The Black Pearl

Every time I offered my hand in support – the way one human being would to another – he vehemently slapped it away.

 But we can find a pearl in any oyster if we look for it.

It was a real growing experience for me.

We did not know each other well enough for there to be animosity between us.  I had not been in his life long enough to have unintentionally offended him.

When it happened, I backed up, shaken to the core.  It triggered old wounds.

Then I realized this had everything to do with him, and what was going on inside him.  It had nothing to do with me.

I was able to use his blessing to reframe all the old wounds that also didn’t really have much to do with me.  They were about the other person,  and what was going on for them.

Thanks to this man who was virtually a stranger to me, I am now able to kiss those old injuries to my spirit goodbye.

Legacy Of A Soldier

He never wavered in his loyalty to his country or his comrades.  His bravery on the battlefield was rewarded by the medals he brought home with him.  Medals he never talked about……….. a war he never discussed except with fellow veterans who brought things to him to be fixed – and even then it was discussed only because they brought it up.

He kept all his memories inside with whatever other demons haunted him until he was in his sixties…..recovering from a stroke….no longer physically able to work……….grieving the loss of a son ………Finally there were too many losses to be contained in one vessel so….he began to share just a little……a teaspoonful here and there from the barrel he had stored inside.

She was his shadow when she was little – followed him everywhere – even out to his workshop.  She was so quiet they would forget she was there.  The stories they told often frightened her – gave her nightmares for a long time after.

But she didn’t mind that half as much as when he would sit in his armchair after they left and give himself over once again to the pain he couldn’t let go of.

Helplessly she stood and looked on – wanting to help – not knowing how.

 She would carry his pain with her – into her old age – like a part of her own life experience – like a toothache that wouldn’t go away - connecting her to the darker pieces of life’s puzzle.

The Playing Field

He was a bit of a horse’s ass, really.

Love had approached him in many different guises during his lifetime.  But he wasn’t about to be “suckered in” by that shit.  He knew better.

Then he encountered the matchstick girl whose very presence glowed with the love she found in other people’s shit.

Finally, not being able to stand the “not knowing” any longer, he just came right out and asked her – point blank – in his horse’s ass sort of way,  “Why are you always mucking about in this shit, anyways.  You could be over there… making money… building a fortune.”

Knowing that he would never understand even if she told him, she just smiled  and quietly said,  “I feel more at home here.  It is where I belong.”

Life’s Journey

We would all prefer to sail from one life experience to another – like the majestic ships we seek to be.  But life does not happen that way.

We are often touched at a deep level by life’s lessons.  The scars and wounds can not be visibly seen; but they need just as much time to heal as physical wounds.  Pretending they are not there will just make the healing process take longer.

It is like the children’s game where, in singing a song, they keep meeting up with obstacles – “We can’t go over it, we can’t go around it; we’ll have to go through it.”

This might mean we will have to crawl part of the way, and limp the rest of the way – but when we get where we are going, we will be able to look back and say, “The journey was worth it.”

Coming Home To Myself

This book is full of short reflections for nurturing a woman’s body and soul.  It was compiled by Marion Woodman and Jill Mellick.

I started putting a check mark beside the ones I want to read again and ponder – only problem is there is a check mark on almost every page.

Quote from this book:

When we identify with our childish side
we say,
“I was always a victim.
I will always be a victim
and it’s all my parents’ fault.”
then walk around with a hangdog face
the rest of our lives.

When we gather our child into our arms,
we say,
“My parents were victims of a culture,
as were their parents and their parents.
I shall not be a victim.
I shall take responsibility for my own life.
I shall live creatively.
I shall live now.”

I, personally, lived too many years with shame forced onto me by somebody else’s actions.

Now I realize that I am only responsible for my actions.

I now forgive myself for past mistakes; and give myself permission to make new ones, as I live my life to the best of my ability – one moment at a time.

New Face On An Old Problem

She is six years old and absolutely devoted to Daddy – has been since birth. 

 Lately he has started touching her in places where he shouldn’t.  “Shhh, this is our secret.  Don’t tell the others.”  She looks over at her two younger sisters playing on the other side of the room.  Mommy has gone out shopping.

She is not real comfortable with what Daddy is doing – but it must be okay.  Daddy would never do anything to hurt her(?)  And it makes her feel kind of special – that Daddy chose her over the others.  He must love her the most.

A teacher begins to notice some changes in the little girl’s behavior, and wonders, just for a moment, and then shakes the thought away.  Ridiculous!  He is a very sociable young man – a successful young businessman – his wife belongs to the PTA.

And if anyone does investigate a little further – who is going to tell – not that devoted little girl that shares a secret with her Daddy, who can do no wrong in her young eyes.

And before this is over, Daddy will go further and further, with all three daughters.  And they will be grown women before they find out they weren’t the only one.  And they still won’t have found a way to navigate through the pain of it all. 

This unresolved pain keeps getting in the way of their relationship with their husbands.  They don’t dare let him change diapers on their little girls, or help with the baths, or babysit.  They overreact every time he offers.  His feelings are hurt – he doesn’t understand why she won’t accept his help – when he can tell she needs it.  And he sees these as lost opportunities for him to bond with his little girl.

Everybody is paying a price right down through the generations….

Struggling For Answers

I heard about another incident today.  I can understand emotional incest – it is not deliberate – and there is a lot of codependency in our society.

But we can no longer get away with saying “These men are sick perverts who never learned how to get their needs met in healthier ways.” 

We are hearing about more and more family men who are committing these atrocities – putting their hands where they don’t belong – crawling into their daughter’s bed at night – and then getting up in the morning and driving her to school like nothing happened.

What are these men doing  – “zoning out”?  How are they justifying it to themselves?  What do they think gives them that right?  Do they still not understand what scars these invisible crimes leave for these innocent children to work through?  We are no longer living in the dark ages here.

And these are not all bad men we are talking about.  Many of them are there for their children in every other way – except this one – respecting their RIGHT TO NOT BE TOUCHED IN INAPPROPRIATE WAYS BY ANY MAN, LET ALONE THEIR FATHER. 

I know some of these men – I’ve met some of them. I have seen them plan birthday parties for the same little girls they are molesting whenever they feel the urge - I have seen them cry at sad movies – they are kind to animals and strangers – they are respectful and thoughtful of others in so many ways.  So what is going on?

I don’t understand it.  How do they live with themselves afterwards?  How do they look that little girl in the eyes the next day?  How do they continue to interact with that little girl when she’s a grown woman?

Come on, folks, we gotta figure out what’s going on here so we can help put a stop to it.  No more smokescreens!

If anyone can shed any light on this subject and help me and others understand, we will be eternally grateful.

The Me In You

In trying to understand you better,
I am coming to understand me.
In trying to accept your limitations,
I am learning to accept my own.
In developing my friendship with you,
I am becoming friends with me.

In loving you, I am loving me.
In accepting you, I am accepting me.
In forgiving you, I am forgiving me.

True Colors

My eleven-year-old niece told me once that I have a strong voice.  I know what she means by that and the correct words would be “a forceful voice”.  It is the voice I have used on myself to no avail for most of my life as I fought to change the parts of me that get in my way every day.  It is also the voice I use with her as I try to undo the angry, defensive armor she came to me with.  I should know by now there is only one force strong enough to do either of those things; and that is the force of Love.  When I can embrace her (faults and all) and take joy in her just as she is – that is when she will blossom into the beautiful creature God designed her to be.  And the same is true for me.  When I stop fighting with myself – trying to make me conform to some acceptable standard- and just embrace myself (faults and all) then my voice will grow into one that really is strong  -  a voice that speaks with gentle, calm assurance.  And that is the voice that will awaken all that is good and holy in the centre of our Beings (hers and mine).  It will bring to life all those parts of us that hide from the light of day because they are too precious to be trampled on in the name of conforming even if it would be in our best interests to do so.  You will have to learn to love me, warts and all, because try as I may – these warts are part of me.

Loyal Soldier

A wounded man
in deep despair
sitting helplessly in his pain
remembering horrors
no one should even know.
His young daughter
watching from the doorway
arms limp by her sides.
She will carry his grief
in the core of her Being
til her dying day
never finding the key
that would set them both free.