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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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.

 

 

A sun soaked Saturday morning

A sun soaked Saturday morning

On bed, eyes shut.

Warmth delivering tingles to my face and arms.

Clear white light shining through closed eyelids.

 

Open the window.

The birds outside sing for me, communicating.

Their chirps and tweets offer a complimentary twist to the already soothing melody heard from the lounge.

Ada from The National, ‘What a song, what a sound!’

 

I think of you.

I think of you next to me.

You are at work.

The significance of a haircut

The significance of a haircut

As a natural neon colored advertising sign, one of those flashing in a sea of neon lights, up in the reaches overlooking metropolitan Japanese and South Korean streets, your hair advertises, compels, encourages or repels. My hair has always served my life with opportunity and complexity you see, a lavish bush I would call it. The type of hairstyle that would have come accompanied with a strategically placed comb, lost in endless curls, and puffed up in humid 1970’s sun.

As a young child between the ages of ten and sixteen, this fro was used as a perfect distraction, an opportunity to steal from my parents of all people. On a fortnightly basis my mum would hear the same sentence again and again leaving my lips, ‘can i get twenty dollars, I need a trim’. Lest she didn’t hear the scissors snipping in her own bathroom while I had cut my own locks, pocketing and spending the ‘dirty cash’ on essentials all sixteen year old’s need: chocolate milk, petrol, condoms and alcohol. Around this stage of my life, the relationship between my hair and the person who lay behind the hair begun.

Simply, hair allows you to express yourself without others consent. It gives others the opportunity to judge, it encourages judgement. With long hair, I received countless compliments. Some ladies I found out quickly are drawn to curls like a bird to its nest. Young students of mine climbed up my limbs as if they were a trees branches, to simply touch this nest, if only once. To identify yourself and allow others to identify you with wacky skull fur however requires courage and self-expression. Plenty of people will chuckle, smirk or whisper insults. These folk are the individuals that make us stronger, I thank them for their closed mindedness, I thank them for handing over an abundance of feathers to put into my courage and self-expression hat.

Now as a twenty seven year old, this relationship between myself and my hair has matured, it has matured with me, it has matured me. I recently got a haircut. Cut the sides short, while still holding onto those curls on the top that I could never let go of. I am older, I am getting older I now know. This haircut has shown me that much. My hair is getting grey, wow, grey. I am accepting my age, my life, my slow loss of youth, constantly reminded by this recently evolved feature I have acquired.

I like it, truly, I enjoy and feel fortunate to have graying hair. I keep smiling. To simply identify myself with this masculine, maturing symbol of awesomeness. To give others the opportunity to identify me with this masculine, maturing symbol of awesomeness.

I will keep smiling as my hair keeps graying.

Juggling a fast paced life

Juggling a fast paced life

My dad has always told me ‘leave work at work, never bring all of that back home with you’. It is one of those things he still cannot accomplish himself.

In this age of fast paced benchmark driven labour world, the literal pinch to maintain a healthy relationship with yourself is becoming harder, more painful and never ceasing. We are holding onto everything so tightly in our lives, allowing ourselves, our relationship with our own mind and bodies to slip out of our own palms, slowly to pour out from the top.

Society makes people. People are made to juggle shit. People juggle shit. When the focus says ‘bye-bye’ and the concentration required to juggle is lost, we end up shit everywhere. The term is ‘the shit has hit the fan’. In one of these moments, it is precisely used to mean ‘the shit you have thrown up, you have dropped, squished or simply forgot about, it has landed everywhere, all over you, look at the shit in your hair.’

We are not jugglers, regardless even jugglers themselves know when to take a break, a technical time out. Some things we juggle are heavy, some may be light, but one thing is certain there are too many objects thrown up at different heights, we can’t predict which one we are to prepare ourselves for next.

The art of living a healthy lifestyle, well the understanding I am learning to slowly employ in my own is just that, an art. Letting go: to put down the shit we either no longer have to juggle, no longer have the energy to juggle at the time, or simply should not juggle. Work often falls into that second category, manipulative relationships the third category. Put all the heavy chainsaws and bowling balls down, those lighter watermelons, cellphones, pencils and mint flavored M&M’s, put them down too.

We have to make time for ourselves, we have to consciously let these go. Don’t break them, just sit them down, to be picked up again conveniently, but only when we have to.

We have to find the breathing room within ourselves, the strength to juggle our personal things effectively, first and foremost.

How can we expect to bring happiness and newness into our lives without creating space for them first? Ditch the clutter.

Life, the universe and everything.

Life, the universe and everything.

Homeless, to a time, to a place. Generally, just floating, disconnected. Reality not apparent in the manner you may have come to expect within your days.

Anyone who isn’t confused doesn’t really understand the situation – Edward R. Murrow

How many times can you say a word in a row before it becomes unfamiliar? Till you’re not even sure what the word is anymore. What it means, if it is even a word, let alone how you might spell it.

If you stare at an object, how long does it take before you forget what they object does?

Absurd, this is the reality you ignore. This is the world you remember to forget.

A man is talking on the telephone behind a glass partition, you wonder why he is alive – Albert Camus

When you break down, your world, your actions. What do you see? Do you see what you choose, or do you see it for what it is, the absurdity of life is hiding behind the present veneer your mind creates.

Take for example the current scientific narrative, although to describe it as a narrative is the wrong description, alas, but I digress.

The recent discovery of the Higgs particle is a great example of this narrative to explain the ridiculousness that we do exist, instead of not. The discovering of this particle proved something, as it was explained to me by the brilliant Lawrence Krauss, if you leave a beer bottle in the freezer for too long and then open it, the beer will freeze upon opening and shatter the bottle. In a very similar way the Higgs field was created, by chance, as the early universe cooled it went through a phase transition releasing energy and creating the Higgs field. Without this field, particles would be massless and the conditions required to create a universe to sustain life would not have been possible.

This random chance is not the only one, but just one of many parts of this apparently finely tuned universe. You may consider that points to intelligent design, but the more of the latest scientific narrative you learn, the more you realise that this is rather unlikely and isn’t at all logical.

Once upon a time, in some out of the way corner of the universe which is dispersed into numberless twinkling solar systems, there was a star upon which clever beasts invented knowing. That was the most arrogant and mendacious minute of “world history”, but nevertheless, it was only a minute. After nature drawn in a few breaths, the star cooled and congealed, and the clever beasts had to die – Friedrich Nietzsche

Logically speaking, it is immensely more likely that we live in a simulation, rather than in the one true existence, and ironically we would, and never will know. This coupled with the fact of mans great search for meaning and purpose, we are so desperate to find this purpose we are happy to invent and follow it blindly, just because it is easier.

As humans, we desire a cosmic order, significance for our labour, and an intelligible life. But life has no order, destroys our work and is alien to us. In short the things we want – A caring universe with which one is connected and in which we are immortal and precisely the things we cannot have. We get death – Unknown

Considering all the facts of the matter one must ponder, why go on? Well, why do you? It is a good question after all. If we consider the eternal bliss of nothingness we experienced before birth, to believe this is all we face in death isn’t much to fear. The unfortunate fact of the matter is our simple instinctual state of survival is a rather conflicting view on this ending, so much so, any different narrative in which we can exist beyond death is not surprisingly rather attractive.

In the end you must wonder, why do we exist, why something rather than nothing. Personally it is only logical to create ones own meaning to life. Although there should be one area we must agree upon, doing best for the mankind, as a whole and as induviduals, should be a drive inherent and intertwined in ones actions.

To me, if life were to have any meaning it would be to enjoy the absurdity of the journey and the poetic tragedy that is death.