Redemption

My name is Rose. Rose is my name. I'm still here, standing on Irish soil by the Irish sea with my Irish bones...

The day of the pedestal is over. You're the only one I'll allow myself to look up...for. Even when I'm on higher ground.

Remember the days when you preached like a god? But behaved like a boy? Ah, the taste of disillusionment is bitter. There is no wizard behind the curtain...only man. No one warned me how a person's inner workings can bring pain to others.

I think of Christ...opher, standing at the top of the stairs outside of school, how he demanded certain things from me...like money and candy. What a bully for such a small person. Children can be cruel. Yet, all children are angels in their mother's eyes but I know better. I was always looking up and he was always looking down.

I wonder where he is now. I'm sure he has a family of his own...children he works hard to protect. Let's hope they were kind as children. Let's hope they weren't on the receiving end of someone else's cruel actions. Let's hope they weren't like their father.

Because Chris was mean and I was a coward. After all, I was only a girl. Oh, but wait...then there was the name I cannot recall, whom I later found out was the cousin of the student I met a few years later...And, if I thought Chris was mean, she was worse. Everything they depicted in the movies about snotty little princesses, was true...is true. It's the same girl just a different time...Her cousin was the same, too. I wondered where that kind of attitude came from in them. Their parents? They hadn't been on the planet long enough to feel strongly about anything! That kind of entitlement...felt temper tantrum-like in its delivery.

Bullies prey on the weak. I must have been weak. Wait a minute though...doesn't that imply that because I didn't appear strong, I deserved what I got? You may think that's not what you mean...but relying and focusing on negatives, puts emphasis on the character of the bullied (the receiver) when it ought to be placed directly on the bully - the one who is bully...ing. Regardless, I've got one on them. They were jealous! And, that pleases me. I was smarter than them and though kindness may not have gotten me very far, I'm glad I never wavered or became the spoiled brats they were. Today, I enjoy playing with my sword. And I can, because this place belongs to me. I do what I will.

I roll my eyes - sometimes - when I hear parents brag about how fantastic, gifted and special their children are. Because I remember how awful a young person can be. This generation is no different. Among them is the kid of a parent who thinks their child can do no wrong. Amazing children are the ones whose parents do not brag about! Let me say it again, so it pricks and stings real good. Amazing children are the ones whose parents do not brag about. Today, everyone is a winner. And we both know that isn't true. Today, a kid can't take any criticism. We both know that's true, too. Today, he has to win at all costs...otherwise, he's going to break down and apart into little pieces. He's got no backbone. We've seen that, you and me, though I don't have children of my own. I just have to remember to look back in time. I just have to remember what it was like for me, because like you, I was once a child, too. There will always be and "us and them", unfortunately. 

I fight for the ones who feel voiceless. I fight for the ones who feel they can't speak. I fight for the ones who get shoved into corners, who others push and pull, who others spew all of their projections on. 

You think me harsh? I do understand why the bully becomes the bully. I do understand how the bully becomes the bully. He's a victim, too. But, I don't speak for them. Someone else can do that.

Look at the stars in the sky that shine and burn bright and you want me to believe that there's something better or more worthy of my attention than that in this world? Here, beneath my feet? That I ought to look to the other for inner strength and fortitude? That I should take my cues from the small and the mindless? The ones who rely on acquiring things for their happiness?

I find a boulder nearby, sit down and look over the water. I see the waves come rushing in like thoughts competing for attention. 

I take my bones and play some music. I make friends with the clashing of sounds...the sounds from within and without.

I let myself come back home to this place that is neither here or there...a place that only I can reach...a place that can only reach me.

Oh, here comes a thought delivered by my heart, as a result of the healing music...

My name is Rose. I am sitting on Irish soil by the Irish sea with my Irish bones. My heart gently taps and whispers so as not to offend, "Time to forgive." And so I do...while also giving them thanks. Not for helping me become who I am - I will not and cannot give them credit for that - but for helping me see what I will never be!