Heartful journeys: Beating toxic love
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One of the most toxic forms of relationships is when one party is a prisoner to a constructed fantasy-like idea of love. Sucking the fleeting emotion that is born from infatuation becomes an addiction‒ nevertheless, an ultimate destination in itself. Mistaking infatuation for love or seeking attention and devotion from the other is like clinging to the foliage. It won’t survive a few ruffling winds until it falls. Once the novelty of it fades and the dopamine rush gets toned down by the temporal element, the union shall be doomed to brokenness in another desperate attempt to finding a stronger provider of the drug.
The superficiality of this understanding of provision in a relationship confines the prisoner in an aquarium in the middle of the sea. However, some prisoners grow comfortable in their cells the longer they get accustomed to them‒ and it’s likely that the aquarium becomes the only reality they will ever know. This confinement of earthly understanding of a sublime field like relationships makes it dreadful for the ‘giver’ -who is usually descending from a soulful realm- when they try to extend their wings to set the other free; because if the latter is unreceptive to this aid, they might as well grab a knife and keep stabbing the extended wing until the giver decides to let go.
The journey of flying back with wounded wings to the aforementioned soulful realm of the giver can be slightly painful, but only for a short period of time. The aftermath of this struggle is usually more manifest in the sadness of failing to uplift the other to the unexplored beauty of ascending worldly ladders towards the true heaven of serenity. Yet, the evergreen fields of peace back home swiftly embrace the soul as soon as it returns; and this is where complete healing is possible. On the way back, the soul forgetfully unloads the bowl of bittersweet memories, faint cries, tears and broken promises into the void. It rapidly reclaims its wings and flutters around the broken self again to guide its fragile steps through the meadows of life; and the pain eventually becomes a forgettable memory in a world of eternal rosy dawns.
Fortunate are the ones who leave before their wing is entirely cut. Some might not make it back if the wounds were severe, and they get stuck in the worldly void paralysed by the overwhelming cries of their weeping self. The homecoming is easier if the route is known in the heart. Otherwise, the journey back will almost be impossible without another soul to elevate the broken one.
The aftermath for the ‘other’ sometimes gets more severe as time passes. Memories start painting glimpses of an existing unvisited heaven. Those glimpses usually take them to one of two paths; either another desperate unstudied attempt to satisfy the unquenchable confinements of ego or a true nourishment of soul that unleashes the wings and guides to the evergreen fields of peace, where love is not a drug and beauty is not a need.
Healing from this intoxication is not sporadic; it should rather be constructive. It is like a process of intertwining the threads of beauty and pain for the believing soul. These threads contrive a rope that brings us closer to our Creator, to our truth of ‘being’ and to whom we should truly be with. No path of growth is ever a wasted one.