In order to hold mental bordem at bay while my energy has been diverted toward beheading The Flu Monster, I’ve spent the better part of the last week devouring a diversity of novels. Apparently, reading (when not sleeping or writing) focuses my mind on what’s truly important, most especially when life takes a turn for the worse, and a current event that’s beyond my control releases the worrier within me to battle against my choice to go forward with positive focus as my guide.
The novel I’m currently reading offers up this insightful passage concerning what is likely to result when worry dominates my thoughts:
“Dadamoshai discouraged worrying about the unknown. ‘Worry is the most crippling emotion, Layla. It’s an impediment,’ he’d said to me once. ‘It is an irrational fear of the unknown. Worry will impair your judgment. It will rob you of the ability to make things happen.’
But I was completely powerless. The dark churning in my mind would not stop.”
(Excerpt From Teatime for the Firefly by Shona Patel)
What is my current worry? The same worry that invades my peace of mind whenever a problem arises that’s beyond my control to solve on my own. Namely: Whenever I’m not at the top of my game, I see myself as unworthy of love ...
Why, after so much therapy, does the permanence of this negatively focused childhood misperception arise from subconscious memory to haunt my current self image with a sense of impending gloom and doom, causing me to cast my intelligence, along with the most vulnerable side of my nature, out into the cold as if being imperfect and unworthy of love are indivisible?
What makes me cast myself onto an island of despair (as lepers were cast out) whenever fear of being labeled defective grows so great as to believe that my imperfections will surely shatter humanity’s heartfelt compassion into darkly sharpened shards of condemnation declaring me guilty of wrongdoing so reprehensible as to warrant imprisonment in isolation until perfection is impossibly won?
What makes me cast myself onto an island of despair (as lepers were cast out) whenever fear of being labeled defective grows so great as to believe that my imperfections will surely shatter humanity’s heartfelt compassion into darkly sharpened shards of condemnation declaring me guilty of wrongdoing so reprehensible as to warrant imprisonment in isolation until perfection is impossibly won?
As emotion and logic are opposites and creating balance between the two is imperative to recovering good health, when will my processor’s connection to logic strengthen so as to direct my subconscious to let go of that self defeating belief, releasing my whole brain to relax into an angle of peaceful repose while my body heals from having hosted the flu virus ...
Thank goodness, the act of writing reawakens my conscious awareness to the fact that I deserve to welcome the healing process to progress at its own pace with peace of mind intact, beginning right now.
Thank goodness, the act of writing reawakens my conscious awareness to the fact that I deserve to welcome the healing process to progress at its own pace with peace of mind intact, beginning right now.
BTW ... just what is Influenza, anyway?
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