Felt Experience, Diary of an 'Other' Self

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

As we journey through life, the majority of us remain aware of our surrounding and relate to them accordingly; home, school, workplace... 

In what way ‘accordingly’ though’ given that all aspects of life are subject and vulnerable to change, for better or worse, at any given time? 

We can but do our best, on the face of it at least, to relate and adapt to change if only because common sense tells us that change is all but inevitable, part and parcel of life experience. 

How we feel about various changes in our lives, however, may well affect our perspective, not only on any physical change, but our relationship with everything and everyone it embraces, one way or another. Changes for the better will invariably improve our quality of life, not least for its affecting anyone in it who matters to us. 

Similarly, changes for the worse invariably have the opposite effect, worse still for giving rise to such feelings to which we may not be accustomed and make us feel out of our depth, a felt experience which we may be loath to confide in anyone, if only because – as we see it – it doesn’t reflect well on us. 

Sadly, many of us endure the darker aspects of felt experience alone, struggling against a rising tide of anger, shame and other self-deceptive life forces that needs must find an outlet or ‘target’ if only because it I no more the way of human nature to contain its negatives than to share and celebrate any positives. 

No one, even among close family and friends, can read minds; we can try, yes, but may well only see what we want or expect to see, leaving us none the wiser as to how best we can help someone in any given situation. 

Felt experience can make or break us and we need to share it; sometimes, talking to a stranger can be a good start or writing down how we feel to clear our thoughts sufficiently to help us communicate them, if only to ourselves. Whatever, it has to be a giant leap in helping us see how our own felt experience is affecting others and, hopefully, nudge us into devising a way out of the emotional closet in which we are feeling increasingly desperate. 

Nor do I use the word ‘closet’ lightly, so often associated with LGBT people unable to come to terms with their own felt experience of life, but as true of anyone, whoever and wherever they may be... 

FELT EXPERIENCE, DIARY OF AN ‘OTHER’ SELF 

As a child, I believed in fairies,
guardians of woods in which I’d play
with peers who, too, saw a fairy
in every flower, leaf, blade of grass
in which we trusted to keep us
safe from harm until such a time
as needs must we put aside childish thing
as run pretty rings around us 

Older, I tried hard to believe
in the God of more Sundays than I cared
to count, singing hymns to tunes
I'd often play in my head without words,
sing in my heart with silences
all but breaking it for being burdened so
by the absence of such music as I related to,
but never (quite) as expected 

Older, I tried hard to believe
in myself, for all that I’d plainly lost my way,
no clear idea what to do next,
how to reconcile a passionate inner self
with all but sterile masks it wore
as and when the need would (often) arise
to cast reality aside, magic me an alternative
I might even learn to live with 

Middle age saw me looking back
in more anger than pride for my overcoming
this and that worldly obstacle,
only to render mind-body-spirit a subject
of ridicule to its ‘other’ self
for believing it had found its own way
out of the Maze of Life when it had but begged
its guardians to point the way 

There came a time, I broke free
of life forces shackling me to everyday tasks
essential to survival, if not on terms
acceptable to the ‘other’ self in me, as needy
to find its own way out of its hell
as children hoping that fairies are a reality,
can see any real ‘me’ behind its many life-masks,
even if no one else does... 

Growing old, I look in a mirror
and ask my reflection “Why?” Now and then,
it will even reply, lips moving silently,
heart beating furiously, lashing out at mind
and spirit for abandoning teamwork,
expecting humans to get the better of fairies
by... turning to everyday socio-cultural-religious
and political face masks? 

“Whatever,” says the mirror,
whenever it has my ear, “what’s done is done,
no point in looking back in anger, regret,
sorrow, even fear of any mask or fairy taking
pot-shots at us in some after-life...”
“Earth Mother knows who and what we are,
more likely to judge us, surely, by good seeds sown
than any stones we’ve thrown?” 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021