Monday, July 4, 2011

"Poor in Spirit & Crazy"

He thinks I get a hit from all of this. Then may this be the high, the tiny spark that spawns and fuels creativity. How else shall I work with this? This hit that makes me feel alive and beautiful. Pained and disgusting. He does not understand the mechanics of what is happening inside of me right now. He is like a puppet, a parrot, one who mimics his master. And he thinks he is speaking from an authentic place. He does not see how Mother Mary has my back, how she takes a silent but active stance in my life. Man and woman will always be a universe apart. He is becoming exactly that which he decided long ago, never to be. I pity him.

And master does not believe in dream. Kills it at every turn. I don't understand how one can do all that work and still lack compassion. He will use the excuse that he is just a man, full of flaws, only human. But if you point them out to him, if you hold the mirror up, he takes great offense. And why? Because he expects the other to change but does not demand the same from himself. He wants to go on living like he is teacher but lacks humility to learn from student. Let no one tell me what is acceptable or not. Let no one throw back in my face that which they do not wish to transform in themselves. That is not the game I am playing. He fails to understand that I am the real who can see. He speaks to me as though I am in need of a certain kind of guidance. He cannot help me. I see who and what he is behind the curtain.

And this is when the pain comes, so relentless and piercing. What is it in him that I gravitate towards? What is it? How can I want that which hurts me? How can I trust that which consistently lacks heart and sensitivity, that which is cold, that which does not change or transform? What does this say about me? I am trying to live in that space the Sufis speak of, to see him from another place inside of me. This must be why. But he disappoints. And I don't have any more time to him. He has shown clearly what he can do with my gifts. I can no longer feel bad about how I feel, pretend that these feelings of doubt do not matter, that they do not tell a story. Feeling bad just keeps me stuck and in my place. Too much power is given away at the expense of myself.

But maybe I only see what I want to see. Maybe the real is the dream. Maybe he really is good. But how can I believe in someone who tells me to forgive him his indiscretions, time and time again, when he does not extend the same openness in return? Maybe I don't want to believe that someone can be that self serving. If he only takes that which he needs, only gives that which he does not miss, then what becomes of that person whom he takes from, whom he gives to? How is it reciprocal? How is it equal? How is it sound and true? I will forgive him his indiscretions but he does not need to be a part of my life for me to do this. What a realization. I will not in any way become like the others, not today or tomorrow. Not ever. He knows full well I will never become what he'd hoped he could get from me. I am no puppet.

I see what is required. But the dream gets in the way. You see, the dream and what is required are not the same. I don't know how to work with this when my hands are tied. I simply can't do anything. I am forced to remain still and wait patiently. For what? I do not know exactly. But I understand, it is the only way.

And let's say, I did give in. Then what? I will become like the woman in Rider Waite's, the Devil card, bound to that which does not Love, that which controls and possesses. I will lose my power and dignity. And for what? Gratification? The fulfillment of desire? I would rather lead and be silent like the High Priestess, be tied to nothing and no one. To be self-possessed. That is Freedom. Liberty. It does not matter what I want. It only matters what is right and just. What we want is transient and I cannot rely on the temporary. I am fortunate to be able to see this. Truthfully, I really must thank him for this kind of awareness.

Man is weak. He'll concoct every possible scenario to justify why his behaviour is okay, even convince himself he's doing it for the greater good. But he is asleep! He does it for himself. Only for himself. That's why it is up to each of us to uphold some kind of standard if we want to keep our self-respect, if we want to be real. He can not give me that. No one can.

I must have given the impression that I was a fool. When the opening came, I thought I had been given an opportunity to make things right, to go back to the way things were. But Mary whispered, "No, that is not it. You must look inside." And then I saw it, as clear as day, I saw what she meant. She had provided the opportunity for me to speak, for me to see the truth - as I had been asking for days and almost forgot I had asked - and with that, I saw that it was the end of a chapter. That it did not matter how I was perceived, whether I was understood. That the only way to begin again, was to turn the page. And so I did. I turned the page. My Mary, my saving Grace, how could I have ever doubted that you would come through?

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