I Was Always Sensitive, Never Realizing That It Is Precious.

I have to be sensitive to how early in the morning I've landed on this site, and how early I must get up today. I'll also have to be sensitive to how often I refer to the word "sensitive".

I grew up in a very sincere and, yes, sensitive, family. I have always been very observant, attentive to details that others don't seem to be as well-wired for. For most of my life, this has been viewed as a disorder of mine, in the form of ADHD.

I have a family that wears glasses, but my eyes are particularly exaggerated in their degree of myopia, as well as estigmatism. Without glasses on or my contacts in, I view the world as a Van Gogh painting. Though my ADHD is usually attributed to particularly quick thinkers and people who analyze rapidly and require more stimulation internally and/or externally, this visual handicap has left me with a well-established reliance on my physical and spacial identity within any given setting, though my learning style is clearly auditory. Everyone around me is involved in music and it has been that way my entire life. I have near-perfect pitch and can guess notes accurately with surprising consistency, but mainly by instinct, not through direct discernment like many of my friends who are truly gifted with the synesthesia that is perfect pitch.

I believe the way my brain developed with poor vision must be the reason that I have visual creativity that allows indirect hallucination of the captive imaginings of my "mind's eye" such as auras, specifically at the times in my life when I have been least opposed and repressive toward my own natural sensitivity. I seem to resent being sensitive, because I have a big personality, yet I can get completely awestruck on a deeply intertwined detail that a group I'm involved with might find momentum-jarring. In pursuit of this previous phrasing comes my assertion that I seem to have some kind of obsession with originality, on an instinctual level, which I try to repress as well and tend to be embarrassed about, or sensitive about, when someone I'm not close to notices. I don't want to seem like I'm trying to stick out or be so darn clever or original, and that makes me feel like a real douche sometimes. I take a long time to write, but I love to write. I am selective with my words. I write songs and poetry. I am an adept critic who is sensitive to those who "know not what they do", but I don't lower my standards. I have been raised on the classics, the masterpieces, the great spiritual understandings, and they all fascinate me, but I don't believe people have to be judged just because I know and understand these deep treasures. I don't think arrogance is the right response.

That was a segway. If it translates well this late at night, I am deeply passionate about wonder, childlike imagination, and a spirit that cannot be broken. I think the greatest worship that souls can breathe in this world is found in the spontaneous fellowship of play, in the all parts of e brain, in recess of young kids, in the art of masters, in the notes of musicians, in the motion and energy carried through dancing bodies. All is celebrated. This is important, because I alue my sensitivity now that I realize most people on this Earth aim to grow out of their childhood, though life biologically wired us with almost 20 years of vivid youth that tries to beat it into us before we have to become enslaved problem-solvers in our worlds. If we would only remember that childhood was so precious that it came FIRST and was guarded by entire communities and the unity of deep parental love and protective chemical-releases that bring vigilant hearts to committed mothers and fathers. Jesus Christ talked to so many who wouldn't ever understand what he could see in mankind, but he was reported as having professed the spiritual imperitive of childlike-ness, despite my grammar faux-pas here.

Anyway, I'm here for a reason, and that's all I know so far. So there's your darn "post your story" post. It doesn't have to be my life story. Oh man. Good night, internets...

-M
Martinmg Martinmg
18-21, M
May 14, 2012