in her soul-healing era
she is
a magnetic muse
her aura
(mystical and rare)
breathes in
the soft spell of becoming–
she moves through dimensions,
vibrating at a
dream-born
frequency where the
cosmic
folds into her hands,
pure-hearted (she loses no one,
they lose her; their hands cannot
hold the sky)
her dreams are fragments of soul medicine;
her whispers no longer embody
the ache of the ephemeral.
We will survive
in spite of everything
by birthing ourselves
as many times as we need.
We are the women who dare
to dream and create
in spite of the eyes
of an empty world
We are the snow angels
flying away before
they can clip our wings.
Lustrous,
our transmutations,
our rich inner lives,
our unbreakable spirit.
We shall create our own meanings
we shall write our own narratives
we will find our voices again
after the countless attempts of others
to reduce us to silence.
She walks barefoot through a haunting dreamscape,
tear-stained by echoes of forgotten prayers.
A snow princess with a gown of starlight
and a crown of insight, glowing, nocturnal.
From her heart, something crystalline, ancient,
emerging–
whispering secrets of lives half-remembered
etching memories into the ether of her soul.
She rises, as if part of a song,
as if she is both the seeker and the found,
the dreamer and the dream,
a solitary note in a phantasmagorical harmony.
The wind speaks in tongues she seems to understand,
while she pierces through it as she crosses
bridges she created above chasms
within the labyrinth of being
she reclaims words and concepts
piece by piece, entering the puzzle of her nature.
A labyrinth of quiet alleys
where you absorb moments that feel
like they belong to no one,
and yet to everyone who’s ever been here.
The scent of the sea clings to the air,
mixing with coffee, incense,
and the distant laughter of strangers.
Here, serendipity is a way of being.
A church,
its walls reverberating with Vivaldi’s notes,
a heartbeat from centuries past
filling the air with something
that feels like longing,
or maybe just peace.
You wander
and the city shifts around you,
showing you its secrets,
its ethereal beauty that you only notice
when you’re not looking.
A flash of sunlight on a canal,
a reflection that disappears as soon as you see it,
a city that holds you,
then lets you go
while you carry a piece of it in your thoughts.
A girl, woven from stardust and daydreams
whispers in the wind, moonlight-drenched,
a constellation stitched into her skin,
pulsing to the rhythm of celestial secrets.
Starlit revelation, a gift draped in nebulae,
her name an incantation, floating between realms,
a spectre of enchantment
in sync with the harmony of the universe.
It was at that precise moment that I felt
we were suffering from the same affliction
yet we were worlds apart,
trying to find different cures.
We were looking at the same thing
but seeing something different,
lost in our own perspectives
shaped by specific flavours of pain.
You don’t know me if you have no clue
what it’s like
to feel like a ticking bomb,
to have a latent force within you,
ready to devour you at any moment.
I was watching a debate between Slavoj Žižek and Jordan Peterson where Peterson alluded to a common psychological pattern that can be observed in daily life, known as self-licensing or moral licensing. It’s the tendency that occurs when some people perform a couple of casual, sometimes shallow and effortless good deeds and subsequently allow themselves to justify morally questionable actions as they – sometimes subconsciously – believe they have earned the right to do so. This phenomenon is related to cognitive dissonance, the desire to maintain a positive self-image, and the concept of moral entitlement.
People may be more likely to engage in morally questionable behaviour when they have previously performed a good deed (e.g. donating to charity or volunteering). Moral licensing is also frequently used as an excuse to justify treating others poorly. Some people may feel that, because they have previously done something good, they now have the “right” to do something bad – even if it is undeserved and unjustified.
This type of behaviour can be observed in many different contexts, involving social or family dynamics. Sometimes, when a person has simply assumed a moral higher ground for whatever reason, real or imagined, and they’ve reinforced their self-concept as a good person, they paradoxically feel entitled to do something less considerate; thus their own feelings of morality become distorted and don’t make a lot of sense as their current behaviour contradicts their positive self-image and values, as reflected through past deeds.
Essentially, this happens when their positive self-image has led to a sense of toxic moral entitlement, where they believe they are beyond reproach and their behaviour is acceptable, even when it’s harmful. If you’re an external observer noticing this phenomenon at play within someone else, you might feel mistrust and ‘moral repulsion’ and, if you’re personally affected, righteous indignation. But we have to acknowledge that this behaviour is not always conscious. Some people may not be aware of the detrimental effect that moral licensing can have on them and on others, and may genuinely believe that their actions are justified even when they are inconsistent with behaving in an ethical manner.
The phenomenon can usually be attributed to cognitive dissonance, the uncomfortable psychological state of holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously or acting in ways that contradict one’s values. As a way of relieving the discomfort of cognitive dissonance and restoring their good self-image, people will justify the less respectable behaviour by putting themselves on a pedestal and wrongfully attributing negative qualities to the person being treated poorly, for instance, which helps them reduce the dissonance.
Moral licensing can lead to unconscious bias and discrimination. Some people who engage in behaviours perceived as moral, such as supporting a charitable cause or volunteering, may be more likely to engage in discriminatory behaviour towards members of stigmatised or marginalised groups. This is because they feel morally entitled to do so based on the good deeds they have previously done, and therefore may not consider their subsequent discriminatory behaviour and prejudiced judgments as being morally wrong. In many cases, these actions are carried out without the subject being aware of their own biases or prejudices. This occurrence is especially concerning given the negative consequences it can have on people who are on the receiving end of this type of discrimination.
Research has also revealed that moral licensing can occur in the context of diversity and inclusion initiatives. In these cases, a company or organisation that promotes diversity and inclusion may subsequently engage in discriminatory behaviour towards people from underrepresented groups, because they feel that their prior support of diversity and inclusion initiatives gives them a license to act in unjust ways without being questioned.
Moral licensing often leads to great long-term negative effects, as the phenomenon can create an endless cycle of self-justification and rationalisation, making it incrementally difficult for people to act morally in the long run. They will regularly attempt to excuse their bad behaviour, justifying it through past moral acts. This can be conducive to a gradual erosion of moral standards and values, as they may become increasingly desensitised to immoral behaviour. Over time, there will be an increased tendency towards unethical decisions and actions. Keeping an eye out for this kind of behaviour in our peers and taking a stand against it is important in order to ensure that everyone is being treated fairly and with respect.
Tired of false assumptions, projections, and flawed worldviews — tired of patriarchy, misogyny, misrepresentations, malice, arrogance, duplicity, and needless snark. Tired of finding myself caught in vicious cycles. Tired of a world that sometimes drains me, so I naturally retreat within. Tired of judgmental attitudes. Tired of jealous people. Tired of manipulation. Tired of toxicity. Tired of obsessions about aging. Tired of pathologising our differences. Tired of neurotic tendencies. Tired of inauthentic friendships. Tired of feeling expected to feign constant enthusiasm — joy, passion, care, even empathy for those who seem wicked. Tired of the quiet seep of others’ insecurities and projections into my mind. Tired of being judged for embracing my disenchantment. Tired of double meanings. Tired of ignoring the imminent necessity for a chemical dependency. Tired of being perceived. Tired of being misperceived. Tired of caring about being misperceived to the point of extreme self-censorship. Tired of succumbing to the impulse of being authentic and regretting it. Tired of dissecting everything I say from dozens of shifting perspectives. Tired of noticing everyone’s blind spots. Tired of both encountering misanthropic attitudes and, at times, harbouring them myself. I know I’m not immune — I sometimes quietly slip into misanthropy, and I’m learning to accept that shadow side as part of who I am. Tired of thinking in rigid binaries. And no, this isn’t what a mental health breakdown looks like for me. When I sense myself beginning to spiral, I tend to freeze, finding it difficult to update my personal social media channels or engage much at all.
[This is an older blog post. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the date.]
When I find myself in situations where I’m allowed to be myself, I notice how my discourse changes in my writings. My inner life is allowed to breathe, and the landscape of my soul becomes more vivid and expansive. By virtue of this expansion, it becomes more alluring. Strangely, when I’m not concerned with anything besides myself and conveying my inner life unperturbed by others, this allure draws people in my proximity. I then tend to find myself at a crossroads. I have learned not to let anyone cross my borders without a meticulous and often undetectable process of selection. Because of that, I’m sometimes inclined to test people. Yet, I try to do so while keeping every interaction genuine. Although I am a perceiver (INTP), I can’t deny I judge their responses more harshly and quickly than I would ever wish to be judged. In my view, I employ the right system of reference in my judgment. However, I must admit, I hate being analysed, especially in day-to-day interactions; it irks me profoundly.
When I am given the space to be myself, I have no desire to prove anything—and I mean this in the most positive way, unrelated to lack of productivity, hence everything feels more genuine as the walls of the fortress retreat in the ground. There is still a surrounding portal, veil-like, between my world and everything else, seemingly transparent, but in actuality having a transformative function, of shaping perspective, both ways: Representations of the other gaze in, seeing what they wish; depending on how healed or emotionally aware they are, they might see everything warped by projections or get closer to my meaning. Likewise, I look out, seeing the world through my filter, penetrative or transformative, surface-shattering, depth-piercing, death-defying.
When I’m in an environment where it’s unclear whether it’s sustainable for my true self, I’m sometimes (not always) ready to show up as myself, even if it means being misunderstood and subsequently irritated. What feels best is being unperturbed by others’ interpretations. My problem is that I can always see the world from a multitude of perspectives, which is both a blessing and a curse. This requires me to make an effort to pick the perspective most aligned with my self-concept and established set of values and beliefs, and then stand by it, regardless of the other perspectives I can give voice to. Life is sometimes about what you choose to pay attention to.
There have been times in my life when I couldn’t write—not because my inspiration or creativity deserted me, but because they were suppressed, captive, muted, just as I felt suppressed, captive, muted. During these times, a false self replaced me, influenced by external projections, reacting to others’ impulses, stepping into a role that was as distant as possible from the traits embodied by the people I disliked around me. How do I explain this without sounding like I’m drowning in the fluctuations of being? Or without it sounding like I haven’t embraced my shadow self? Can I even claim that, with certainty, to myself?
DIANA MARIN 