Redefining Character

Who do I think I am?

Your story is not a picture of life; it lacks the elements of truth. And why? Simply because you run straight on to the end; because you do not analyze. Your heroes do this thing or that from this or that motive, which you assign without ever a thought of dissecting their mental and moral natures. Our feelings, you must remember, are far more complex than all that. In real life every act is the resultant of a hundred thoughts that come and go, and these you must study, each by itself, if you would create a living character. ‘But,’ you will say, ‘in order to note these fleeting thoughts one must know them, must be able to follow them in their capricious meanderings. You have simply to make use of hypnotism, electrical or human, which gives one a two-fold being, setting free the witness-personality so that it may see, understand, and remember the reasons which determine the personality that acts. Jules Verne (In the Year 2889)

My self correction j̶o̶u̶r̶n̶e̶y̶ crusade of few days has been exhiliarating.

The blah 90%

Ambling about with knotted brows and oddly bolting thoughts, peppered with endless irrational demands and paranoid tendencies of the petulant ‘adult’ inside… all of which is actually rather tedious.

The magnificent 10%

Some awe inspiring excitement is hurled my way (and I’m always caught by surprise) whenever the cloud of self-imposed melancholia and quasi-desperation is cut with dazzling sharp moments of realizations.

Epiphanies.

Followed by spiralling dreams about the fascinating impacts of actualization of the better ways to think/live that are evoked by the epiphanies. Oh, even the mere thought of the actualization sends down shivers of glee and wistful delight down my spine!

It is in these moments, these rare, bliss filled points of my infinite time, that I know who I truly am. I know what my own character assessment says about my self.

I see me clearly in these moments, as clear as the supergiants of Orion’s belt in the clear night sky.

My solemn greys and haughty yellows. The kitten tummy softness and the serrated spikes. The earthly tones and lush turquoise. I know it all.

I know what I think. Clearly, objectively.

I finally see me for who I am in these rare, infinity filled moments.

And then?

It’s a pleasure — being able to mould and temper one’s self.

Being able to realize that it is I, who has the exquisite and executive invitation to the rich, consummate world inside.

And I am as much as a visitor as the sculptor of the the landscapes. The hoverflies hovering on the cloverfields and the gaping wide chasms of darkness— all are me, all are mine.

My mind’s doors and windows are open to let the wind and sunlight flutter in and out as the earth continues to roll. It’s a fantastic feeling! In fact —

It’s THE emotion.

It’s one thing to read of and learn about, theoretically, but a melodramatically different thing to actually feel it in my bones, to know it to be an eternal truth — that I am of this world.

The cosmic oneness, if you will. The belonging, in want of a better vocabulary at my end.

That 10% is what I’ve gained inch by inch in the past few days.

And now?

I tried to write about it at the turn of the calendar year when I realized that I’m consciously trying to be mindful.

I was proud of myself. And I was scared shitless about losing it all in the next storm, in the next cloudy haze.

I have the tendency to self sabotage, like the most and best of us. But I’m not a despicable alien. I’m someone almost like you. I’m just crazy enough to acknowledge my own brand of madness and move on.

Move on urgently with big, deliberate steps towards a better me.

A better eccentricity, thoughtfully curated, composed of well cultivated curiosities. I’m totally doing that.

I’m still scared out of my senses, my heart pounding and blood thrashing inside when I’m faced with Mara. But I know enough now to move on, move on with love and acceptance.

I’m still scared, but I’ve vetted all my known devils, and I welcome any unknown form of bad with keen objectivity.

Not defiant, but cautious.

Not angry, but resolute.

Not afraid, but cognizant of the shackled and mutilated goodness.

I see you, Mara. I see your evil influence within. I see you without. The more I see you in your myriad, sometimes conspicuous and sometimes inconspicuous forms — the more I realize I’ve been letting you fool me for that 90% of my infinity! And me, the perfect idiot, has been huffing and puffing about it for over 90% of my lifetime!

I’m apalled at my numbskulness, and I’m inclined to cradle the child inside with gentleness and affection.

Oh dear, what a sorrowful life the child has lived, because of my utter rejection of reality! It’s only because I, the omnipresent I inside, my old soul, was afraid of the darkness inside.

I was scared clueless, was beaten down and captured in an inescapable maze of my own thoughts!

But I am prouder now. Now that I know that I’ve been holding on.

Holding on for my life.

Nothing less, always more. Holding on defiantly. Teeth grinding, nostrils flared, temples hot, neck and fingers cracking, heckles down and ready, teeth set in a sincere, glinting smile… ready, and holding on.

It’s time to begin, isn’t it? I get a little bit bigger, but then I’ll admit I’m just the same as I was Now, don’t you understand That I’m never changing who I am? Imagine Dragons (It’s Time)

Warm shout-out to five of my recent favourite reads in Reciprocal

Wholehearted writing like “In a silent benediction, spread two table spoons of coconut oil over the ambrosial whole.” and more in Suma Narayan’s heartwarming recipe of a miracle tree seedpod—

Judy Walker’s poem is 💛 / A must read!

Joyce Nielsen writes beautifully about nature seeping into her and others’ art—

A riveting read on the delicate ecosystem we stand on, and should stand for, by Maria Rattray —

Sahil Patel shares an inspiring note on trust —