Being real is tough. It is like having a contagious disease. You are involuntary quarantined and isolated in order to stop the spread of “the unknown and life threatening virus”. Authenticity hurts – it brings repudiation to the both sides – rejector and rejectee.
Arrogance breads indifference.
Contrast attracts fear.
Fear ignites primal instincts.
Survival awakens judgment.
Judgment separates.
Separation disconnects.
People envy or despite what you have – forgetting that in order to get there, you must have had exposed yourself to your own wounds. To the pain, own fragility, discomfort. Trial and error, silence and a cry of grief and the passage through an acute loss. To depart and to arrive from/to the acceptance. To cure the sorrow felt while unpeeling yourself from loosing yourself on the path to finding new self. There is not enough strength that can cure the despair felt from one passage to the other. Supposedly learning something on that journey. Ironically though, what we have had learned seems to be of no use in facing the next sorrow that comes at us without warning.
Being real though allows you to stand solid.
To ground yourself in the midst of the storm.
Being real helps you to orient yourself in the total silence of your loudest moments.
Being real is the currency that never looses its value…despite “market’s” volatility and ever so changing trends…
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