Defiance & Destruction

Spiritual Wrecking Balls.

My insides, currently. By Welder Wings.

---

Metamorphosis.
How many must we go through? How many versions of ourselves must we be acquainted with?

“As many as it takes,” the soft voice replies within me.

I scan through pages upon pages of tattered notebooks that house the remains of my past. Timeworn and held together with painter’s tape, the lines are haunted by diaphanous versions of myself that are difficult to fully grasp. Versions that I long to remember and some that I am desperate to forget.
As with all recordings of our former selves, there are memories that make me blench and some that caress me close, transporting me to a specific time and place I adored.

I’m changing yet again.

When I made the declaration that I wanted to become more myself, to return back to the beginning, I knew a part of that path would take defiance and destruction.

To defy and destroy the propaganda of a fractured society that reveres hyper-individualism over community, that tells us that we are not enough until we have this job title, this car, this watch, this home, this amount in our savings account, this number on the scale, this wardrobe, this bag, this life of more, more, more. Its deception digging deeper into our subconscious with each ad that pops up on our phones as we mindlessly scroll our lives away.

We are forced to exist within a society where scarcity and never enough are the precursors for life, for living, for ourselves. They do not want us to feel enough. Enough is disastrous for consumerism, materialism, and the rat race.

In my commitment to return back to the beginning, I must rid myself of the lingering beliefs that my purest self would condemn.

My spiritual wrecking ball has arrived.

The last remaining structures within me that have unwittingly held onto false notions of what life is, what life can be, and what I expect of myself are being bashed into bits. As if my highest self is gently warning, “We can’t take those with us where we are going.”

The changes have been subtle, too abstract to further explain here but significant enough for me to take notice/enjoy.

I can feel my petals unfurling.

It feels both bizarre and glorious.

---

In my life’s refusal to conform to the masses—which is in direct relation to my anomalous beginnings—it also ushered in the refusal to participate in the false belief that people only hold value if they have a high net worth and/or a high production rate for their employers. A refusal to be reduced then identified as a number measured in dollars that goes directly to a CEO’s overinflated multi-million dollar bonus. The refusal to think that rest is a privilege and not a right. That if we take breaks or move at a slower pace, life and the world will pass us by. It has allowed me to immediately detect the mendacious luring of big corporations and our government to worship at the feet of late stage capitalism.

These refusals require constant nurturing and a constant ear placed at the altar of my ancestors—the original stewards of this land—to remind me of who I’ve always been. As I’ve written before, it has been a steady practice sloughing off the years of capitalism from my psyche and body. When I stray too far from my inner world by not resting properly, making time for joy and my most cherished loved ones—basically things that remind me of my sovereignty—I’m more susceptible to being swept away by the thunderous herd of self betrayal and false beliefs.

I’m pleased to know I’m not alone in my defiance.

More people are turning away from counterfeit ambition and turning towards natural human living. What they are now calling the soft life. Which is really just existing as a human being that feels purpose and joy instead of working a job that you hate to the point of burnout because it almost allows you to buy things you don’t even truly want. How ghastly have we become as a society that we label the natural living of life as “soft”.

It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

As inflation and the cost of living rises, as I watch my friends attempt to buy homes to then be outbid by cash offers from corporate landlords in the tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands over the asking price, I wonder what our lives will look like in 5-10 years? Will we do what many other countries do and live in familial compounds? Will we rent for the rest of our lives? Will we unite as a country and stop voting against our best interests? (Will that even matter because the amount of corrupt politicians in office is staggering.) Will a revolution happen, first inside of ourselves then flow out into the physical plane to finally give birth to something more sustainable? Will society finally take back their autonomy, stop sleepwalking through life and start thinking for themselves?

My biggest hope is that people can hold onto enough of their unsullied imagination for life, for living, for the human race. To link our hands and hearts to fight the good fight to help create a better existence for us all.

I don’t care if it’s Pollyanna-esque, often this hope and faith of mine have been the only things to keep me alive.

I will never stop dreaming this dream. I will never stop fighting the good fight.

Maktub.

🕷️ Thank you for reading JENOVIA’S WEB. Restack on Notes, leave a comment, or hit the heart button if you enjoyed this post. I love hearing from you! 🕸️

Love always,

Jenovia

Find me on Substack Notes

Jenovia

and
Instagram Threads @Jenovia