T H E W A R O N A R T
& T H E A R T O F T R A N S C E N D E N C E
While everyone is busy graduating this year, I am still fighting to reach the end of my own journey. You see, for the past few semesters I’ve experienced an ironically unconventional form of education…
It’s called life. But for me, life was depression… And not the type where you’re sad for a few days, but type of depression that makes you dread waking up.
Because waking up means seeing,
not the sun -
but who you are;
Facing your enormous
exhausting battle to live –
to survive – a warrior !
but s u f f e r as a shielded artist.
Depression was my self-inflicted war FOR ART!
And I survived a warrior -
With shame, and dishonour. - 19/02/15
But as a warrior, I fought tirelessly against everything I could not allow myself to be and finally, in doing so, learnt self-acceptance… I was an artist who feared rejection, like death. So as a warrior, in battle with depression – my every conception of truth, survival, and learned mechanisms for protection against fear – had to burn.
Defiant self-love, for example was the mechanism that once saved me from ultimate lows when I could hardly get out of bed. It was a defensive act to prove I was strong not insecure. But my refusal to admit I was broken, only caused me to suffer the consequences of denial. I partied recklessly to prove I was carefree – drunk myself to stupidity, only to wake up sick – with guilt. Rather than supporting my family by suffering with them, I showed them abandonment. I was a disgraceful daughter – the drunk depressed drop out – one more damaged person to worry about – no warrior. My bruised ego fought AGAIN to survive the shame.
I moulded myself into a new identity of health, wellness and strength in attempt to conceal my insecurity through glorification. I obsessed with becoming a personal trainer, only to quit the job after a few days because finally, I accepted my truth.
To survive a warrior, was to die an artist. No job title, lifestyle, or surface appearance of happiness could ever conceal the shame of shielding my most authentic voice out of fear of rejection. I had to reveal I was weak, and heal in order to live my truth.
So I returned home, to witness my father deteriorate with dementia, and face my mother whose obvious resentment of dad’s illness was a perceived threat on me. I practiced openness to vulnerability and humility when ‘under attack’ from mom's rage by taking a breath to remember they too, are suffering. This ability to respond to my parents from a space of understanding is non-reaction. It dissolves the expectations of the ego and immediately heals all wounds. Although not as pleasant as the memories of my childhood, I now recognize these family obligations are not burdens, but opportunities to show support, and gratitude for - pain - my family's undeniable bond of love.
As humans we have been cultured to control outcomes of our day to day lives for future security, and we make adjustments to our behaviours based on feelings of comfort, discomfort, hunger, satisfaction, necessity. The problem arises when we reject the negative experiences, fighting the opportunity presented to us to match the experience we want. When, in reality, discomfort is a sign we MUST accept the circumstance as is, transcend expectations of reality, and evolve in the way intended for us.
"Our suffering was never the pain we felt,
but the distance we created
when we failed to make sense of ourselves."
I have always believed in something more profound - that there's a blissful state of being only living our soul purpose can provide. I'm reconnecting with that spirit. So I'm sorry if sometimes I seem withdrawn. Dormant forces in my soul are awakening for release, and I am no longer running from them. By claiming << this >> space I'm surrendering to the healing process, the end of war.
Peace. xx (Day One)