Trust in the journey before you that only your own spirit recognises and can uniquely translate.
No map has been written, per se, but a trail nonetheless remains – evidence of one’s path. This life was gifted to you, and on your path you will discover the innermost secrets – both light and dark – about who you truly are.
My soul was dying for a long time, long before I recognised the symptoms. I was leading a lack-lustre life, never meant for me. The game was rigged. My life was orchestrated for me, rather than by me. Others had expectations and plans that were never mine to own.
This caused undue suffering to my heart, mind and soul on levels that you may relate to. The end result was self-abuse, visible disdain and suicidal perjuries of the mind. I began to kill myself slowly from a young age when I first had to contract and protect my interior sanctity from the outside world.
By my mid-20s, I sobered up from the illusion I was brought up in and discovered an immense weight of depression looming over my spirits. It has taken me 10 years to arrive at a place in this continuum where my heart, mind and spirit are once again united and I am feeling more liberated than ever before.
If only I could share how much happier I am today or more fulfilled, but my admission is that there’s still a seemingly endless sojourn of work worth tending to. All is temporary and that brings me comfort in my darkest moments. Fleeting tears, laughter, friendships and love. Alas, the journey my soul has urged me to commence calls my name while I dream, or while I remain still in nature for a time.
There is one character trait I’ve learned as an empath that offers unique solace to feeling so greatly: compassion for one self when we find it the hardest to simply allow infinite love to seep through each cell, every membrane, our entire essence, so we might again remember what it’s like to just receive.
There is no celestial wisdom of which I possess, nor is there a religious teaching unknown to us that can portray the beauty of the non-judgement of self when we need it most—but we can look inward with greater sanctity. I’ve learned that my mind is merely a reflection of my life’s story. So when I begin to criticise my perceived weakness at first, I am soon reminded that a child requires nurturing—as do I.
My grown-up self has been protecting these original wounds for some time now—those callous inflictions that devastated my youth and have, so often since, haunted the many days and years I’ve walked upon this earth plane.
Awakened from my slumber only a few short years ago, all but a glimpse now, I began to let slip, layer upon layer of my own perceived identity.
Uncertainty will always loom, no matter how tired we become from changing our ways. Routine will only shape a part of us because remaining still for too long is what stagnates the living, eternal-breathing, electrical force within us. Dis-ease resultantly consumes our vessel and death—the destructive tendency of nature, inevitably envelopes (far too long before we actually perish).
All that we must ask of ourselves each day, whether we’ve triumphed or failed, is to love—love who we are, no matter how we may appear to the onlookers. There is humility in facing one’s self each and every time we look into that mirror, whether it be someone else or our own reflection while crouching down near the creek’s glassy peer.
Instil compassion, a sense of understanding and commitment to the longevity of this human journey, when the invisible pain becomes nearly too unbearable, or the shapeless void pervades.
Forgive thy mind for such criticism and remember that we are fully capable of simply saying, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you.”
Run beneath rain showers, dance to the melody of the wildflower’s symphony and breathe in the innocence and complexity of nature’s embrace—just remember, your harmony, for your child’s likeness and sake.
And always, always—trust, in the soul’s journey.