Social dysmorphia
In the culture we live in, leveling up is often just amassing more obligations. Methinks leveling down may be the better way to go.
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The spirit wants the me no one else can see, and the same for me towards the spirit.
Intimacy as the truest knowing.
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Why is love approached from a single dimension, as if it’s a flat note? Why doesn’t anyone talk about how love is bliss and grief together, like a two-flavour soft serve cone?
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The strands of time travel, past lives, parallel existences… blinking slowly yet seeing quickly, feels smooth and detailed, unrushed and rhythmic.
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To rest is to know we are safe.
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I will not bury you in perfectionism.
I will not bury you in productivity.
I will not bury you in functionality.
I will not bury you in objectivity.
I will not bury you in happy or other acceptable feeling.
I will unearth you.
Acknowledge you exist.
Rediscover memories.
The Unseen Seen.
Questions resurfaced.
Clarity becoming the answers.
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My home shows me she is Vaginal, an entrance to a Womb.
Why do you rush so much when you’re inside of me, she asks.
I appreciate your devotion to cleanliness and tidiness, but would you play with me more, play in me more? What does it mean to engage in honouring as foreplay?
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The Money Wound is also the Mother Wound.
The Money Wound is also the Body Image Wound.
Yet, in personal development / wellness / new age circles, it’s still simplified to “law of attraction” / “good vibes” / “abundance mindset” baloney. We understand how triggering and harmful it is to admonish someone with body dysmorphia to “think positive thoughts”; we can recognize it as bypassing. Yet, the learn how to change your mindset so you can become a millionaire continues to be dispensed and consumed with fury.
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How many crushes can I have at once?
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Body dysmorphia aside, I think I sometimes also experience social dysmorphia.
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To trust is to know that I am home, no matter where I am.
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Resentment doesn’t knock on doors, she kicks the damn thing down, invades and plays her death metal tunes. And instead of tiptoeing around her and the vile mess, I went up to her today and invited her to have dim sum with me.
We wound up agreeing that I could learn a bit from her, and her from me. That I don’t like metal, though adore the attire. Tell them what you need to make things work, she reminds me. Dutifully noted with family.
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Martyrdom is a form of narcissism, but in a way worse, because martyrdom also virtue signals.
And to realize that my parents each took on one of these polarities.
Both archetypes carry lessons around identity, permission, honesty, boundaries.
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In a dream:
We were away, on a local island, and my partner ferried home without me, leaving me with a dead battery, network-deprived cell phone, one, by technological standards, is considered a relic as it was a flip smart phone, with actual buttons. A friend happened to also be at the inn where we were staying, was also heading to the ferry terminal, and had room in her car. I didn’t want to complain, but it smelled like 80 wet dogs in her car. I was grateful it was a hot day, and since her car did not have air conditioning, I had a reason to roll down the window.
I tried and tried to text my partner. The messages were not going through becuase the cell did not have enough battery. I use her charger, and I kept trying to send a text. We don’t really talk in the car. She feels weird because she hadn’t replied to my texts from over a year ago, when I was asking if she’d like to hang out. The ride she offered me was meant to be a convenient atonement for ghosting.
When I wake up, I immediately wondered why I didn’t ask to borrow her phone to message my partner. And why was I being so stubborn with the dead phone, of course it couldn’t send a text, could I not have waited a few minutes for it to charge? The urgency, the near panic of being left behind and not being able to communicate with him, the fear of being “mah-fan” about the smelly car…
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If I’ve learned anything for this year, is to plan lightly.
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Listening to all the things I can’t hear… until I can hear them.
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