I M Perfect lady

Author: bjukuri

  • “With Love always mom”

    As I began my workday yesterday morning, I am in high spirits using all my efforts to stay positive with the large volume of mail, willing myself not to get weighed down by the load.

    I am happy to start sorting letters, the tray is filled with colorful envelopes, and a gold one sits in front.

    As I pick it up, my eyes focus in on the familiar name, mine, and the handwriting is hers.

    My high spirits escape in one breath.

    The restraining letter meant nothing to her.

    The weight of the mail meant nothing compared to the heavy heart of disappointment.

    She did not honor me.

    I tossed it into my home slot, and continued on for a minute or two, and then the not knowing was too much of a distraction, so I stopped, opened it up and read.

    “Noel” is printed in fancy letters on the front, and inside the card’s message, “Wishing you peace, love and joy this Holiday Season,” and her added line, “With love always, Mom and Gramma.”

    It is ironic that what I need for peace, love and joy is for her to honor me, and yet she stomps down upon the restraining letter I sent and sends her usual card.

    Her love always is one that disregards my needs, my wishes, and me.

    I am not seen at all, as she continues on, her stride unbroken by my restraining letter to her.

    My last written words to her, my first in 6 years, was a plea for space, for her to honor and respect our silence…

    My last line was, “If you fail to honor our separation as it is, you are deliberately seeking to disrespect and hurt me; I will take it as such.”

    Her love comes in with disrespect and hurt.

    I felt it as I stood there in a mountain of mail holding a card that yet again doesn’t see me.

    Feeling abused on the inside, my feelings tore up, I tossed it back in my slot, and tried to gather myself back together to continue on.

    Her failure of honoring my words should not be a surprise, yet I guess I am the ultimate believer.

    Believing that one day she will see me, even as sit behind a wall of restraining words, that she will hear them and see me.

    See me telling her, you hurt and disrespect me.

    My words to her fall upon deaf ears.

    It’s like my needs were never written.

    Like a bad energizer bunny she keeps going and going and going.

    Her blind bullheadedness is abuse.

    She is bullying me.

    With words of love.

    Love that knows no boundaries.

    Love that doesn’t hear.

    Love of a bully.

    A one-sided affair.

    Being bullied by words of peace, love and joy.

    The juxtaposition, a card of noel, a Christmas song…carrying the tune she has always sung.

    Actions of hurt and disrespect signed, “with love always mom.

  • Words to Cover-up.

    Compassion and forgiveness when misused, covers up evil they do not delete it away.

    They become tools that are used to cover up dirt…like putting a pretty blanket over the top will change what lay beneath.

    What happens instead is you now have a dirty blanket too.

    What is so surprising to me is that many cannot see that their acts of forgiveness and compassion are fuel for evil and not only that, leave a stain on your own hands.

    I know that the words seem to have this magical power to make changes in another, but sadly the only one it changes is you.

    You become blind to the real power of evil or maybe blind to the power of truth.

    The power of the truth is often set aside for the comfort and warmth of forgiveness and compassion, and it is much easier applied.

    Kind words are spoken, prayers and intentions are muttered or uttered, words, words, words…a blanket of words.

    A blanket, which covers up the dirt/evil, becomes a veil behind which you see; eventually it is so thick you can’t see yourself.

    Not only is your sight impaired looking outward, but also the vision of your soul is hidden from view.

    In the moment I discovered all that my blanket had covered, I uncovered my soul.

    I sat with a bare soul and a dirty blanket.

    A very dirty blanket, a reality unchanged, actions unstopped, wounds unhealed, sorrows and pain lay in a heap by blanket of useless words.

    Words of morals,
    Words of value,
    Words of piety,
    Words of kindness,
    Words of forgiveness,
    Words upon words upon words…the mighty words had fallen.

    Had bounced off of evil leaving evil unscratched, words just pieces of the alphabet all jumbled up.

    My new definition of forgiveness is once again Martha Beck’s. “Forgiveness is accepting that the past will not change.” And I believe compassion is seeing what is.

    Using words to match the action, like the old sesame song, “two of things belong together, one of these things just doesn’t belong….”

    Reality needs no words to cover-up.

  • Boldly slips away unscathed.

    What struck me last night is that the definitions of good and evil in my childhood home were competing for the upper hand, that my father’s heaven was my mother’s hell, and visa versa.

    It truly is that one man’s heaven is another man’s hell.

    My father’s heaven depended upon my silence, and my mother’s actually too…she needed the image of his being just a loving dad, and he did too, both sides terrified of hell, if truth be told.

    I can see how easily it was to manipulate a child in our home, for the values contradicted each other, the front divided, two roads leading to hell if truth be spoken out loud and unforgiving.

    Life was much easier on my father and his pedophile ways, to have silence…it was much easier on my mother, for she didn’t have to know.

    She may have heard us tell our stories, but she didn’t have to believe. If you don’t believe the words spoken, you don’t have to act. If you don’t have to act, your life doesn’t change.

    It is by far harder to change, than it is to remain committed to the cause.

    The cause of us remaining all together.

    My father’s hell was the truth.
    And actually my mother’s hell is the truth as well.
    They lived in heaven in silence.

    But for me, the truth has set me free.
    Hell is being quiet…Heaven is speaking out loud and often.

    I can see how many a child faces the same thing, that the adults in the room lose big time, if the child speaks, that the ones holding our survival need us to play along, pretend and hold up the façade.

    As my friend said, “what will people think” if they knew what was really going on.

    We are to act like it is heaven, while dancing in hell, going with the flow, following the lead of those taking “care” of us.

    Preachers preach of the evil on the outside, while we are imbedded in the camp of evil on the inside.

    What is up and what is down, who is right and who is wrong, or is our camp of evil far reaching?

    The compound has its own boundaries that reach far and wide.

    I know that when I first discovered the evil in my childhood, I quickly seen the churche’s evil, and then even the law of the land.

    Claiming to be the fighters of evil, while many are incapable to actually combat it when they see it face to face.

    When evil knocks at their door, some bless it.
    Some reduce the charges and set it free.
    Some open up their homes allowing access to more little girls.
    Some love evil as a way to heaven.

    The list is long and powerful.

    We are dancing with the devil each time evil knocks and we treat it with goodness, kindness, fairness, compassion, etc.

    Evil dances in our faces, showing us all that it is, an unruly force, taunting our weak defenses, it boldly slips away unscathed.

  • Morale within a Cult.

    What I am finding so intriguing or mind bending as I contemplate Evil, is that Evil is literally defined in the eye of the beholder, there seems to be a personal preference accommodation, not an official Evil standard we all go by.

    I was going to say that we all believe killing is wrong, but in war we say it is okay. Well, okay for us to kill, but not be killed. We swing and spin in our definitions…

    Evil seems hard to pin down so that all looking at it will agree, there seems to be a viewpoint that changes evil into good and good into evil.

    This has to be what divides us that we can’t even agree on what defines evil in humanity.

    What also makes it hard is that you can be raised in evil and not know it, and be told anything outside of your home and church is wrong, and you believe it. Fearing what you don’t know.

    You believe it until you don’t believe it and then you find it hard that you ever could have believed what you believed.

    Life after cult is an incredible ride, it has such fluid openness and freedom, a sense of being an individual unattached and unfettered, a free spirit.

    Free spirits are bad for morale within a cult.

  • Mask of High Morals.

    When I looked up the meaning of Evil it said “profoundly immoral or wrong.” And when I looked up the word Immoral it said ”contrary to accepted moral principles.”

    And, Moral is defined as “relating to issues of right and wrong” or “derived from personal conscience: based on what somebody’s conscience suggests is right or wrong, rather than on what rules or the law says should be done.”

    So evil is breaking the moral code.

    What happens in a family where the moral code is twisted, if right is wrong and wrong is right?

    When a child breaks that code, instead of being right, the family actually sees them as evil, for they broke the family’s moral code.

    I am surprised that evil is actually defined more by morals or immoral behavior than actual rules and laws.

    Discerning evil is harder when what you call normal is evil and good is a foreign concept.

    Evil is actually only a personal affront to your own morals. And the morals are personal to you.

    Morals, “according to common standard of justice: regarded in terms of what is known to be right or just, as opposed to what is officially or outwardly declared to be right or just.”

    What is known to be right or just, not what is an official right or wrong.

    My teachings of evil or my awareness of morals were defined by my parents and my mother’s religion, the churches conscience was my mothers.

    Evil is going against the morals…and if the morals themselves are evil, then what?

    Raised in a vaccum of evil morals all good becomes evil.

    Imagine living up to evil morals…where the gold standard is far beneath its value, where bad is seen as good and good bad.

    It seem perposterous, incredibly insane, to not recognize evil, the evil of the norm. But when your evil was defined by a limited cult of religious fanatics, you are then raised to see anything outside the walls of the churches morals to be wrong.

    The church wore a mask of high morals.

  • A whole You.

    I listened yesterday as Dr. William Petit talked to Oprah about the evil that came into his life that destroyed his wife, his two daughters, and his home, that when it left, there was very little of himself standing, he was a man he didn’t even know.

    A few points struck me as he talked, one is how evil feels looking at it from the inside, and how he used to see evil somewhere out there, a distant thing. He was introduced to evil in a very large way, and it totally changed who he is and how he sees the world.

    There is a huge difference between understanding intellectually what evil is, in comparison to living in the throes of what it destroys, what it takes away and what lay in the aftermath and how you will deal when it comes knocking.

    Feeling evil and its energy and knowing how it tromps into life with no regard to life and feelings, is to feel evil’s blindness to another human being.

    Oprah asked him about forgiveness and evil, and I can’t remember his words, but I understand his feelings on this. That forgiveness is no match against evil.

    Forgiveness always seems to take on the image of being able to negate what happened, to find a place of peace in spite of the hole that evil left behind, or perhaps not even acknowledging the hole it left behind.

    Society has this unchallenged ideal that forgiveness trumps evil, that forgiveness can change evil.

    I believe what he is saying is that evil is an actual phenomena that we can’t change by forgiveness and that we are to acknowledge its power.

    The energy of evil is to destroy; to hurt, to deliver pain, it isn’t warm and fuzzy.

    I thought he sat in the middle of what is, in the center of what happened and described what evil feels like and how it changes who you are.

    The challenge left behind is who will you now become?

    I watched a few clips, and you can see he is still freshly wounded, that it pains him to talk and how he is trying to wrap his mind around such sudden drastic changes in his life.

    Holding on trying to focus on the good, bringing more good, trying to not succumb to the negative pull of drowning or giving up.
    He describes closure, as the hole will eventually lose its ragged edges that waves of goodness will wash over those rough spots leaving them smooth, but the hole will always remain open, a hole in his heart and soul.

    I agree.

    It is also an opening to find your authentic self, a you that stands behind the roles and titles, a you that lives beyond the surface of life; the hole drops you into the center of your being.

    Being a whole you.

  • Act of Forgetting.

    I was greeted at a mailbox yesterday by a bundled up smiling lady, her eyes bright and her cheeks rosy, I handed her her mail, commenting on one letter.

    It was a card from her to someone, and I had brought it back for her.

    She had just put the person’s name, but no address or stamp. I said we didn’t know where her friend lived and that usually we needed a stamp.

    She chuckled with delight at herself, finding her error funny and looked at me shyly.

    I told her we brought it back for her to finish; she smiled and said, “thank you, I am glad you did,” clutching it to her chest.

    I explained to her that we didn’t know her friend or where she lived, but that if she could help us out with a few more hints, we would deliver it….

    I left her standing there, arms full of mail, smiling at herself…”keep warm”, she said as I drove away…”I will, and you too” I hollered back.

    Her energy and spirit rode along with me in my jeep, amidst the boxes and packages, bringing a smile to my face every now and then…picturing her delight when she seen her half written card and her eyes as they met mine.

    A kindred spirit.

    For I recalled my daughter’s comment to me that morning, “Mother you left all the cupboard doors open.”

    I smiled that same smile seeing the evidence of me making a cup of tea, caught in the act of forgetting.

  • A Cracked Lady that is Imperfectly Me.

    I am trying to lay on paper the picture I present to the world; how I am learning about a life I lived unknowingly to me, mourning that life, while living this life today.

    The combination is insane at times.

    Finding parts of myself that were missing, living them, and then releasing them and mourning their loss, at the same time I am living in the present building a life and feeling this life, a combination of present and past, mourning and living, dying and being born.

    My broken past revealing itself and its corrections laid back into the foundation, rebuilding me and who I am.

    Like building a new foundation on a fully built house, taking out one brick at a time, without moving the whole structure, yet the whole structure eventually changes.

    Being a caterpillar while making a butterfly without a cocoon.

    Living naked in the midst of change.

    Each broken brick creates a past I tentatively embrace, knowing it changes who I am and how I live today.

    Like picking up pieces of a puzzle wondering what the final picture will reveal.

    Perhaps the whole change is who I am, that I am the combination of a life of denial, a life of destructing that and rebuilding.

    I am the pot, the crack, the broken pot, and the glued backed together one.

    A cracked lady that is imperfectly me.

  • We poured ourselves out for them.

    The two main things I have been striving to achieve are to mend a broken heart and to find my sense of lucidity.

    There are times when the brokenness obscures my vision of sanity.

    Perhaps a broken heart causes insanity.

    It is impossible to discern the cause and affect.
    What came first?

    As I head into each situation, past memory, old relationship, investigating and probing, I usually become more lucid and sane and find no love.

    What is so unsettling is that I can have my sanity back, but can’t find love there.

    It seems the wires of insanity are laced with love, wrapped and wound tightly together, like white on rice, that you can’t separate the two.

    Trying to leave love unaffected while becoming lucid, is to maintain a loving family amidst the evidence of dysfunction.

    I see the love change before my eyes, as my eyes grow clearer and clearer, its to see the secondary picture emerge that has always been there, just obscured by my love.

    My insanity fades into lucidness, my love I see was poured into containers with holes.

    Leaking out not held dear.

    I can see clearly now where I poured all my love, see now where it lay abandoned and betrayed, my efforts long forgotten, my undying faithfulness cheated upon, like a used container tossed aside after its contents enjoyed.

    I see the me that was so faithful to the unfaithful.
    I see the me that was so trusting to the untrusting.
    I see the me that was so giving to the ungiving.

    I see me doing the right thing to the wrong people.
    That no matter how much I gave, I couldn’t change the people in front of me, that it is impossible to add love, trust, faith and a giving spirit to someone else.

    And I also think, I came really close in losing that spirit within me, that when the outside doesn’t change, you believe that your love isn’t good enough.

    Your faith isn’t strong enough.
    Your trust isn’t trusting enough…you are the problem, you didn’t try hard enough.

    Insanity is trying to make a loving person by loving them more.
    Insanity is trying to make a giving person by giving them more.
    Insanity is trying to make a trusting person by trusting them more.

    When, evidence showed the first time you walked up to them and handed them, your love, trust and faith, they tore them up.

    Somehow someway, as a child, we keep bringing them more and more, believing that if only we could be good enough, they could see love and kindness within us.

    We look to them to find the value in us.

    What is so shocking to see is the emptiness there, I see them not seeing me at all, and perhaps it is the empty container in front of them.

    We poured ourselves out for them.

  • What steals my Lucidness.

    Lucid – suffused with light, Luminous
    Having full use of one’s faculties, Sane
    Clear to the understanding, Intelligible

    Lately in my dreams I am more aware, allowed to make a different choice in old nightmares. They are cut short, for I turn around knowing where that dream is headed, I exit the dream.

    It is like I found the power to shut off the night terrors.

    In my childhood I dreamed often of the Houghton Hancock Bridge falling down while I was on it. The theme was the same, bridge going down, me in the middle and safety impossible to reach, and I would awaken spent and terrified so grateful it was only a dream.

    The other night, I was approaching the bridge, and it appeared to be going under the water, I turned and left the scene.

    Now, I am not certain what the ‘experts’ would say Lucid dreaming is, but for me it is when I can make a choice that ends the night terror, prior once it began I had to ride it out, suffering as my emotions were kidnapped.
    And yesterday I thought if there is lucid dreaming, then it must be possible to have lucid awake time.

    In lucid awake time, you are aware, having full use of one’s faculties, sane with clear understanding.

    It is like having lucid consciousness. And I feel oftentimes my dreams are showing me my unconsciousness, so I am lucid about that as well.

    The more lucid you are the less I feel you will be kidnapped by circumstances, that you will be able to be have control of self even if the scene isn’t to your liking.

    We can have waking nightmares, where it feels impossible to survive this moment in time, where the daily dream grabs hold of us and doesn’t let us go.

    The key I feel is to change your usual reaction.

    One change and the nightmare becomes a dream a nice day dream, a friendly moment in time, coming bearing gifts of understanding, showing you where you are out of control, trying to give you back your lucidness.

    Having full use of your faculties’ means that no matter what, you will stay in your center, and not lose control to the dream scene as it unfolds.

    Yesterday at work could have been a package nightmare, but instead I took control, while my boss was losing it.

    The numbers overwhelmed, I had 61 and my buddy had 113, my boss stressed not knowing how we would deliver all.

    There literally is a limit, so I told her we would do our limit and leave the rest behind, we would take the priorities first and the third class would wait until tomorrow, and tomorrow we would do the same, just dealing with what must go.

    It is surprising how the packages lost their dominance and their weight, how they meekly sat awaiting their fate, once we realized it is us who has the power over them.

    Not losing control of your faculties, remaining sane and not allowing the packages to take hold of your emotions, means you changed you in the scene.

    What is so insane is that we believe that the package can control our emotions, yet it is us, we allow them to make or break a day, to steal our peace, to drain us completely, we let go of the control of our emotions.

    A thing, an item, a circumstance, a part of the whole daydream, hijacks us without a gun, they just arrive and we throw up our hands and become hostage.

    It is incredible when you literally look at what has power over you and how it is gleaned.

    Imagine being weaker than a package that has no voice, no emotions, nothing. Innocently it is just a box that covers a gift, an item purchased, a toy, an item of clothing, a thing the box holder order, nothing more and nothing less, it is.

    Who lost its faculties, not the box, it remained unchanged, a perfect rendition of a package, while the human being in the room, danced a dance showing her vulnerabilities.

    Today I will watch to see what steals my lucidness.