An Admonition to the ‘Wolf’ – When the Guy Code Backfires



A stern rebuke of non-negotiable standards and conduct, that meaningfully administers a warning to the culprit of such actions. A denunciation of harmful beliefs and practices that serves to reprimand the wielder or agent of their actions. A harangue that firmly draws boundaries and makes another attentive to their disillusionment.

Let’s talk openly for a minute (or perhaps a couple – let’s face it, these posts get a tad lengthy). The wallflower has been tending to memory, and a few stories have been brewing in that garden. And one among them, calls us to be frank. So lets get to it then: Men

Ah yes. How are you doing Mars? Going in retrograde soon? Because your sons just need to calm the f*ck down on old Big Blue next door… They are becoming a bit brazen, and we are not living for it!

Alright… we totally are. I mean a little bit of self-certainty and attunement to desire goes a long way to tickle our fancy…

… but toning down that extra bit of assertive self-confidence and blazing sex drive might actually give the rest of us a damn breather from the Spartan directive.

Now, this is not meant to be hypocritical. I mean, I am of course a man myself. And perhaps (if not without doubt) much of the critique that can be launched towards the typically rough, untactful male in his prime is surely returned to me in certain instances. I can pretty much be a ‘typical’ male at times too…

But for the most part, I would love to think that I am successful at evading the brunt of male stereotypes that many men heroically assume by choice. So let’s jump right into one. The beautiful little phenomenon called: The Bro Code (also referred to as Guy Code).

I’ll leave you a little educational tool to help you. Here you go…

Perhaps you prefer such wisdoms as shared by Barney Stinson (any How I Met Your Mother fans?)

Basically, men have a mutual consensus as to the proper form of conduct by which their construal of the world is conducted. These rules of etiquette, or ‘the code’ as contemporary lingo now addresses it, is the cornerstone of the unwritten understanding between men from all walks of life. It guides their perceptions, scaffolds their interpretation, and thus their actions show fealty to the sacred oath imparted by an ancient blueprint. And women have their own version too (or so legend holds).

It’s comforting right? Knowing of a few key life hacks that could calibrate that gender compass so you rock the boat (or the bed) in all the right ways… Well sure. Mainstrean society has not really given their full investment to the whole “gender fluidity” bit. Our minds prefer schemas and wrestle with spectrums, so if something is not one thing or the other – male or female – then we pretty much have a bit of difficulty keeping up. So, the gender codes are still pretty fierce in relevance.

And, oh… you know. They work just swell and all… until you’re pretty much a straight guy expecting your fellow raging homosexual to abide by the same rules. Yeah, things hit a snag then, and the issue becomes a bit thorny.

Storytime sweeties!

So yes, I was this raging homosexual. Well, raging is a strong word… perhaps a bit extra even. Its not like the pride flag is refracted in my iris. But rewind the old clockhand to my early years at university, and I was just an innocent young lad that had to learn many of the basics of an altogether different code: the gay code. But we’ll leave that to another blog.

As for the unwritten contract of my male counterparts who grew from more heteronormative roots of thinking, I was already an expert as to the ways of the “straight” male think-tank. I graduated the class honey; but like a good graduate candidate, I am applying next to none of much of that knowledge in the real world!

I received that rude awakening one evening when a friend of mine was fuming in his quiet rage in the passenger seat of my car. I naively asked him if he was angry, adressing the obvious tension that was hanging so thick you could cut it with a knife. I did, after all, consider myself to be empathetic and caring. His response was a cold lash of words that whipped me into attention of the crime that I was culprit to: a violation of this Bro Code

And to be honest, I did not even now I was at fault and thus at the mercy of the jury from the heterosexual pantheon.

Lets backtrack a bit…

There I was… all cool and collected on a quaint little evening, getting ready for a nice and relaxing dinner with friends. Perhaps I was dressing a tad ‘fancy’. But we were uni-folk sweetie. ‘Dinner with friends’ was not exactly one of those hobbies and interests we listed on our resumes – we were working on a budget! But even on a budget… we were about to fan out our tail feathers. So I straightened out that button shirt, slipped on that chino pair to give a little love to those assets, gave those boots a quick polish, and conjured a bit of spellwork with a haircomb. To me, grooming and dressing was just plain fun. This was not fine dining, but we weren’t doing drive-thru tonight! Lets work with a little TLC. So this was all fine, but nothing compared to my housemate and his get-ready efforts at the time.

So down the hall, the sacred ritual of male heterosexual prepwork was unfolding… queued by the fog of Axe bodyspray and ceremonial 90’s boy rockband music alternated with 2010’s rave club remixes – about sweating bodies and sex. This was not even embellishing it with exaggeration. That spray can opened, clicked, and dispensed so many times that a new Texan-sized hole in the Ozone was forming. Environmental NGO’s probably lost sight of our location in the dense mist. And then there was little old me, feeling like I was just winning at life by rocking a little scent of Eu de Par-Moi (smelling like myself).

I mean, I really wasn’t getting this. We were about to be four people, just eating out for the night. Us two lads, and two girls that were sort of becoming friends. But clearly I was missing the cues of straight-male impression building. The slaughter of subtlety that was occuring down the hallway could probably be allowed. And I am sure the hetero gods, now appeased by the acts of their acolyte, looked proudly upon their son that strutted out of his room: with upper shirt buttons loosened, hair that traced its heritage to the super sayans, musculature peaking through all the right places… and the whiff of raw masculinity that was testament to Darwinian theory. “Lets go!”, he said like some superhero catchphrase, as if epochs of his great feats were about to be written. Oh god…

So we drove over to the girls. They met us in the driveway to their house, decked out in a little casual wear and paid some attention to the detail in their glam. They were pretty by all standards. And me being me, gave each a nice and friendly sideways, one-armed church hug.

But my buddy, well… he drew them in for a full-on chest-contact moment that just oozed of desire. He and the dark-headed gal were getting real ‘friendly’ of late… so perhaps my hetero gene had just been in stasis for too long to recognise the so-called cues. But… I was caught up to a degree…

So off we went, and on arriving, we grabbed ourselves some choice seating and started a chat.

The topics of that banter escapes memory. I guess we were batting around the idle pleasantries, the adult-novice life theories, and the odd jokes that you only question afterwards. We were just being university students. But then I distinctinctly remember the subject of dating arising among the present company. And here I knew we were treading though some dangerous waters. No seriously, I was actually close to having an angina… and uttered a few private benedictions for the peace that had been maintained at that table.

Because: we had two girls here that manifested as amazons at the slightest misstep to their honour, and a guy who truly believed he was God’s gift to women in the making…

Now, my housemate was really of that special breed of man that believed in the dating coach biz. Basically it came down to the whole belief that dating is a game, of which the rules require ownership by the player. As a guy, you can basically be trained to talk to, hit up, and date any girl that you like with a few key formulas of conversation, demeanor and self-beliefs. Thus, women were reducible to quite a couple of key traits that needed to be understood, navigated, and managed. This was not to be confused with social-skills training, which is a mode of therapy all itself. What I was dealing with was a classic case of PhD level guy code, which manifested in very unique ways within the male-female dating dynamic. I later realised that I understood this according to a different curriculum within the gay code, something we happen to do in gay-man undergrad called, emotional intelligence and women. To us, it is about circumnavigating female emotion, which we then realise is actually pretty similar to our own. So then we pass that school with the understanding that it comes down to ‘feelings’ and that it is not a gender-bound thing at all. So we drop the bigotry, chauvinism, and robust male emotional exterior and realise that it is all really about not being an arse. And voilà! History created the camaraderie between gay men and straight women that has been mutually beneficial ever since. All because of that enlightenment. But our relationship and symbiosis with our own sex has been a bit slower in the making. We can just all blame toxic masculinity right now’ and leave that as discussion for another day.

So back at the table… there he was: geared with his strong perceptions surrounding women, about to drop the bomb with some far-out views on how girls in the dating scene actually operate, and how guys tend to approach them. And, call me a rookie, but I was not sure that guy-code actually prescribed that you reveal some of these ideas that are bound in the holy book of man. I mean I thought this sh*t was like sacred! But there he was, sharing some pretty unforgiving ideas with the subject of conversation gaining some intense momentum. In fact, it was turning out to be on the brink of becoming a fully-fledged bloody war! Our friends were not exactly impressed by his views, and you could get ready to place some saucers of milk in front them, because they were about to get catty! He was on the tangent of making a point that women are graced with a rating by the divinity of male specimens that roam the dating field. Based on a couple of physical traits and a few environmental clues, women were deemed worthy of approach and as target to flirtation. A woman’s natural beauty (basically her looks), her body shape (meaning her weight), her social standing (how popular or well-known she was), her accentuated features (her grading of ‘sexy’), and what she did for a living (how interesting she was to talk to) determined how coveted she was by a guy on the prowl. Then there were added bits like a best friend who acted as gate keeper; and how tactics needed to change when her rating is particularly high (because she can get any guy she wants). Basically, his whole premise was not built on what he personally found attractive (which no one can be blamed for if they have their preferences), but rather on a male pack-mentality of what is socially deemed as more valued in their small microcosm. He was laying down his truth as if the two women (did I mention we were trying to build a friendship here?) sitting across from us were the naive little underlings in the dating foodchain, and as if he was doing everyone a favour.

He then loaded his crossbow with a killshot bolt to quiet the table the f*ck down by saying: “Girls who are anything lower than a 5 or 6 have no chance of really scoring a guy out there.”

Yeah, the brunette looked about ready to have at him across the table… And I remember thinking that Girl Code must be really legit if it evoked that kind of gleam in your eye. We are talking about a look that threw daggers!

Now, if you knew anything about warfare, you knew that a crossbow needed some time to reload in battle. That was exactly when the girls verbally charged his defences, and basically started to rip him apart. And f*ck… I mean I had to spectate. I don’t know if the fumes of his ritual chamber back home had scrambled his chemistry of logic, but I knew better than to come up with all these screwed-up hypotheses. Damn bro, did you you want to be blood-eagled by a shield-maiden! (because it may just be the little dark fantasy moment any proud woman would have on dealing with a man who think they fell from heaven).

A battle of the sexes was taking place at table, and my mate was being forced to swallow the foot he was putting in his own mouth. I was audience to a tirade that was reaching legendary proportions, and they were going at him where it hit hard: right between his cerebral knockers, effectively putting an end to his fertile imagination that was spewing disillusioned creeds (though I actually think they insulted his equipment as well). He was outnumbered, but he didn’t feel he was alone (as I found out in the drive back home). Because there was, after all, another guy at the table. Oh… he meant me. My sincere condolences for your thinking old sport…

So cue my reaction to this whole spectacle, and what you found was the heathen to the straight religion who was finding this ‘playful’ exchange a bit of a joke. I mean, everyone was surely not taking all of this too seriously… right?

He was clearly very talented at saving face during this whole debacle. He did not flinch, stutter, or halt his advances even once. So I was like: he is a big boy, he can handle his own little mess he made. And for heavens sake, you know… I did not come for this little ego show. I came to eat. So while everyone was clearly busy, I was paying heed to my meal like a normal little human being struck with famine and a dash of awkwardness, while the rest were clearly engaged in a bit of loquacious repartee spiced with sarcasm and gender-tinged innuendo. And I had to reiterate: no one was really taking each other that seriously, RIGHT? This was all good fun?

Well, I might as well have been put to the cross or some other torture for believing that. He was resolute in his conviction to the date-hunter subculture, and he was setting back the women’s movement by 50 years. This was clearly so the drama! And he at least, had one clear expectation from me – one he did not share though, but clear in his own mind – be a bro, have your bro’s back, honour the code. Well how in the all encompassing f*ck was I suppose to know that?!

Cue the moment back in the car, and this entire reasoning was presented to me in a little heated speech he had clearly been working on since the first time I snickered at one of the biting remarks by the girls. And boy was he pulling some straight old-fashioned scolding on me to clearly impress his male authority. And how I clearly failed at honouring the call of having another man’s back. I was, flabbergasted…

… because… first of all b*tch… how the hell do you call for the enactment of the guy-code in that situation? You were basically preppeing yourself to be roasted!!! Second of all, when your damn rulebook says anything about women, you are basically signing up for dismemberment and decapitation when you want a gay guy to be your wing man! And if some manage to actually learn the trade, then my apologies, but asking me to be a wingman is like moulting your soaring chances of ever actually finding happiness. PERIOD.

So this brought me to really reflecting on the issue at hand here: The Direwolf-Fallacy. Haven’t heard of it? Oh don’t worry honey… it is my little invention, aptly named because it encompasses a wide array of character faults that should be extinct, but have survived the millennia to manifest in those textbook larger than life alpha-types. It is a key trade of robustness and primal instinct tied with man since age immemorial. This should-be extinct collection of traits is revived in the fantasies of certain social circles on the belief of superiority held by certain males for their dominant virility. It is singularly associated with those ambitious hunters in the courtship realm, that includes characteristics of misguided cunning, brute approaches, stereotypical attributions, misjudged rivalry, and a dissociation with the realities of conveyed social cues. And a label proudly assumed by some men for its defining capacity in their lives, guiding action, diction and thought and their personas in the their social relations. Basically you are an egotistical narcissist snapping your maw in the wrong wilderness. So my friend here was believing he was howling at the moon…but darling… he was barking up the wrong tree by blaming my ignorance of his ‘sacred’ code. Quite frankly, I was getting bored with his little rant…

My younger self was, however, clearly livid at this injustice. And I was about to lay down some proper gay retribution to force him into a bit of humble penance! No one told him to go full-on alpha in the conversation, relaying his personal fantasy of prehistoric courtship practices. That was all him. And besides, he was asking me to choose sides to a debate I really had no personal investment in. I really didn’t care. The pain he felt was not my stab into his back, it was him falling on the point of his own f*cking sword!

Lets lay down the obvious truth: I was not about to be a proponent of an unwritten residual practice of hegemonic masculinity. His strong views on the male privilege to harbour such ridiculous views on an entitlement to brazenly classify a women’s worth by merely her appearance was basically unacceptable.

But above that, I was a f*cking wallflower! I came to bloom and relax a bit, not be planted squarely in the crossfire of their heteronormative drama. What’s more, how did he ever expect me as introvert to willingly enter a conflict situation with guns blazing (putting aside the point, for now, that any idea put forward in support of his views was basically social suicide to begin with).

In short… If the Karmic bus was not about to hit him square in the balls, then I was about to take the f*cking wheel and make sure it did!

We have talked a lot on this… it’s about expectations, the art of simplicity, and giving some stock to inner truth. All contracts have loopholes sweeties, especially when they are unwritten. Do not align your actions with a request that was not vocalised or shared, nor do so if such wishes asks you to grant faculties that you are not willing to invest. If the drama is not yours, then do not add to it by becoming a playwright to the scene. And if the wolf comes howling at the wrong moon, then eclipse his misguided belief and make him see a different light!

Love and Light fellow bloomers!

The Myth of the Courtship of Wisdom


Legend has it that once there were three deities who were the cradle to the nature of humanity: Memory, Passion and Reason.

Reason, the youngest of the three, was muse to the weavings of logic. She was garbed in the calm composure of her temperament, and her thinking was measured and refined. Poised and pragmatic, she was slow to action, yet immovable in her decisions once made. Her control and confidence was the mark of her near flawless beauty, with features both angular and perfect.

Passion embodied the surrender to emotion and impulse. Bold, daring, and charismatic, his wild abandon to instinct was what afforded him his smouldering appeal. His handsome features were carved from the primal forces of desire, and fervour with fire was ensconced in his heart as it flowed and trembled through the powerful limbs of his body. And to look upon him was to enraptured by ecstasy and elation.

Memory was the eldest, and most reserved of the three. She was the mother to mystery, and the shepherdess of secrets. In her eyes lay a timeless allure that seduced with the gentle promise of reminiscence. Yet, her mood was mercurial and in her lay harboured the contradictions of all man. She appeared clothed in both an enduring vulnerability, and resolute strength. And to look upon her was to experience the longing for what was lost… but not forgotten.

One fateful day, news reached the three of a formidable presence venturing close to the borders of their realm. Memory felt hesitant, but eager to seek out this soul. She knew this to be Wisdom: the patron of all sages; the envy and bane of philosophers; and the idol of wanderers who quest for purposes they alone know. She shared this knowledge, with both her brother and sister. It was with great zeal that Passion wished to quest to the border to meet this Wisdom, his curiosity burning with white hot intensity as to a renown that challenged his own. Reason was drawn to investigate the unknown faculties of thought held by another, bemused by the sudden presence of Wisdom near their lands.

Long had the three sought worthy lovers within their realm, but their search for companionship did not reward them their coveted pursuits. For Memory found no soul of present thought or craft to be as powerful as past remembrance; Passion could find no equal to satiate the cravings of the heart, the flesh, and the spirit; and Reason could find no challenge to her wit among the tedious flights of fancy held by man or immortal. They would thus seek out this Wisdom. Surely the folktales, the fables, the fantasies and the falsehoods were testament to some eminent value of his being. If all tales held true, each one thought, then such reverence embodied would surely be worthy of their affection and admiration.

Each knowing of the intents of the other, and confident in their self-made prophecies at being chosen as his or her spouse, the three quested to find Wisdom. They were mindful however, of the dangers in treading far from their home – as uncertainty hung as a mist over the lands that lay beyond.

They journeyed along the rough-hewn trek of road that stretched across the vast landscape. Amidst the quiet sound of their footfalls, the three heard only their own thoughts taking shape among the ruminations which surmised the possibilities of meeting Wisdom. Many a tale reached the ear of those who sought out his divinity. Wisdom: the bearer of a spellbinding beauty; of a knowledge that surmounted to the wealth accrued across countless lifetimes; and of a standing unmatched by either kings or gods. For Passion, the thrill of desire was fuelling his pursuit. He had heard of Wisdom’s great power in snaring the heart, and his many talents at satiating the unbridled needs of his many lovers. Reason was envious of the possession of great intellect, believing that Wisdom might share many of the divine secrets over which all man started and ended wars, and thus unlock her pursuit to unrivaled knowledge. Memory sought to regain the joys lost in the traces of the past, longing to experience yet again the sensorial pleasures of fond remembrances.

The journey was however arduous, and the dangers preceded in the warnings they held took its shape. Along the road, each came to confront a near insurmountable challenge, of which their fellowship remained ignorant. Reason endured the whispers of shapeless and deluded voices that grew to banshee howls echoing through her mind. Passion was battered by the assualt of invisible beasts that clawed at flesh and spirit, unable to tame or drive them off as they continued to renew their attack. Memory was stricken with great illness which worsened along the way, an ailment of which she bore no knowledge of cure nor of nature. With Reason driven mad, Passion at the brink of exhaustion, and Memory afflicted and unwell, the journey brought them to a fog-dimmed crossroads past which no prediction could be made. And at their arrival, the troubling forms of their nightmares and neuroses ceased… and faded to the nether.

Huddled beneath the signpost was a greyclad hermit, aged and withered by the touch of many seasons. At the behest of Reason, the grizzled figure announced himself as the herald to Wisdom. Relieved, the three were revived by their individual pursuits. The ancient one stated that Wisdom would present himself only to those who were deemed worthy. Visitors to the crossroads were required to present with a gift to the herald, of which the value of the giver would be weighed and determined. Then, they need choose the road along which Wisdom would eventually be found. The road to the right curved back to the safety of their realm, but was untroubled by the dangers that befell them on their way. The left lead to uncharted borders, where pleasure untold rewarded the brave. The road that winded straight held the certainties of the future, forever quelling the questions that plagued all of mankind.

After careful thinking and judgement, Reason presented a tome that held her own valued theories on life, knowledge untarnished by the stain of emotion, and pure in its premise. “For” , she thought, “surely if left impoverished by fate, a man such as this would benefit from my intellect to improve his own fortune”. She would take the road ahead, believing that Wisdom would surely (like herself) seek to extinguish all traces of doubt by seeking the certainties of the future.

Passion regarded the hermit, believing that a man such as he could not possibly have known the joys of the flesh for many years, and offered his own body as a vessel to impart the gift of lust for a single night. And through such sensations, he would reinvoke the fiery yearning of desire that would likely have dimmed for the old herald in the passing of years. He would venture to the left, where pleasures awaited the courageous, “For surely Wisdom would choose to be rewarded by the pleasures that lie in store for those who have overcome their inhibitions and hesitations.”

For Memory, the herald evoked great pity in his hunched and tired appearance. She would touch his mind, and draw from his temple the thought of his childhood, if only to awaken the traces of simple youth and carefree joy that only a child could possess in their innocence. Memory would then take the path winding right, and to the home from which she came (and to which Wisdom was likely headed), “For what greater pursuit is there than the return to the comforts of one’s hearth where one feels safe and reassured. Or whats more… to be welcomed as a guest to such lodgings.”

At once the haggard appearance of the herald melted away, revealing a beautiful titan in the prime of his youth, but with ancient eyes that held the light of a thousand suns. And as one, the siblings realised that they had found Wisdom.

The transformed magus regarded each deity in turn, but not one received the look of affection they had so hoped to win.

“You have come this far, but erred in your pursuit. Though your gifts hold great value, they are exhaustible and offer nothing of enduring value. You judged me on the mark of my appearance, and so from pity your reasons for genorosity were informed. And from misdirected judgement, you would seek me out on roads I would not travel.”

Reason lanced Wisdom with a cold anger in return, tactically informing of the perfect and unflawed nature of her gift, “a gift that is free from the limitations of mortal faults, and woven from the clear and refined logic that remains the untapped potential of all men.”

Wisdom acknowledged her, “Indeed, your gift was valuable. Practical and lost to most men in the face of hardship. But it was given in the pride of its seeming tautology – moulded from your own perception. The fortune of a man is not always bound by their stock of cold logic. The whispers you had endured on your journey was also the growing seed of your impatience, greedingly asserting its claim in your mind to the knowledge of another merely for its possession, but not for its joy in having. For that, your reasons for seeking me were not pure of intent. And for what purpose would I, Wisdom, seek to travel to where doubt is erased and the mysteries of the future forgotten? For in doubt grows knowledgeable pursuit, and in such pursuit lies the very joy of the shape a future can assume. A future rife with a thousand variations to the lessons needed in shaping our soul. “

“What of I?”, exclaimed Passion curiously, with confidence draped upon his broad frame and a complacent grin teasingly playing at the corners of his mouth. “Surely I offered you all that I was, not refraining any part of myself. Truly, it is only in such enigmatic and open gestures that the purity of intent can be read. I have hidden nothing, and given you everything”

“You allure is undeniable, and your surrender to the pull of your emotions allows you a vibrant life. You have truly offered everything, and refrained from withholding anything.” “But,” Wisdom continued, “it is your lust that will be your undoing. For, as you have seen, the beasts on the road were none but those you have uncaged within yourself. Left unattended, your untrained wants and whiles will have the better of you to the point of exhaustion. And leave behind a vessel empty of the fire that burned so fervently once before. Your gift was given out of vanity, and not of any true desire to rekindle the fire in another. And who are you to judge the flame that burns in comparison to your own? For even the most withered soul has once known the intimacies of their own bodies, and memory of such joys still linger in their flesh. They seek not the charity of your lust, but the shape of your heart. But that is not what you could offer. What is more, your chosen path is that of the hedonist, and not of the martyr who deserves the rewards of their sacrifice. For no soul enjoys the nurture of only success, but pain is the maiden to pleasure that is needed to cultivate growth. “

Memory felt beckoned forward, to offer reply, “It is certain then, that what I offer you is of satisfaction. For it is unpresumtious, and seeks not to outline the shape of your future, but guide you to the familiar comforts of what is known until you are ready to reassume your destined path. ”

Wisdom ruefully drew his gaze toward her in address, “For even though truth is held in what you say, you estimate too much of what is to be savoured from the past. Indeed there lies a comfort in reminiscence, but so does stagnation. What you offer will only rekindle the simple joys for the briefest spell, only to fall once again into something that will remain desired. For it is already past. What you the offer in truth is joy that would not outlast the sorrows that is to follow once the bearer of such thoughts return to the present. And it was this very sorrow that sickened your soul, and left you without remedy on your journey to find me. For fear of such feelings, you would seek to take the road back to a place that left you ignorant of the lessons that lay beyond, and that would avoid the mists of uncertainty from clouding your vision – a vision that has been narrowed by the decadent comforts of what is familiar.”

At this, the protest of all three assualted Wisdom in his humble demeanour. And in their anger, all wished to speak, but no one to listen. “Why then, did we need venture through the unknown fogs that only obscured our judgement! Why not be met on the grounds that were known to us, and thus would have given us clarity and controlled judgement?!”, lamented Memory.

“And what would you have of us, as gifts for your hand?! What are your desires to be met, that would buy passage to your approval, if not the gifts that are informed by our very essence?”, shouted Passion.

“And what road then would you have us take, if none would lead to you? Why present the choice, if the outcome has no bearing?!”, Reason protested.

Wisdom answered each in turn. To Memory he said, “Knowledge does not seek the learner, for it is the learner that seeks it out instead. How could I thus travel to meet you at the place from which you came, when the place where you are now yet leaves you unready for my reception. For I can only be found through uncertainty and never in the place where I am idly awaited.” To Passion he said, “I cannot be gifted by the turmoil of emotions that rages through your veins. It is raw and chaotic, and lacks sensible discernment. What you singularly give is not of enduring value. Instead, I sought a gift reconciled from the aptitudes of each – presented as parts to a whole, but not infallible as divided entities. For what you each offer compensates for the lack of the other, and had you assumed such a humble contribution, you would have gifted me with an understanding of the mindful regard you bear of your strengths, but also a humble acknowledgement you afford your weaknesses. “

Lastly, Reason he addressed, “You ask me which road there was to take, when the choices seemed limited? But choices presented does not enforce decisions to be made in their favour. Your very logic blinds you to the fact that I was already awaiting you, and thus needed not be found. I needed you to look past your ambitions to see that which was always open for you to discover.”

So it came to be, that Reason, Passion and Memory saw in the eyes of Wisdom not the perpetuity of infathomable knowledge, but their quixotic and selfish ventures reflected back. They saw not only their inherent power, but in that reflection, their own shortcomings. In they eyes of Wisdom, each saw reflected a truth that lay deep within…

And upon that reflection, a percipience opened itself to each of the travellers. Reason regarded Passion, and now sought to learn of the exaltation that new knowledge can awaken. Passion looked to Memory, to sought a guide to his impulse and informed judgement through lessons in the treasury of the past. And Memory now turned to the logic held by Reason, for the clear mind could escape the reservations held against the unknown. Especially when slipping too far in the comforts of what was already well kept in mind. For so was the nature of the future – uncertain: reason could not predict it; passion alone could not navigate it; and memory could not escape it. And it was this of which Wisdom bred enlightenment, the truth of character that we willfully force our attentions to evade…

And before unseen, but no longer hidden, Truth steeped forth to greet the company: bare, unabashed, unashamed and iridescent; blindfolded to grandiosity, vanity and past faults. And it was Truth that Wisdom saw fit to leave in the company of the three, having seen realization dawn on his suitors. And it would come to be, that Reason, Memory and Passion instead courted Truth, and was relieved of their entitled claim to the eternal companionship of Wisdom. For Truth would remind them ever of their ways, should they find such ways be lost. Furthermore, should the counsel of Truth not find ground to be voiced… then Truth would return to Wisdom, and yearn to be courted again. At the side of Wisdom, Truth would always await those who would seek Wisdom’s prudent counsel.

For Wisdom did not seek the idle, but was instead sought out itself. Wisdom could not be gifted, but imparted gifts to the seeker. Nor could Wisdom be found on any single road, but instead at its head before a road is chosen. And Wisdom could never be courted, for it was already married to Truth. But it was also part of Truth, as Truth was part of Wisdom. To find Wisdom, was to find Truth. For the two were in perfect union, divided only for the understanding of those who needed guidance. For in wisdom lay truth, and in truth there lay wisdom

- A Short Story by the Wallflower - 

The Novice’s Guide to Constructing Inner Worlds – Part 1

Inner World

/ˈɪnə/ /wəːld/

A haven far removed from those mundane concerns that are woven into the fabric of reality. A realm blueprinted from the dreams, ideals, and hopes of a soul in reflection; thriving on the creativity, novelty, and life-infusing forces of imagination and marvel. It is the product of a spirit in resonance with their drive and desire, and intuitive idiosyncrasies; the result of a mindful being fully in touch with the most subtle of vibrancies, both within and without.

There is an art to being lost in thought… Lost in such an absolute and complete manner, that an almost transcendental experience befalls body and mind.

Imagine. The day muses softly as the peaceful hum of life pervades space and time with its presence. Drops of golden sun trickle through the canopy of leaves that rustles in the caressing breeze that clings to your frame; that cool crisp shirt draped loosely over those familiar jeans. Your feet in connection with the earth, lifting and rerooting to firm soil amidst the ebb of swaying blades of grass that spark a million sensations through the synapses at your base. Every breath is a marriage of your being to the very essence of loam pervading the air, both a comfort and fortification of the spirit that seems so untethered by the whimsy of the day. And as your surroundings create that perfect meditative pocket in space, your imagination courses bright and iridescent past your tempels and tingles across those cerebral folds. Then it occupies those spaces once filled with cold, hard and unforgiving logic.

And you slip ever into that gentle embrace of your nebulous thoughts; cosmically bound to the drifting abandon found in a daydream…

Darling, basically: Narnia is sparking up a winter thrice as magical in that wardrobe, yet the Pevensie children just wish they could slip through a front door to your mindscape instead… because you just discovered your own magic. Aslan’s whiskers are quaking, and the Ice Queen is shook!

You just stepped into your private little kingdom; your sanctum of reflection; your inner world.

And, being an introvert, a spirit inclined to reservation and observation… as a wallflower, the enriching power of being monarch in my own little fantasy has been invaluable. But, why construct one in the first place?

  • Because I can. Let’s Keep It Simple Sweetheart. When you are gracefully disposed with that talent to shape a mental retreat in which your wildest dreams can roam with your most novel musings, you are damn well going to prance along honey. People out there deliberately make arid landscapes out of their minds; the scorching heat of their self-criticism unforgiving. Are you really going to exit the nourishing oasis of your own thoughts? The choice seems simple. So take that trek out of the desert.
  • Its called self-care. This world (as in, the one you oftentimes grind through to get a scrap of fulfillment) affords us little in the realm of ‘me-time’, and we hardly permit it even for ourselves. When you face that dilemma of giving back to yourself in more tangible ways, you at least want to let your mind drift to a space where you can get a little bit of an escape.
  • Doing ‘nothing’, is actually given meaning. When you are sitting there, removed from the pressure of your obligations and those expectations that can serve or oppose you, your mind is not idle. Your mind is simply switched to a natural free flow of thought wherin great originality and insight thrives, and your curiously grasp at the whisps of those ideas and give them more clarity and solidity. Especially for introverts, whom Susan Cain observes in her book Quiet, prefer to work independently, and where solitude can be a catalyst for innovation. You are thinking, and you finally have the space to do it. Its marvelous!
  • Its cheap therapy sweetie. Lets face it, that daily/weekly/monthly dose of psychotherapy has probably smoothed the creases of your f*cking ruffled life, but you know full well that there are some weeds that pop up in odd places regardless of the ones you actually pull out. And, you actually DO NOT MIND. Its cracking through the pavement, and it has proven that its going to stick around just like the lesson that it is probably teaching you. And it is kind of beautiful… So accept it. Weeds grow in tough places. And so can you, if you take it to the right space…

Well… The list has actually just started. But this is only part one after all, and we have a lot to cover.

As a novice to the art of shaping your inner world, you are going to share bed with the idea of adaptability. Because a thought is a wild mustang that does not like to be penned in by your old ideas of order and rule-governed flow of thinking. So just drop that lasso sweetie. Or else you’ll have a nightmare of it (get it… nightmare…anyway). There are going to be some hitches along the way. Knowing that will make you less irascible and susceptible to frustration. Weeds appear to spoil the flowerbed, but what prize are you really signing your mental garden up for in any case? You’re in your head sweetie. Give yourself a ‘green-thumb’ badge on your boy scout sash if you want praise! Point is, things aren’t perfect.

  • Your inner world is a playground, not only for idle play of thoughts, but for rumination, and an idea lab to solve your real-world problems. Be honest. If you are really in touch, then you know that the dimensions of your life are interwoven in influence. Your problems are yours, and they’ll continue to follow you. So why not keep them in sight, and just bring them to a space where you can actually deal with them? Rally them into the corral, and tame those broncos with confidence.

Basically, you have this rugged, untouched landscape tucked away somewhere amidst the border where your unconscious mind meets your aware sense of self. It is begging you to pull up mountains with a thought that peak at your dreams, to make lush the valleys with your creativity, to populate the land with your wild philosophies, and then to crown your creation with that authentic self – that perfectly imperfect being that need not suffer the banishment from paradise. And if you did not yet realise, you are the omnipotent presence here honey (its very meta, I mean, it’s your own mind – but it’s true). And f*ck, you are walking through creation and it’s time to be awestruck at what your imagination conjured, you beautiful little upstart world weaver!

This is the genesis b*tch. And you are the supreme deity floating over a primordial landscape that is your messed-up mind to sequence the madness a bit into a beautiful chaos. So yes, there will be order to your inner world. But if you don’t make space for that lack of predictability, then are you even having fun?

If not, then for god’s sake… cue your latest theme song, take a hit, hug a tree, hang loose, kiss a stranger… Or do something to loosen the f*ck up. Earth was created in seven days sweetie, but Alpha and Omega are not exactly your middle names, so your inner world is going to need your attention a bit longer – and you need to damn well be at your best. I mean – this is FOR YOU!

I mentioned being in touch. But, what does that mean? Well, the craft does not have a shorthand instruction manual that can be shared right here (or as attachment), so we’ll leave that to another blog. But in essence, its what the layman would refer to as ‘balance’. And maintaining it takes contstant work. Mindfulness is a buzz word that people often then bring in here, but how even this will manifest in your life is a very personal journey.

Its a matter of awareness. Awareness of your strengths, of your virtues, of your weaknesses, of your vices… Its a perception of yourself that is balanced out – a big, bold, and beautiful planetery mass of contradictions that tips the axis of the galaxy while trying to remain in controlled rotation.

Your first step is thus to accept the raw intensity of your authentic self. And an acknowledgement of the TRUTH. Why is it raw? And why is it so intense? We only ever have the capacity to fathom either our strengths or our weaknesses, but never in tandem. We are praised by our strengths in the light of success, or confronted with our faults in the shadow of our failure. But we fail to see the beauty of our imperfections because of the presence of both. And our awareness of that is powerful, and hits us where we feel most sensitive. But it is necessary. So perhaps it is time to start the holy inquisition of your warring mind and purge that idea of control that so shackles you. Society imposes enough of its barriers, but it is time to be iconoclastic in the face of the constitution of your own thoughts.

Why do you need to do this? Because you need an even ground to lay the first cornerstone of your inner faith. You need a balanced view of who you really are. And overesttimating you abilities, or being blindsided by your shortcomings, destabilises the foundation. Thus, your inner world will be a collection of megalomania in celebrating virtues that you do not possess; or it will fail to contribute to the catharsis of dealing with lessons forthcoming from our faults of you don’t acknowledge them. Your inner world allows you to be a hero, but it will not make you infallible as a figure due to any self-serving bias. Your inner world is a realm of honesty; but, you can determine the method in which truth is administered.

But sacrificing authenticity, and breathing lies through silver, has its own consequence. Take a look again at my last post.

There is a tale that depicts perhaps the tragic reality that we have come to live in.

According to a 19th century legend, the Truth and the Lie meet one day. The Lie says to the Truth: “It’s a marvellous day today”! The Truth looks up to the skies and sighs, for the day was really beautiful. They spend a lot of time together, ultimately arriving beside a well. The Lie tells the Truth: “The water is very nice, let’s take a bath together!” The Truth, once again suspicious, tests the water and discovers that it indeed is very nice. They undress and start bathing. Suddenly, the Lie comes out of the water, puts on the clothes of the Truth and runs away. The furious Truth comes out of the well and runs everywhere to find the Lie and to get her clothes back. The World, seeing the Truth naked, turns its gaze away, with contempt and rage.
The poor Truth returns to the well and disappears forever, hiding therein, its shame. Since then, the Lie travels around the world, dressed as the Truth, satisfying the needs of society, because, the World, in any case, harbours no wish at all to meet the naked Truth.

Picture in History

The idea of an inner world, is thus to invert the image of the dishonest reality which we soldier through every day. Fair, that not all that manifests in this world is indeed lacking of truth, but there are many beguiling variations of such truths that make us prey to misdirection. The magic of your truthful dreamscape, is that it becomes a space of trust where you know what the healing effects of a self-prescribed truth medicine is, and can rely on its effects and its directive influence. Thus, it enchants you with dreams and ideals you truly want to aspire to; or it can offer you the guidance that you perhaps need and would be receptive to (because you know how to not be too hard on yourself).

The point I am making, is this. An inner world has a blueprint drawn in the ink of self-knowledge; an honest knowledge, that is constructred into the pedigree of your authentic character. Lies are deceitful tyrants, whereas truths are the benevolent ambassadors. So choose wisely the rule of your beloved kingdom.

Your quest for self-knowledge begins now fellow bloomers! I meet you at the next leg of your journey, in part two.

Love and Light