard.Yes, this rose soul may be cracked and frayed on the edges, but, oh it beats; stronger than ever. For it has found its identity in the light, and no darkness within or without may pierce that ever-encompassing glow. Of joy, of hope, and of love - more and evermore.
Bravery is a tapestry woven, each thread that of love. The ineluctable grapple with purple bruises the chipped away bits of strength let slip. Courageous, honest, soul; rise and conquer, not as yourself but as a being built through the amalgamation of lessons of love. Stumbling toes, straining shins, one foot before the other.Be brave, rose souls - be so brave that we will no longer be afraid of the murk; be so brave that we will choose to keep our hearts soft in this shore of rocks of hearts.
Be brave, be soft; and be strong.
---
** a moment **
Despite the asterisked disclaimer/introduction to this post, I felt warranted to say more. This was a difficult piece to write. It started from that moment of thought which brought unwanted attention to a side of human nature that people rarely acknowledge, must less speak about. It felt, at that moment, as if the world may be as gray and in despair as they have always warned about. Frankly, a good friend once suggested for me to enjoy my general, youthful optimism towards life and people and things - before growing up makes me jaded too. But honestly? I have never been one ignorant of the bruised corners of life. As a matter of fact, I think I credit my illogical sense of optimism to having known that in spite of the ragged edges, life is more than what is happening right then, right there. Right here. A sense of peace that is indescribable in knowing there is more to the story than the facts before us pushes through the most treacherous places. At the expense of coming across as demeaning or dismissive, take to heart that I am in no sense of the word proposing that I understand the world any better than another, nor that I do not have my failings (I do, so so many of them), but more of an expression of gratitude in acknowledging how tiny and minuscule I am in this universe, and yet there is so much beauty and joy and friendship and love and dreams around, with, and beyond this life - a gratefulness that I can never find the words to fully convey.
So thank you, for reading this trailing, very probably incomprehensible piece; and thank You, that regardless of my failings, I rest assured that I am loved for You are Love.
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p.s. don't worry, i do believe in altruism; the two 'whispers' are meant to convey two different perspectives, and it is the second one that i choose to believe in. also, this is mainly a stern self-reprimand of times i'm not proud of myself for / when i failed to take things and people into consideration / for not thinking the best of people at times - hence the title.
p.p.s. was really hesitant in writing this as it could be taken in so many ways, especially since it's in quite a disembodied state due to the fact that it was written sporadically across the space of a month or even two. so thank you. thank you for sticking with me even to here. and most of all, thank you for reading my babbling xx
