I have come across a short story competition. It is not the first time I have, yet now is the time for me to write once more. My ego is slowly (or rapidly, depending on the perspective) allowing the light to come through and for me to be back on track.
The point of this, as always, is not the short listing, of the thousand pound prize.
it is that I am getting to become alive once more.
A ten year death is along time to be dead, not alive, aware and also unawake.
Ten years, a lot has not happened to me. A lot has happened to others, and I sat by in the wings, watching them move from strength to strength, all the while chipping away at any self respect and assurity I had. The heaviness in my brain and in my heart was just massive for years, and some days in the last three weeks, it has been the same.
I have been under a self imposed house arrest that seems very indulgent. But I honestly do not know where to go, what to do. Why run after things if you know you won't progress?
Ever since I told him to leave me be if he can't find the courage to talk to me, he is constantly around me in the ether. I can feel his soul near mine, again. Sometimes, it merges. Not because either of us want it consciously, but my soul knows she has delayed her kundalini for a long time and it is no longer acceptable.
My life and experiences are of the mundane type, not the kind that I would announce to the world. I am more old school, I preferred the days we wrote letters to each other, I crave the time when I used to type on a typewriter.
I am remembering my mother's side of the family a lot more. I miss my grandparents, they were not afraid of showing me love.Tears fall down my cheeks at night as I remember the feeling of security wrapping around me like a blanket with my nana.
So, the real world, with all of its issues and challenges hits us in the groin every day. And I may have gone back into some sort of denial or avoidance in order to keep afloat for this time.
2017. Easier year. In the sense I can breathe, and my twin finally communicated some semblance of sense to me, so I know that I wasn't insane for seen years. I am remembering who I am, and seeing old friends dying out of my life, never to return - yet, I am alright with it at some level.
For the one who created such a complicated portrait will need to make some essential edits, or they are made by the Universe. I didn't end my friendship with N, he did. And in a rude manner. As someone else had said, I ain't got no time for that no mo'.
So, this short story.
I opened up a blank new sheet and the twin story poured out. I have written the ending. It wrote itself years ago, when I was unawake yet craving to become a famous and celebrated, adored author.
Up until this morning, I thought that would be my contribution to humanity. My twin soul story.
And then I wrote on paper (as my cousin has told me to do daily for ten minutes, along with meditation) and this is what my soul said, higher self, someone.
"it is not as though he wishes to leave her .. 5 saal jo saath mein guzre hain ... so he met her in? 2003? or 2006? 9 years, f***.
"i can't compete with 9 years.
"i can't write about someone i don't know,
something i haven't experienced
at least in this life time
"he hides from me because he hides from himself
"over the last few years, I closed off myself because it was not helpful
"even if he had dreams, why are the others ridiculing him?
I didn't ridicule him...
"so my story needs to be something else...
So, since my story will be something that I actually have experienced, and since this particular story is more fantasy and more sadness than triumph, I have asked for guidance on what to write about, from the title to the form, to the actual scene and words.
I've lived in four different countries, have visited 5 others, I am sure somewhere inside of me there is a little treasure trove of snippets that weave a story fit for consumption for the masses.
i am aware that my introversion makes my writing very specific, and the severe depressive episodes means that my writing has been very negative. It is the result of unprocessed emotions, Scorpio energy, and just a lack of being engage inside of my own life.
You know you need to address your internal energy when you stop going out because people are beginning to annoy and aggravate you again. Pushing and shoving with such disrespect.
I have decided that, irrespective of whatever is going on with me, I shall go to the park today. Say merhaba to my arkadaslar orduklar.
The river Wandle has been so very healing for me, I sometimes can sense a faeirie presence around me and I express my gratitude that the world of the unseen is once more opening up for me. You come to a point where you just write what you need to, say what you need to, and trust that it makes sense to someone.
The world of blogging that I tried to enter into last year, I wasn't ready and I still felt I needed to remain superficial, and hide. To post every week, manage the posts and the audience.
But, tell me, would a free soul, a Sufi, one humbled towards the universe, really expect such continuity? Maybe that is why I am more a story teller than a blogger.
My posts are dark, and sometimes very furious.
I saw an article yesterday by The Independent, informing us, oh by the way, a huge iceberg has just sectioned off and broken away from the Antartic. I looked at the article and wrote, what can I say?
We just stand and watch Pacha Mama transform. There are those of us who have the energy to stand up and do something, whether it be bringing supplies out the homeless after fire breaks out.
And some of us, such as myself, wish to be there, but have difficulty getting out of bed (again).
So even the ifre against the world and it's chaos has died out. We stand and we observe.
My cousin helped me a lot in the last two weeks, healing me and supporting me as much as he could. He still hides from me as well, I think yeh koi khandani bimaari hai in my soul family, hiding from each other so we can't trust one another fully. We don't know how to be fully and truly vulnerable, and more importantly, to be okay with it.
He told me the following, and I accepted it without a fight:
I have decided to publish in a separate post what I wrote in my first draft for the short story. If this is the only place I have to unpack all the baggage before I can truly become a writer someone wishes to read, so be it .
We are always growing, always unpacking.
I can no longer pretend I will ever become perfect, but I can allow myself my own self acceptance of who I am and where I am at this precise moment.
And I dedicate this to all of humanity, so we all learn this now.
The point of this, as always, is not the short listing, of the thousand pound prize.
it is that I am getting to become alive once more.
A ten year death is along time to be dead, not alive, aware and also unawake.
Ten years, a lot has not happened to me. A lot has happened to others, and I sat by in the wings, watching them move from strength to strength, all the while chipping away at any self respect and assurity I had. The heaviness in my brain and in my heart was just massive for years, and some days in the last three weeks, it has been the same.
I have been under a self imposed house arrest that seems very indulgent. But I honestly do not know where to go, what to do. Why run after things if you know you won't progress?
Ever since I told him to leave me be if he can't find the courage to talk to me, he is constantly around me in the ether. I can feel his soul near mine, again. Sometimes, it merges. Not because either of us want it consciously, but my soul knows she has delayed her kundalini for a long time and it is no longer acceptable.
My life and experiences are of the mundane type, not the kind that I would announce to the world. I am more old school, I preferred the days we wrote letters to each other, I crave the time when I used to type on a typewriter.
I am remembering my mother's side of the family a lot more. I miss my grandparents, they were not afraid of showing me love.Tears fall down my cheeks at night as I remember the feeling of security wrapping around me like a blanket with my nana.
So, the real world, with all of its issues and challenges hits us in the groin every day. And I may have gone back into some sort of denial or avoidance in order to keep afloat for this time.
2017. Easier year. In the sense I can breathe, and my twin finally communicated some semblance of sense to me, so I know that I wasn't insane for seen years. I am remembering who I am, and seeing old friends dying out of my life, never to return - yet, I am alright with it at some level.
For the one who created such a complicated portrait will need to make some essential edits, or they are made by the Universe. I didn't end my friendship with N, he did. And in a rude manner. As someone else had said, I ain't got no time for that no mo'.
So, this short story.
I opened up a blank new sheet and the twin story poured out. I have written the ending. It wrote itself years ago, when I was unawake yet craving to become a famous and celebrated, adored author.
Up until this morning, I thought that would be my contribution to humanity. My twin soul story.
And then I wrote on paper (as my cousin has told me to do daily for ten minutes, along with meditation) and this is what my soul said, higher self, someone.
"it is not as though he wishes to leave her .. 5 saal jo saath mein guzre hain ... so he met her in? 2003? or 2006? 9 years, f***.
"i can't compete with 9 years.
"i can't write about someone i don't know,
something i haven't experienced
at least in this life time
"he hides from me because he hides from himself
"over the last few years, I closed off myself because it was not helpful
"even if he had dreams, why are the others ridiculing him?
I didn't ridicule him...
"so my story needs to be something else...
So, since my story will be something that I actually have experienced, and since this particular story is more fantasy and more sadness than triumph, I have asked for guidance on what to write about, from the title to the form, to the actual scene and words.
I've lived in four different countries, have visited 5 others, I am sure somewhere inside of me there is a little treasure trove of snippets that weave a story fit for consumption for the masses.
i am aware that my introversion makes my writing very specific, and the severe depressive episodes means that my writing has been very negative. It is the result of unprocessed emotions, Scorpio energy, and just a lack of being engage inside of my own life.
You know you need to address your internal energy when you stop going out because people are beginning to annoy and aggravate you again. Pushing and shoving with such disrespect.
I have decided that, irrespective of whatever is going on with me, I shall go to the park today. Say merhaba to my arkadaslar orduklar.
The river Wandle has been so very healing for me, I sometimes can sense a faeirie presence around me and I express my gratitude that the world of the unseen is once more opening up for me. You come to a point where you just write what you need to, say what you need to, and trust that it makes sense to someone.
The world of blogging that I tried to enter into last year, I wasn't ready and I still felt I needed to remain superficial, and hide. To post every week, manage the posts and the audience.
But, tell me, would a free soul, a Sufi, one humbled towards the universe, really expect such continuity? Maybe that is why I am more a story teller than a blogger.
My posts are dark, and sometimes very furious.
I saw an article yesterday by The Independent, informing us, oh by the way, a huge iceberg has just sectioned off and broken away from the Antartic. I looked at the article and wrote, what can I say?
We just stand and watch Pacha Mama transform. There are those of us who have the energy to stand up and do something, whether it be bringing supplies out the homeless after fire breaks out.
And some of us, such as myself, wish to be there, but have difficulty getting out of bed (again).
So even the ifre against the world and it's chaos has died out. We stand and we observe.
My cousin helped me a lot in the last two weeks, healing me and supporting me as much as he could. He still hides from me as well, I think yeh koi khandani bimaari hai in my soul family, hiding from each other so we can't trust one another fully. We don't know how to be fully and truly vulnerable, and more importantly, to be okay with it.
He told me the following, and I accepted it without a fight:
I have decided to publish in a separate post what I wrote in my first draft for the short story. If this is the only place I have to unpack all the baggage before I can truly become a writer someone wishes to read, so be it .
We are always growing, always unpacking.
I can no longer pretend I will ever become perfect, but I can allow myself my own self acceptance of who I am and where I am at this precise moment.
And I dedicate this to all of humanity, so we all learn this now.
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