Recently, I’ve been diagnosed as a highly gifted person—an insight that profoundly reshaped how I perceive myself and navigate life’s puzzles – and yes, I don’t like labeling myself as such a person, truly. However, being highly gifted isn’t just about being “smart”; it’s more about holding within oneself an enormous, dynamic capacity to swiftly dance across many diverse fields without losing breath or grace.
Paula Prober brilliantly captures this essence in her book, Rainforest Mind, introducing a concept that deeply resonates with me: the “rainforest mind.” While some minds might resemble serene plains or gentle meadows, neatly laid out and comfortably predictable, the rainforest mind thrives in lush complexity. It buzzes with diverse microcultures and climates, teeming with vibrant species of thought, constantly in motion, wildly intricate yet mysteriously harmonious.
Much of my personal journey has been marked by wrestling intensely with my emotional states, tirelessly attempting to fix the way I process reality. One striking characteristic of this rainforest mind experience is the sense of living vividly in one’s own head, speaking an inner symbolic language that’s rarely understood directly by others. This means there’s always a translation required when communicating with others. For a long time, I literally had to study books about how to speak to people because my natural way of thinking and talking was so distinctly different.
During therapy, I uncovered a deeper layer—my harshness toward myself, an internal severity driven by some distorted concept of justice. This harshness shows itself like an inner dictator, constantly criticizing, belittling, and undermining my openness and creativity with brutal statements such as, “You’re nobody because you thought like this.” Such inner dialogue isn’t just mental; it’s visceral, like a slave driver who punishes the body’s natural rhythm, demanding instant perfection and furious when reality doesn’t comply.
Imagine this: you want to speed up to 100 miles per hour in a car that’s still stationary, yet you instantly slam the transmission into fifth gear. Clearly, the car protests, stalls, or refuses to budge. Likewise, imposing harsh, unrealistic expectations before you’ve even started moving can freeze you in place. Alternatively, you might gently accelerate at first, enjoying your rhythm until suddenly panicking at looming deadlines, abruptly shifting gears without proper transition—again causing distress and overwhelm.
In her illuminating book, Rainforest Mind, Paula Prober beautifully captures this experience, coining the term “rainforest mind” to describe highly gifted individuals. Unlike minds that resemble plains or meadows—orderly and gently uniform—a rainforest mind thrives on complexity. It houses numerous microcultures and microclimates, diverse species, constant movement, and layers of depth that are wildly intricate yet naturally organized. This analogy resonates deeply with me, particularly because I have spent a significant portion of my life wrestling with intense emotional states and attempting to “fix” the way I think.
A hallmark of having a rainforest mind is the experience of living predominantly within one’s internal world, necessitating constant translation when communicating with others. Direct, authentic exchanges of one’s deeply symbolic inner language are rare; instead, one frequently must translate complex inner experiences into more broadly understandable terms. For a long time, I literally had to study books on communication to effectively interact with people because my innate modes of thought and speech differed so greatly from others.
From years of self inquiry, and now recently aiding myself in some last tough bits through therapy, I’ve become acutely aware of my tendency toward harshness, a severe self-criticism rooted in an internalized concept of justice. This harshness manifests as an inner dictator who belittles and reduces openness, saying things like, “You are a nobody because you’ve thought in a certain way.” Such self-talk isn’t merely cognitive; it’s deeply felt, experienced emotionally as if being driven by an internal slave driver. This internal harshness disrupts one’s natural rhythm, whether it’s writing, coding, studying, creating or any other task requiring a natural pace. The dictator demands speed, efficiency, and perfection, becoming angry when progress doesn’t match unrealistic expectations.
The big issue with having an inner dictator is that nothing ever feels good enough. Going too slowly? Clearly inadequate. Moving too quickly and stumbling along the way? Equally disappointing. Even progressing at a sensible, balanced pace somehow seems like settling for mediocrity. It’s like existing in a constant state of impossible standards, always on the brink of self-criticism. I’m sure I’ll delve deeper into this inner dictator theme, as its lessons offer profound insight, particularly amidst our charismatic-leader dominated cultural landscape.
Consider the analogy of a car’s transmission: if your goal is to accelerate to 100 miles per hour from a standstill, you wouldn’t immediately shift into fifth gear. Doing so stalls progress, creating frustration. Similarly, imposing harsh expectations upon oneself before even starting can paralyze the process entirely. Alternatively, one might begin gently, comfortably progressing until suddenly reminded of looming deadlines, then abruptly shifting gears without properly transitioning, resulting in panic and overwhelm.
A huge and big step towards healing was an openness to hearing who I was inside – the admittance of my insanely self-critiquing nature. The denial was real, and this applies even more so to these “background mindsets” which claim to be a natural part of us. Of course, being harsh to oneself stems from inadequate childhood experiences, which is worth a whole Netflix series in itself.
Self-awareness isn’t enough, you see. The background starts to creep up onto our identity, and so through my experience, I’ve learned the profound importance of frequent, deliberate pauses—breaks that allow recalibration to the body’s natural rhythm. This practice, often overlooked in our productivity-driven culture, is critical. It’s akin to carefully and consciously shifting gears, providing oneself with the necessary space and gentleness to accelerate smoothly, sustainably.
To facilitate this process of deepening my understanding, Gene Keys came on my path, and I heard Richard’s Rudd call to develop this little app called “Triple Flame” which captures the essence of the incredible Gene Keys Teaching. The Gene Keys elegantly utilize contemplation through three potent words, guiding our awareness from shadow frequencies toward our gifts and ultimately into the higher Siddhi (or Essential) states, serving humanity’s collective evolution.
As Rudd states beautifully, “Contemplation is a way to pivot out of the shadow into the Siddhi.” Regularly using Triple Flame throughout my day—roughly every three hours—provides sacred intervals that help me notice and gently shift away from internal harshness towards myself.
Even though my rainforest mind will always be a part of who I am, learning to use my transmission correctly—to engage patiently, compassionately, and realistically—is transforming my relationship with myself and the world around me.
The magickal remedy to mental insanity lies in frequent and intentional pauses.
These moments aren’t idle; they’re potent opportunities to recalibrate to the body’s innate wisdom and natural pacing. This practice, tragically underrated in our hustle-obsessed society, is akin to consciously, lovingly shifting gears—giving oneself the gentle spaciousness to move smoothly and sustainably through life.
My rainforest mind, with all its chaotic beauty, depth and inadequacies, will always be my truth. But learning the subtle art of handling my inner transmission—embracing patience, compassion, and realism—is radically transforming my relationship with myself, and the universe around me.
