The mean little voice...

It's been a while...
I haven't been posting for quite some time, but since there is so much going on in my life at the moment I hardly find the time - or the energy I should say - to write anything substancial, valid...
I have been commenting on other blogs though...but my head seems so "full" right now - filled with half-prepared English classes, with worries regarding my short-comings, the fear that I'm not as good a teacher as I'd like to be, the new car that ought to be bought...and so on and so forth.

It's quite amazing to see how much time one wastes on worries and negative thoughts - do you also know this ever-nagging little voice, this constant under-current of thoughts in the back of your head? Constantly reminding us of our past failures, our short-comings, reprimanding us, making sure that we don't forget just how flawed we are.
One of the side-effects of this inner criticism is that we certainly work harder than other people - because we are the hardest on ourselves. I have made the amazing experience that "mediocre" people are often extremely self-confident and very positive - if not unrealistic - about their own performance, while people who are good or even brilliant generally are a lot less sure about themselves or the quality of their work.
I remember thinking that my good grades at university were a matter of luck and that it would only be a matter of time until they would 'find me out' - until they would discover my utter incompetence...I always felt like an imposter, like someone who suceeds thanks to luck or trickery. None of this is true...but this is how it felt inside, despite all the things that proved this ridiculous attitude wrong.
Also, I always had the feeling that being proud of ones' accomplishments equates with being arrogant...
I believe that the ability to be introspect and self-critical is an asset, but many times (healthy) self-criticism can degenerate into self-loathing.
This is the moment when your self-criticism paralyses you, when it deprives you of your courage, when it steals away every iota of your former self-confidence, turning you into a pathetic shadow of what you could be...under different circumstances...with a different attitude.
The things you could have done...
The person you could have been...
...had you only believed in yourself.
Had this inner voice only encouraged you, told you to keep going, told you that you will get there, make it...instead, the little voice was telling you that it was pointless, that you had better not even try - why make a fool out of yourself failing, 'cos who are you kidding anyway, this ain't for you, you're not good enough - and who do you think you are in the first place?
How many times has the mean little voice won over you, over your aspirations, over your dreams...how many times have you given in to your fears, to your doubts...
Fear is a bad advisor - so they say...it is true, admittedly. The mean little voice wants us to sell ourselves short, to stay within a confined area - geographically and spiritually...and the mean little voice is a powerful and sneaky opponent...It cleverly out-wits you, sneaking in through the back door, infiltrating your thoughts before you know it.
I know this mean little voice all too well...it's a familiar voice...
You have to be very vigilant...you have to fight the mean little voice while it is still hardly audible...it feeds on your doubts and fears...make sure it never gets that far in the first place...

On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur...

"But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart . . ."
In the moonlight I looked at his pale forehead, his closed eyes, his locks of hair that trembled in the wind, and I said to myself: "What I see here is nothing but a shell. What is most important is invisible . . ."
"And at night you will look up at the stars. [...] My star will just be one of the stars, for you. And so you will love to watch all the stars in the heavens . . . they will all be yours. And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me."

« Mais les yeux sont aveugles. Il faut chercher avec le cœur.
— Quand tu regarderas le ciel, la nuit, puisque j’habiterai dans l’une d’elles, puisque je rirai dans l’une d’elles, alors ce sera pour toi comme si riaient toutes les étoiles. [...]
Et quand tu seras consolé (on se console toujours) tu seras content de m’avoir connu. »

"Man sieht nur mit dem Herzen gut, das Wesentliche ist für die Augen unsichtbar.
Und wenn du nachts den Sternenhimmel ansiehst, weil ich auf einem von ihnen wohnen werde, weil ich auf einem von ihnen lachen werde, wird es sein, als ob alle Sterne lachten. [...] Und wenn du dann getröstet bist (man wird immer getröstet), dann wirst du froh sein, mich gekannt zu haben."

[Le Petit Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry]

A Bubble Life...

Does this world, this universe, really exist? Is anything that we perceive as 'real' truly out there?
These are intriguing questions (and 'no', I haven't smoked weed today!).
How can we be so sure that anything we see, hear, touch, smell..., really looks, feels, smells, sounds the way we perceive it. Bees can see ultra-violet; their world must therefore look quite different from ours...some animals can only see black and white; dogs live in an "odor universe" - they smell their world.
Our brains determine what we perceive and how we perceive the outside world.
Let's take this thought to extremes, shall we...as our brain filters and alters our perception of the outside world - we can assume that the *real* world looks quite different from the world as we know it. Why not wonder just for once, if our brains do not only re-create the outside world (filter and alter), but what if they actually create it?
What if we are living a "bubble life" :-) ?
Each and everyone living in their own little bubble, their own little universe? What if everything we take for real is nothing but a matrix, created by our respective brains?
As crazy as this sounds, the thought isn't completely insane...just like that philosophical theory about our existence being the dream of some sleeping giant.
Although this seems pulled by the hair, it certainly makes you realize that the truth or reality isn't necessarily what we perceive...our senses can be quite easily manipulated. Perception is everything...and whatever we consider real is just a reflexion of another - hidden - reality...we fail to see the true nature of things...

Have a nice Bubble Life, everybody ;-)

Some more Guest Blogging...

Imperfect...










Imperfect...
strip my layers
go beneath my skin
what shall you find
an imperfect flower within
craving social acceptance
a desire to fit in
see past my faults
or leave me in a state of chagrin


Akilah Sakai

Making peace with ourselves...

In light of the somewhat 'delicious' sonnet by Anne Rettenberg (below), I am re-posting a comment I left on Emma Forrest's blog.
It's about the courage to be ourselves, the courage to accept and embrace our so-called "imperfections":

"It's in our hands I believe [...] do we collectively succumb to the rigid beauty standarts of today, an almost "totalitarian" beauty regime, or do we have the courage to be OURSELVES, flawed, with less than perfect teeth, thin hair, a few pounds too many, but maybe happier in the heart?
Maybe we could use some of these endless hours we invest into "looks maintenance" - on the treadmill and other torture devices, in beauty salons, on diet (I don't know how many of my girlfriends are constantly dieting...) - more wisely...by hanging out with our friends, by eating Belgian chocolate, enjoying life as such, by accepting our "imperfections" and making peace with ourselves."

To Belgian chocolate...:-)

Some Guest Blogging...

DIETER’S SOLILOQUY

To eat or not to eat, that is the question.

A doughnut, yeasty, airy I’ll consume;
adjust my diet later to make room,
or falsely reject pastries’ sweet delight
while bingeing pasta deep into the night?
Doughnut, thou art satisfying, sweetly
filling morsel, savored now discreetly—
perhaps a little midday’s sugar craving
is better solaced, hunger I’ll be staving
off, resisting better night time craves.
‘Tis better, easier to have the faves;
by portions small on calories I’ll save,
and skip on other dishes that don’t taste
as sweet and crispy, but go straight to waist.

Anne Rettenberg

If you want to check out more of A. Rettenberg's poetry, see label below.

to my father...

My father died of ALS in 2004. For anyone who is interested, I posted the link to the ALS-Association underneath (see label).
The text below is dedicated to him...

Dance me to the end of love...

piano..tatatatatata....life...death....life...why...why not...why me...why you...why...music...sound...beat...why....soul...what's the soul anyway...love...what is love anyway...love doesn't give you wings...no wings...you can't fly...moon, stars....the sun...the universe...thoughts...wandering thoughts...dance me to the end of love playing in the background...dance me to the end of LOVE....love me do...blablabla...dance me to the end of love...loss...loss...the end of love, the end of it all....what's life after all...what's this all about...what's the point...cry a million tears...does time heal all wounds...I love you...you're gone...you're gone....gone for good...you bastard...you're gone, you poor bastard...does time heal a broken heart...broken to pieces...where are you now...are you...somewhere...over the rainbow...where skies are blue....where sorrow melts like lemon drops....way above the chimney tops...where are you...why are you gone, why, why, why...no mercy...no mercy...inside your heart is breaking...*my* heart was breaking...every day a bit more, yet I tried not to let it show...I didn't want to add to your pain...so I cried inside...my eyes out...my lungs out...rolling on the floor...I didn't mean to...I tried my best to play it cool, play it down...I'm sorry for what you went through...fuck it...fuck it all...it's there, inside of me, like a stone...heavy on my soul...it holds me down...steals my joy away...keeps me low...crawling...begging...fuck it all...fuck destiny...why the fuck wasn't it more merciful - with you - with us...heavy on my soul...I kept it all inside...broken, heart broken...for you...the pain stuck in my heart...I love you...loved you desperately...love you...where are you now...are you...somewhere...or are you just in my memory...forever...deep in my heart...do I carry you with me...along with the pain...I don't want the pain...just you...are you among the stars...when I look at the sky at night...can you see me...no more, no more...you are no more...it's over and done...you're gone...where are you now...on the moon...in another galaxy...who cares...you're gone...you're in my heart, but so is the pain...heavy on my soul...I never told you...never showed you my pain...now you know...now you know...you poor bastard...you poor bastard...no mercy...no salvation for you, for us...where are you now...among the stars - like the Little Prince...you were such a tender soul...the sweetest man...so tender and sweet...you deserved better...fuck destiny...fuck the tears...fuck it all...why am I still so furious...why can't I seem to get over the pain...heavy on my soul...like a stone...holding me down...eating my laughter away...every day a bit more...piece by piece...why can't I make peace with it...with your illness...fuck ALS...
Skies are blue...somewhere...over that rainbow...no more sorrow...is this land somewhere...are you there? I look for you in a crowd...have seen your face a million times...it's never you in the end...you're gone...why...why did you die like you did...
Upbeat music playing in the background...maybe I should let go...of the pain...the rage...the regrets...you're gone...it's over...you're at peace...in your dreamless sleep...I'm still looking for peace...make peace with your destiny...I love you...will always love you...happiness will re-emmerge underneath it all...piece after piece...I need time...to heal...