Be the hero: INFJ Style

Be the hero: INFJ Style

The Oracle in The Matrix, hands Neo a cookie after insinuating that a decision will be forced upon him. A situation will be imposed on him in which he will need to take action, to make a decision. A decision that will impact upon the outcome of this hero, the outcome of this hero’s world. A decision that extends so much further past the extent of the hero’s insecurities, vulnerabilities and misfortune. A decision that transcends the hero himself.

I sit watching birds fly around me. Contemplating what I’d use wings for if I had them.

Simply put, the hero sacrifices, the hero uses wings to fly towards his demons. Facing the mirror that reflects himself to himself, his purest of adversities and self-doubt. A hero attempts to save Morpheus, regardless of whether he understands and has learned all he could have about the Matrix beforehand.

A hero learns that he is required to act regardless of whether he has the understanding to do so.

A hero learns that understanding the repricussons of any action they take is out of their grasp. A hero learns that attempting to understand these repricussions leaves an individual hopeless, flailing in a dark void that can only imprison, serving to offer only endless questions to unsolved answers.

In order to live in reality, action needs to be taken. To dissolve fear Neo needed to risk losing against Agent Smith. One needs to risk losing and exposing oneself to further fear. The type of fear that can make you nauseous at the ponder of it. The type if fear that doesn’t ring the doorbell before entering.

Inevitably, there is always a Morpheus that needs to be saved, there are always fears to overcome. Use your wings for heroic purposes.

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What’s in a name.

What’s in a name.

Pain leaps, for joy – for sorrow. It dances upon your grave. What is it to you. This, this that is you. Do you hold and grip, dry are the hands that never close, slippery are the ones that remain closed. You should run. But you shouldn’t. Is the answer right, little does it matter what your mother thought. There are ones who tell you what is so. Denied, but the truth is somewhere down there.

Somewhere a piano plays. Melodies, are they sad or gay. Do you shrink or do you rise. This is not for you to choose, although you must decide. Choice is a bit like never being asked. What is will. You walk alone, a poorly lit street, the bewitching hour has past. Noises, foreign, threatening. Is it sodden mud under foot. Is there a welcoming inn up the street. Does the end of the street meet the end of the road. Does a stone have your last sight written upon it.

Memories. Are they what they appear. If you ponder upon them. Do they become clearer. The path behind more certain. Does the sky change colour. Is there red, is there blue. Are you sure. If you’re not, what will you do about it. Did you wake just now, or do you still sleep. Was that emotion. That lantern, hanging above your row boat. Does it guide your way on the misty lake. Does it’s light shine toward surer water. Does it hide things in shadows. Is this a corner of your mind. The undusted. Is the cutlery blunt. Is this house your own. Do the doors stay open. Or do you close them behind you. Do you check your keys. Is there more than you expected. Are the unknown large or small. Do they jingle a soft tone. Do they make you cringe when they rattle.

If you point. What do you point at. Is that it. Are you sure. Have you checked. You probably should. When you walk. What plays. The violin. The cello. When you fly. Do you fly with birds. Do you fly with beetles. Birds can be vultures. Choices are never what they seem. Cracks and seams. So much darkness can be hidden. It sneaks. It creeps. It stays hidden so you cannot see the light. Contrasts. Distinctions. Names. The separation of the chaos from the order.

Do you know where your foot stands. Does chaos melt your soul. Does order chill your bones. The balance of Yin. Of Yang. Where are your feet. I bet you’re not even sure without careful reflection. Unless they’re both in chaos. Then you know. You know all too well. Bring back something worthy. Don’t waste your chaos. Your life will be spent dancing round it. Make it count when you fall in.

Are You The Sun Or The Moon In Your Relationship? INFJ Style

Are You The Sun Or The Moon In Your Relationship? INFJ Style

All working relationships require one party who takes up the position of sun, the other of moon. These two functions serve as the ebb and flow within a long-term shared relationship dynamic.

The yin: the anchor and prime source of stability to the relationship during the calm swells, thunderous storms and all moments in between. To an overlooker peering up to the sky, the moon offers the only direction and reference amongst the vastness of black unknowing. The moon is the introspection and calm, the reflection and procedure. The escape from the abyss.

The yang: the harborer of action and familiarity, spreading the light and warmth to the world. The sun provides the light, allowing for one to see. The winds that flutter cherry blossoms and assists birds in gliding high. Offering the world with energy to grow into a stronger, more dependable and supportive version of itself. The light that blinds when looking at it.

Relationships can be thought of as intercontinental ocean voyages. Regardless of the particular boat, the size of your sails or whether you are Christopher Columbus or not, without the sun there is no wind. A force that can redirect itself or cease to blow at any moment. The moon within the relationship uses their knowledge of sailing to put the sun’s wind to best use.

Relationships in time, build up high like skyscrapers in the Manhattan skyline. Simply put, without the moon, these buildings would succumb due to poor foundations. Essential design elements would not be accounted for, the structure would not be lightening resistant nor earthquake proof without the moon’s canny. The sun within the relationship can build the skyscraper of their dreams, bringing vision to reality, with methodology brought forward by the moon.

Simply put, people who emanate the sun’s energy produce and source the cards of life from themselves, for themselves and those they love. While those who ground themselves in the moon’s energy, patiently glue new components from the outside world into their lives.

Each can stockpile or hoard their resources. But only after forming union, can they creatively construct and upgrade a house of cards together, that when super-glued will not fall down like the rest.

100 word flash fiction. INFJ Style

100 word flash fiction. INFJ Style

My thighs and backside ached. Sitting in that chair helped with the lower back though. I had sat monitoring the cities pulse for hours. Sip of tea now, sip of tea then. My cocoon.

She walked in. She was tired but didn’t show it. Our four pupils met, communicating in ways that defied spoken tongue. Her cocoon and cup alongside mine.

Her hand in my hair and smell in my nose. Thigh and backside tingles replaced by ones received from my head. She turned with a simper, with whispering eyes that asked me to ‘steep another teapot and then fuck her gently.’

Love letter to you

Love letter to you

Your hands so soft,

your hands in mine,

I didn’t even begin to realize.

You held them close,

you held on dear,

in all the ways which I now know and crave.

You lying there while I lay here,

our hands cupping nothing but blanket and thin air.

My head, eyes now closed and you’re where?

Behind my eyelids,

the place your warm hands warm up mine and I smell your hair.

 

A poem addressed to myself

A poem addressed to myself

Time passes, moments that could have been spent with you are lost.

Building sandcastles on the beach, so high.

Laughing as sand blows into our lunchtime sandwiches, so gritty.

 

Dynamic dreams, opening the door onto a world that is closed.

Waiting for the signposts, so intuitive.

Reality dissolving inside a cup of watery subjectivity, so inviting.

 

Utterly isolated, waiting for what is meant to come to come.

Aching for newness, companionship, love, so eager.

Satisfied and comfortable without however, all too independent.

Living in other peoples insecurities: INFJ Style

Living in other peoples insecurities: INFJ Style

The boundary where someone finishes and the INFJ begins is often all too misconstrued, blurred. In the mind of the INFJ that is. From an INFJs perspective that is.

Ever wonder why INFJs are some of the best listeners? We absorb the stances that those we share our lives with take, both defensively and offensively. We hold these stances temporarily, putting our feet in the warm, hopefully not sweaty, shoes of those around us. I gravitate toward people that wear Converse for that reason. Walking around in soemone else’s functional, trendy and comfortable Chuck Taylors for quite some time isn’t too much to ask for, is it?

A problem, a conundrum of epic proportions starts here.

I wear Chuck Taylors. See they are often not only the choice of shoe that those closest to me sport but also the shoe I wear habitually. And I am guilty far too often, of wondering just who’s shoes are on my feet. ‘Are these mine or yours?’, my right brain asks my left.

In friendships, in family and in most occurrences with intimate relationships, the boundary between myself and those that matter has dissolved. The drawbridge is down, the crocodiles in their moat have been fed and the knights in the castle are on lunch break, swords in a pile, leaning against the wall on the far side of the mess hall. Whatever walks across that drawbridge becomes my problem, and not only a problem, a big problem.

I still have a ways to go. I still have a ways to go to understanding people, people’s natures, my own vulnerability.

My castle is strong, my fortress is sturdy. After all this time, I will say it feels cold, it feels hard, devoid of any softness. The battles that I have invited in have torn the place to ribbons overtime. The knights I have lost within my own hallways have dripped off the walls, ponding in places only dust should gather.

Its about time this INFJ cleans up. Buries the bodies, scrubs the floors, mans the towers with lookouts and readies the swords in sheath. Always, this castles drawbridge will remain down, for those who have the depth of personality and bravery to walk inches away from snapping crocodilian jaws. Those who value me. Those who are willing to put their value on the line to understand me and the sacrifice of mine.

A queen will come by one cold afternoon requiring respite, walking within, encapsulated. She will envision my hallways filled with her art, kitchen filled with her favorite ingredients, wardrobe filled with her clothing. She will sit down to share a cup of tea, transfixed with the view, transfixed with the land it overlooks. We will share.

Sharing starts with a cup of tea.