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Updated: Oct 11, 2022


the spaces within ourselves that we do not want to occupy,

the spaces we suffocate with our judgments

and narrow with our scornful eye,

can be the birthing ground

of our most precious gifts.

Yet we zoom into our complexities,

our hang-ups,

and idiosyncrasies,

condemning them,

desperate to disentangle them,

as though we were scrutinizing

the reverse side

of a colourful tapestry,

faulting the disorderly threads,

failing to see that it is

the unruly twists and knots

that make for the rich embroidery.

Our manic tendency,

our melancholia

and hyper-sensitivity,

our over-analysis

and deep rumination,

our obsessive compulsion

may be the verso of our brilliance,

the gateway to new ideas,

that extra spice

that makes up for the vice,

the courage and fortitude

that steady us.

Look around and back in time:

the most intricate details

in masterful artistry,

the most moving speeches

and tales in history,

the greatest formulae and theories,

orchestras and symphonies,

insights and philosophies,

these are not born out of neutral qualities,

not devoid of the intensities

we berate.

While some may be lacking

in what we are conditioned

to celebrate,

their differences are the dark side

of their extraordinary force:

an evolutionary trade-off,

like one arm in the absence of the other,

strengthened by its fate,

able to carry more weight.

Everything comes at a cost;

the greater the prize,

the higher the price.

And perhaps the price some pay

is in fact, themselves:

a noble sacrifice one could say,

as it can come at the expense

of a peaceful life.

Yet we don’t see it that way:

we judge,

despite reaping the benefits,

we judge.

Is it because we need others to be safe,

mild, neither here nor there,

rounding their corners

to render them familiar?

Is it because such persons

are often possessed

by a passion greater than their interest in us,

greater than the niceties that stroke our egos?

Or do we judge because, ultimately,

we judge ourselves as we teeter

at the edge of the abyss,

stigmatizing our attempts to cope

with our deepest wounds,

failing to see that it is

the unruly twists and knots

that make for our rich embroidery.

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