It’s not what you think, but it sort of also is. I’ve grown up in a privileged enough time and space to know and acknowledge the very near presence of war, yet not live in it. War has always been a distant thing, and even when taking my home country’s history into account, it’s still always been a hazy far away problem. It happens elsewhere. It’s tragic, I wish it didn’t, but it does. I’ve always also felt so immeasurably incapable of thinking in terms of war and how one civilian (as myself) could even begin to contribute to putting an end to it. But this is not what I actually had in mind when giving this blog post this title. The actual war in Ukraine at the moment is very much on my mind every single minute of the day, and it breaks my heart. It breaks my heart that also elsewhere in the world, innocent people suffer because of terrorist organisations. It’s not my place to say anything more than that as little as I believe in God as such… I do pray for these atrocities to end.
But going to a more tangible level, we all have our own little personal wars to deal with. I can say with all honesty that I’ve been in a rather strange situation from where one aspect my life is blooming, I’m doing great, and I feel like I’m actually useful on a much broader scale than ever. I feel like I’m making a difference. But on the other hand, I’m at war. First with myself, and second, with my little nasty (yet ever so present) demons. I’ve found a little straw that I feel will help me hoist myself out of this strange pit I’ve been lurking around for the past month or so. The infamous “bottom” of all things. I’m not intimidated, because as life would normally have it, we do the old rock bottom just to gloriously climb back out again, so it’s a natural course of things and we all face those different levels of ennui in life.
What’s been interesting to process in this “bottom” part of my life right now, is how to deal with misconceptions, and expectations. Most of our interpretations spin from our expectations and the opposing side’s communication. I guess I have been spoiled by my usually pretty damn good intuition. My war at the moment is with my own intuition getting me ridiculously wrong. It’s nothing more than a blow to the ego, and you can go all Freudian on it, but at the end of the day, it’s nothing more glamorous than just feeling like a d*ck when looking in the mirror. You go thinking how could you be so stupid and hence cause so much pain for yourself. Where is the instinct of self-preservation? How have I suddenly become so sh*t at life?
Anyway, the battles in which we choose ourselves to be the enemy, are the worst. But they are also the best lessons.
A dear friend of mine came to visit tonight. A lovely time as per usual. I have to repeat myself, but I love my people. With all the inner burnings and “adventures” I take upon myself on occasion, they really do keep my feet on the ground, they make things cool. Anyway, she brought me a perfume she thought I would like. She was right, even though it’s not a perfume people would normally expect of me (a little side note for those who have not smelled this vice on me yet: I have an epic soft spot for fancy perfumes). It’s L’Art de la Guerre by Jovoy. The art of war. The picture that the scent triggered in me was of a deep fir forest, with sunrays beaming through the thick canopies, and perhaps a little glistening secret forest spring embedded amidst a soft velvety blanket of deep green moss, walking barefoot, the sweet powdery air almost intoxicatingly calling for the here and now, with a purpose so eminent in your step that there is no other option but feeling like you’re going to war that you will win.
And I think it’s time I picked up the book (by Sun Tzu) again. Don’t even know why I put it down in the first place.
I know this is not a forest, but what’s a blog post without a photo? There you go, I had no idea Belgium was so pretty.