Letters for Creatives #52: Feel lighter

Let go of the weight that is weighing you down

Hello, I am Celeste. If you would like to receive Letters for Creatives, subscribe to receive weekly letters on creativity, mental wellness, mindset and more. Take a look at September prompts if you are looking for writing inspiration and get featured in the letter in September.

Photo by Javardh

“There are some people whose confidence outweighs their knowledge, and they’re happy to say things which are wrong. And then there are other people who probably have all the knowledge but keep quiet because they’re scared of saying things.”

— Helen Jenkins

I am definitely the later. It is one of the weaknesses of INFJ. The immediate environment plays a huge impact on this side of me but I am looking for ways to trust myself more and speak up more often (to those who has good intentions). One of the obstacles that I face with human relationships is that my bias of humans can be a wolf with the mask of a sheep. But I am glad to get to know more people who are just good and generous this year.

Clearing energy cords

Continued with the rant, I am starting to clear energy cords. It is one of those hippy things I am open to try. If you would like to feel energetically lighter after some heavy conversations, you can try it.

Leave a comment to share your thoughts with me.

I read the papers,
I unfold them and examine them in the sunlight.
The way the red mortars, in photographs,
arc down into the neighborhoods
like stars, the way death
combs everything into a gray rubble before
the camera moves on. What
dark part of my soul
shivers: you don’t want to know more
about this. And then: you don’t know anything
unless you do. How the sleepers
wake and run to the cellars,
how the children scream, their tongues
trying to swim away–
how the morning itself appears
like a slow white rose
while the figures climb over the bubbled thresholds,
move among the smashed cars, the streets
where the clanging ambulances won’t
stop all day–death and death, messy death–
death as history, death as a habit–
how sometimes the camera pauses while a family
counts itself, and all of them are alive,
their mouths dry caves of wordlessness
in the smudged moons of their faces,
a craziness we have so far no name for–
all this I read in the papers,
in the sunlight,
I read with my cold, sharp eyes.

— Mary Oliver

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In case you miss it, catch up on these letters:

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See you next week,

Celeste

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