the echoes of last week’s conversations continue. not fighting them. just letting them bounce as they will, watching and listening how they create other things, laughing at that process, seeing it clearly. no wonder i was always so distracted and anxious.
seeing other things that were clear then, and ignored, seeing them now as i should have then. both as they were in the moment and as reflection of the ancient things that went before…
he wrote under cover of secrecy to others that he thought me someone who had ‘been through a lot, and most of it of an order that doesn’t leave one in any condition to play video games.’
a cruelty that. there were many, there, behind the veil. and others, behind still other veils, only a small few of which were ever lifted while i was looking.
and still, i chose to see him well intended, other than petty and malicious, other than someone who needed to pick at me, condemn me, pity me in order to feel better about themselves.
i remember when they mistakenly gave me access to that area. i read. i read it all.
they were angry with me for the reading. hah. of course they were. i would not want someone to see that i had said such cruel and ugly things of them, either.
defiantly aggressive toward me, demanding apologies, working hard to put me on the defense. i realize now how afraid they were of being condemned for it.
i wonder if they ever realized i didn’t condemn them. i suppose not, they were too busy condemning themselves.
self-loathing is such an odd thing. i know it from both sides, of course. i should have known that it is impossible to show someone you do not detest them the way they detest themselves.
and i should have known that any such effort could only possibly be seen as insincere, fake, and deceitful.
i think about that in the context of the ancient. it is not the first time i have considered it. but usually, i would reject it out of hand as ‘not good enough’ to pardon the things done.
but i am slowly understanding that the difference is in the excuse rising here, in me, rather than from them. the excuse rising here is both forgiveness and release. when it rises there, it can only be ego, pride, and self-cherishing.
woah.
setting that on paper against another, any other, i immediately pick it up and apply it to myself. after all, to do otherwise would be hypocritical, would it not?
oh the layers of misunderstanding. it has taken this long to even begin to pick them apart.
i did not send heavy words to heath because i wanted to hurt him. i sent them to him because i knew once read, they were inescapable. perhaps that sounds a cruelty. i do not find it so. rather, it is the kindest and most loving thing i could do.
i find it ironic that he hid his words behind veils and would not give them to me. and he called it a kindness. how kind is a snicker, a pitying opinion, a slowly nodding group agreeing someone is inferior?
ping pong perceptions. i used to get in so much trouble for breaking up the bullying at school. often becoming the target.
i remember the day the table of those bullies decided to throw food on me. they waited until the day i was wearing my best outfit. how they knew, i cannot say. perhaps i walked differently. perhaps i looked happy… for a change.
it hurt, of course… but not because they did it to me. it hurt because even then, i had the sense of how much they must hurt to feel that doing such things could ever be fun or enjoyable.
they thought i was crying for shame and for being publicly humiliated. but even then i knew that to explain why i was crying would only hurt them more.
i’ve lost count of the many times i’ve thrown up the brash, brusque, almost callous exterior to protect someone from hurting themselves on me.
or how many times i forego explanation or deliberately fox explanation so as to avoid the truth that would only hurt them more.
it seems warped. even now. but how do you show care and love to someone who cannot receive it? by avoiding deliberately adding to their pain.
kindness. abstinence. withdrawal.
as i withdrew from the ones who dealt the ancient wounds.
as i withdrew from heath.
i sit here and ponder it.
the ones who dealt the ancient wounds, they never saw clearly enough to consider withdrawal to benefit other than themselves.
for many, many years, this ‘self’ angered and hurt and suffered for it.
heath withdrew citing ‘his pain’, ‘his issues’, ‘his needs’. the same thing.
initially, late august, the reaction here was much the same. but underneath the ancient pains, that which is… it was already reasserting itself. i didn’t know it. didn’t feel it. not at first.
but it echoed.
i remember the day when i remembered why i had let those bullies think themselves victorious. how and why that was not a thing that had the power to touch me. how it didn’t matter.
it was not much different from that day in september… when the insights from my birthday had settled, and i could finally see the similarities.
the first i realized in any way what a great gift i was given by the multiverse in encountering heath… and remembering.
from september to december was like a watershed moment that stretched… meeting the master sergeant in november was like reaching an oasis. the friends who have appeared since then, and who continue to appear with smiles… it is almost as if the lessons arrive by sentience…. not mine, of course. or is it?
i suppose it doesn’t matter. they arrive. and i am learning. slowly. the convenient analogy of heath is appreciated. the contrasting experience of the many roses that now grow is a blessed thing.
i remember telling a good friend some time ago that i could always tell when All Things In Their Right Place was happening… because everything just worked out.
the process of absorbing and not reacting is one i’m having to relearn. but that’s ok. perhaps next time i won’t choose to forget it quite so easily.
being. heh. for a change. for change. what a concept.