identity

Bridges of the Scattered Self

When estrangement gains its hold,
a quiet severing begins,
not only from the voices without,
but from the murmur within.

We imagine the gulf yawns
only between ourselves and another,
a space grown cold and wide.

But look again.
The mind wanders a forgotten path,
a memory foggy with time,
or a future yet unspun.

Thoughts drift like leaves
blown far,
on a wind we cannot name.

And the body
experiences the phantom pull
of somewhere else
while remaining rooted
in this precise moment.

Even the eyes,
which are windows
to an invisible world,
gaze blankly into the present
while concentrating
on a far-off shore.

Our fragmented
and scattered selves,
each floating aimlessly
in its own ocean.

Kindness
should therefore be
a gentle hand
that unites all differences.
And respect
the bridge we build,
thought by careful thought.
Allow connection to be
the gathering, a homecoming
of all our scattered parts,
welcomed back
into the warmth of now.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.
A Step

Our steps can only
move in one direction,
yet we choose freely
the line they trace.
A note of possibilities
and probabilities.

We are either giving,
or retreating into ourselves.
Receiving,
or closing the door.
Kind,
or indifferent.
Loving,
or causing harm.
Welcoming,
or disturbing peace.
Living in harmony,
or in hurt.
A friend,
or a shadow of chaos.
A storyteller,
or a line written and erased
at will.
A voice,
or an empty cave.

Balance is the soul’s equilibrium—
to see the genuine,
hear the authentic,
and embrace who we are.

Not every stranger is an enemy,
nor does every event
place us in peril.
And every danger
calls for a different courage.

Discernment isn’t obsequious
and bound
by ideology or knowledge.
It is the wisdom
to see your true self,
to understand your role
within the cosmos.
It is the intuition of your spark,
the compass of your mind’s identity,
the principles
that guide your soul.

Before you act,
pause and ask:
Who am I?
Would I wish for a friend or a foe?
Does my heart long for love,
or carry the weight of hate?
Who am I becoming?

Take a step.
Be the person
worthy of your own beatitude,
Of living happily ever after.
Not someday,
but here,
now,
today.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
The Stranger’s Truth

It is hard being misunderstood,
Like a book written in a forgotten tongue.
Misunderstanding denies
The existence of identity,
Self and truth,
A erasure of the soul’s fingerprint.

Feeling misunderstood,
Is a feeling of non-acceptance
Of who we are,
A rejection of our inner landscape,
Mountains of experience flattened
By the bulldozer of presumption.

Accept or pass,
Don’t deny.

My misunderstandings are
Simple to understand,
Like clear water mistaken for air.

I am always a stranger,
A traveler in a land of familiar faces.
And I always become
A stranger,
Even to those closest
To me.

People sense the breath
Of depth,
An ocean beneath a still surface,
And assume intentions,
Sometimes they assume,
Bad intentions.

But the truth is
What they sense
Is an unfiltered directness,
A deeper meaning,
Waiting to be uncovered,
Like buried treasure beneath
The sands of superficiality.

There is no veil,
There is essence.

In this world of masks and mirrors,
I stand naked in my truth,
Unbreakable, a paradox.

Misunderstood, yes,
But in the quiet of self-knowledge,
I find the acceptance
The world often fails to give.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Born Naked

Born naked,
No boundaries,
But bonds of
breath and being.

Born naked,
Free, with no borders,
Just curiosity’s flame.
A lighthouse in the fog.

Identity,
Not in this chapter,
Not in this lesson,
A blank canvas,
Awaiting society’s brush.

Meaning and service,
Imagination and tranquility,
Gratitude and exploration,
Yet often traded for
Comfort in conformity.

We teach ours
And theirs,
Presentation and acts,
Masks worn daily,
Truth lost in the act,
Authenticity, a forgotten script.

Who’s watching over us?

We don’t teach faith,
We teach worship of idols.

We don’t teach questions,
We teach answers prepackaged,
Easy to digest,
Hard to escape,
Mental fast food.

We don’t teach thinking,
We teach status,
The climb over others,
A race with no end,
Sisyphus in a suit and tie.

Likes over essence,
Thrills over purpose,
Moments of euphoria,
Digital applause in an empty auditorium.

Who’s watching over us?
Our forgotten selves, perhaps,
Peering through the cracks.

From naked truths
To clothed deceit,
We walk life’s wardrobe,
Trying on identities like costumes,
Forgetting the skin beneath.

Beneath the layers,
The naked child still breathes,
The flame flickering,
Waiting to be fanned.

Who’s watching over us?
The answer lies in the question,
For in asking, we awaken
To the watchers.

Born naked,
We return to nakedness.

Who’s watching over us?
Let it be our truest,
Guardians of the flame,
That burns at our birth.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Sometimes

Sometimes, our eyes betray us,
Revealing more than we can hold.

Sometimes, it’s better
To turn away,
To let one side remain in shadow.

Sometimes, we feel too deeply,
Our hearts stretch and hurt
So profoundly.
Sometimes, we laugh so joyfully,
And love with all we are.

Sometimes, our senses overwhelm us.
Sometimes, it’s better
To let one side remain unseen.

Do we show up in fragments,
Pieces waiting to be reassembled
And reinterpreted?
Or do we arrive whole,
Complete, with all our
Imperfections, cracks and missing parts?

Our hopes and dreams
Rooted in the solid ground
Of what we can truly offer,
And what we truly need.

Sometimes, we see so little.
Sometimes, it’s enough
To just arrive—
To stand and show up for life.

Sometimes,
My mirrors reflect
Sometimes,
My roots grow deep
Into the earth of connection
Sometimes,
I am fire.
Sometimes,
I am ash.
Sometimes,
I am present.

Sometimes, I wonder why.
Sometimes, I wonder how.
Sometimes, I wonder when.
Sometimes, I wonder what.

Sometimes, I start.
Sometimes, I finish.
Sometimes, I give up.
Sometimes, I am the fight.

Sometimes, we want more.
Sometimes, we want less.
Sometimes, we find the balance
Of what to give.

Sometimes, I play God.
Sometimes, I serve the world.
Sometimes, I am

Sometimes,
In the still moment of silence.

And sometime,
Once upon a time.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
In The Name

I am,
Embraces all,
A boundless light—
Like dawn’s first ray
Touching earth
And the sky.

Be mindful
Of your words,
They’re seeds in soil.
Consider deeply
What you name,
The bonds you create—
Roots spreading unseen.

The essence dwells
In every space
You choose to inhabit,
A whisper in the wind,
A ripple in still waters.

Be thoughtful,
Be reflective,
Express fully
What you
Call yourself.

It shapes you—
Your heart, your core,
Like a potter’s hands
Molding, yielding clay.
It is you,
And reflects what you
Offer the world.

You live
Your chosen name,
A mantra, a beacon.
The image
You craft of yourself
Becomes your truth,
Etched in the story
Of your unfolding days.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Screams & Chants

I can neither perfect nor dress this feeling with language,
Forgive me for speaking out loud.

I screamed in the cave of loneliness,
And heard the echoes of God repeating,
Screams of pain are chants for joy.

I am the nameless child,
I can only listen to silence,
I look in the mirror,
And I see,
A power using its five senses,
To absorb more of this world.

I breathe all.

I am the nameless child,
I am the painful truth,
And now I give you I.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.
Just Wandering

Have you ever felt
As if you are standing
In your own space
With your hands open
And every person you encounter
Tattoos you,
Writes on you
With permanent ink
Before moving on?

The marks glow
With a stained-glass-like luster;
They form an intricately
Beautiful pattern
Made out of memories
And accidental encounters.
Some run very deep;
Others just scratch the surface;
Nevertheless each one
Does stay
In its own way
However, faint it might be.

Would you want to look at yourself?
Can you see yourself beneath these marks?

In the looking glass,
There’s a kaleidoscope of reflections
Looking back at me
A live screen
On which countless stories appear.
But beneath all these;
I feel a heartbeat pounding constantly,
A central self-crying out
For recognition…

I feel as if I am losing myself
Within these entwining paths
A life’s true maze.
Which scars deserve
Our appreciation
And which ones should be forgotten?
It could be that this decision
Symbolizes the very essence
Of the soul.

Just
Wandering.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
My Voice

Find your voice,
They say.
I have found my voice.

They say pretend,
Misunderstanding,
Paper cuts on my soul.
They sting, they bleed.
This is not fine.

My voice to you is
Described as a whisper of a ghost.
However, to me
It is like thunder in my mind .

When told to speak out loud by you,
There are words that
I must take from the deepest part of me,
With every syllable
Struggling against my throat
And clawing to be let out.

On the other hand,
What you hear seems dry.
But for me, it feels
Like fresh wounds.

But if I have to
Call out to someone
In the next room,
I find myself falling into myself,
And my voice coming out
As though it emerged from the dawn of time.
It leaves me panting, empty,

Sometimes it sounds
Like I’m yelling
A cry in your ears;
While for me this is an earthquake
That breaks my soul.
The effort leaves me gasping, drained.

Peace is a soft shawl
Within silence.
At last,
My mind breathes.

In stillness,
And in mute moments,
I am complete.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.