Sensitive souls did not come to the world to be enslaved by the need to exist, commonly covered by concepts such as: ‘work’, ‘self-fulfillment,’ ‘career,’ etc.
Sensitive souls see through all these pretenses, even if they can’t explain what they see, they still see it.
Sensitive souls carry within them an unceasing scream, which is born out of the recognition of the paradox that lies in the act of investing all of one’s available energy to ensure that the same energy can continue to exist.
They constantly feel this paradox and bear the scream that accompanies it.
Sensitive souls cannot serve paradoxes.
Sensitive souls cannot silence screams within them.
The world is not a big fan of sensitive souls.
Maybe because they are a reminder of something that the world prefers to ignore.
Maybe because in the beginning we were all ‘sensitive souls’ and the ones that failed to develop a thick skin that leaves existence as a ‘sensitive soul’ as a distant memory are a constant reminder of that, maybe…
Sensitive souls came into the world to discover it as it is, not to force it to be something else; to recognize the shades of the world as they reflect both within and outside of them, and to paint them with a brush that can touch all other souls. The world calls this act ‘art.’
Sensitive souls have a different pace and to demand them to keep up with the world’s common pace is like death for them.
Telling a sensitive soul that it is like everyone else and accordingly that the burden it carries is the same as everyone else’s is to kill it a little more because a sensitive soul will never tell you you’re wrong, neither would it say it inside itself… because sensitive souls always doubt everything, including themselves, maybe because they feel profoundly how everything, everything, hangs by a thread—emotions, thoughts, and especially opinions, both of others and also their own.
Sensitive souls need to be left in peace to breathe one breath after another, and to let everything unfold while they observe it.
Sensitive souls are not built for the pressure the world has decided is necessary for the term ‘progress.’
Moreover, for sensitive souls, the concept of ‘progress’ itself is foreign, because something within them tells them that in contrast to the common message of the world which keeps pushing and pushing one to get somewhere or to achieve something, there is nowhere to progress to and nothing to achieve, and that all this endless striving is based on something stable as a soap bubble. A beautiful, dazzling soap bubble, but still, a bubble…
Sometimes it takes sensitive souls a lifetime to recognize that they are sensitive souls, to acknowledge that their rhythm is different and that the ‘standard’ of the world simply doesn’t apply to them.
And if they fail
To recognize this.
To accept it.
To embrace it.
To love it.
They take pills.
