Today I would like to share with you a reflection from my manuscript for the second volume of my book “Reflections of a Mad Butterfly”. The first volume is already available, with many of its reflections already shared in this page. The second will become available sometime in December. I am not a professional writer, I am a Transpersonal Counselor and poet, among others–but these really are not me but mere titles; I am simply a free spirited raw being, like many of you. I laugh, I cry, I dream, I hurt, I make mistakes, I learn, I stand, and I keep going. So why then write and expose my imperfect soul? because we are all imperfect. It is the incessant need to pretend we are “perfect, healed and have “arrived”, which is causing so much pain and violence in our society; for suppressing only builds so much passive aggressiveness, that once it cannot longer be contained, only takes uglier forms. At the end, we look at the result of the mess, and we say, “human beings are basically evil”, implying at our core violence, jealousy, cowardice, greed and worst things reside. I dare say that despite the toxic results we see each day, human beings are beautiful, capable of amazing things. We are capable of rising past the ugly monster–a monster which is not part of us but created.
Pain is not the monster; pain comes with two cups: one filled with wisdom and strength. The other filled with vengeance and animal greed. I believe we can endure so much and still rise and pick the first cup, defying the monster and choosing to be human–even if imperfect, weird, damaged–whatever you choose to call it. I believe it is better to be perfectly imperfect and raw, than it is to add to more pain to a world that already hurts too much. It is better to be beautifully imperfect yet always divine, than it is to choose another ugly option…numb. Numbness masqueraded as maturity. Our world suffers of that a lot, yet maturity was never to be such state, but a balance between the integration of all our stages.
So now I hope you understand why I write. I write reflections from my soul hoping whoever comes across them sees a bit of himself in it, and with it, less ashamed for not being “perfect”. Some reflections are full of hope and the magick within. Other reflections showcase the pain we carry inside. At the end, all the reflections, are meant to share what is raw within us, what we may fear about ourselves–our light and our darkness–yet those are exactly what makes us beautiful and humane…..
My soul is wild and intense. It is loving and daring, sweet and savage. Today I feel it all—people often use the expression of feeling a knot on their tummy, yet for me it feels more as if a knot has taken residency on my chest, making it hard to breathe, pushing me down when all I want to do is stand, spread my arms and like a butterfly explore and expand.
I read that in the old times people used to scream to release such feeling, and I believe it. How much we have forgotten about what was good for us in exchange to call ourselves civilized. We have evolved in many areas it is true, but sometimes it feels as if we have paid a heavy price for it all; disconnecting ourselves from our center, from our perfectly imperfect humanity. Deep inside however, we still remember; I mean, now there are rooms that cater to that primal part of us. People have started to notice just how much stress they survive day in and day out, within a society that often feels as if it was a rat maze. Now there are rooms where one can go and scream without judgement and release all that stress, that pain, that sadness, and so many other hidden emotions. Some would say, ‘that is crazy’, I would say to them “it was much needed”.
Dear scream, I guess I will call you that for now, although who knows how I will feel once you and I are done, but I am hopeful…
I write to you like this, pleading, for there is a cry within me that is all tangled up. It is there on the back of my throat, silent yet palpitating, full of life yet it is being drowned. It wants to burst like a fresh spring, yet it is being held by a psychological dam that does not allow for my chest to open. It must be quite the cry I am keeping inside, unconscious of its cause, conscious only of its existence. Judging by its heaviness, it must be a heartbreaking cry, as if it could fill all of the universe’s existence.
I know you dear scream, you who break silences and absences; opening spaces, pushing winds so strong they become beautiful tornadoes that take away all the unnecessary debris, leaving behind what is bare and naked.
I write because that is how I release my emotions, my feelings, my thoughts and wonderings. That is how I create but also how I end things. My writing is also the continuation of something very much alive, something I did or I am doing, something that perhaps in sharing will not only help me but the one on the other side…the one reading this.
These past few months I have felt it all, joy and sadness, hope tears and laughter—isn’t that how life goes? yet through it all, I feel as if I have been dwindling between insanity and reason. I could have given up, but why give the old monster such pleasure? Why let it consume me, punishing me, reopening the old wounds and watching them bleed all over again? Am I not valiant? Aren’t my veins filled with the blood of ancients who bravely made it through the valley of their hurdles and pain. Didn’t they gifted me their strength and wisdom, which I myself have continued to expand while healing that which at times still bleeds? Isn’t living my life to the fullest; daring to feel it all; a great defiance to that which seeks to shackle me? Are we humans not divine enough that although heavily imperfect, are capable to help others? guiding them, cheering on them, for we know just how much pain hurts on the days it comes to collect. But pain is not the enemy, the enemy is the hand on the knife that dared to inflict its blow on the soul when we were innocent and full of life.
It is true that at times I have felt as if I am trapped in a tombstone, with no memory of how I got there other than the pitch black. One moment hope, joy and then suddenly out of nowhere…blackness. A tombstone that imprisons me deep under the earth, trying hard to contain what is good in me. That is why today after all the work done, preparing my psyche, calming the soul, today I will let my spirit free again through you scream. A scream that brings back the life that is in me, one that releases me from the tombstone and reminds me of my strength; that civilized isn’t simply hiding that which hurts, while killing the wild yet sacred power…. the magick cool fire that ignites our very core, trespassing all the heaviness until we feel light on our feet and our energy renewed like a child ready to play with life.
My scream isn’t born out of desperation and surrendering, but defiance and liberation. It shall echo between the sun and the moon, between the mountains and the sea. I shall roar pass the walls, opening the channels once again, letting freedom flow once more. I shall scream as I take my stand like a soldier does before and after the war…to remind oneself of the beauty of being human and alive–even when we live constantly witnessing such dehumanization. That is valor, that is love for life, that is living!