I M Perfect lady

Tag: unknowing

  • Dark Space of Unknowing.

    Deepak Chopra writes in The Book of Secrets about the caterpillar changing into a butterfly.

    “Outside my window in winter I can usually spy at least one chrysalis dangling from a branch.  Inside it a caterpillar has turned into a pupa that will emerge in the spring as a butterfly. We are all familiar with this metamorphosis, having witnessed it as children (or by reading Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar).  But what goes on invisibly inside the chrysalis remains deeply mysterious. The caterpillar’s organs and tissues dissolve into an amorphous, soup like state, only to reconstitute in to a structure of a butterfly’s body that bears no resemblance to a caterpillar at all.”

    “Science has no idea why metamorphosis evolved.  It is almost impossible to imagine that insects hit on it by chance – the chemical complexity of turning into a butterfly is incredible; thousands of steps are minutely interconnected.  (It’s as if you dropped off a bicycle at the shop to be repaired, and when you came back the parts had become a Gulfstream Jet.)”

    “But we do have some idea about how this delicate chain of events is linked. Two hormones, one called juvenile hormone, and the other ecdysone, regulate the process, which looks to the naked eye like the caterpillar is dissolving into soup.  These two hormones make sure the cells moving from the larva to the butterfly know where they are going and how they are to change. Some cells are told to die; others digest themselves, while others turn into eyes, antennae, and wings. This implies a fragile (and miraculous) rhythm that must remain in precise balance between creation and destruction. That rhythm, it turns out, depends on day length, which in turn depends on the earth’s rotation around the sun. Therefore, a cosmic rhythm has been intimately connected to the birth of butterflies for millions of years.”  Deepak

     

    It came to me today, that blogging the way I do with total transparency is not going to need the same things as those who blog from the cocoon.

    Writing from a cocoon hides what is going on and this is not something I am familiar with.  So I can’t be the one to say what is best for anonymous bloggers.

    But I can speak from transparency. 

    When I began writing I did so with full disclosure, it wasn’t to hide stuff, it was to shed light and to enlighten me, to find answers to who I was, as well as to leave a path for anyone who wanted to know about me.

    I wrote about the dark corners within me that I didn’t know. 

    I asked questions of the white paper and it seemed answers came if I wrote long enough.

    I never felt I had the right to have a voice and writing opened up a space for me to let it out.

    Once I got the knack of it, it seemed that the only way for me to know me was to write it out. 

    The more I wrote the more I knew and the more I knew the more I wanted to know. And slowly I began to really really know me and what I began to learn about me, I didn’t want to cover up nor did I feel the need. 

    Whether it be my mixed up mind, my flipped around thoughts and beliefs or the multiple things I did incorrectly with my backwards mind, all of it became extremely exhilarating for it all was growing a new me.  I wasn’t ashamed of who I was nor who I was becoming to be.

    It was like I was the caterpillar and I was changing and I would grieve the caterpillar parts that were dying and had to grow comfortable with the new butterfly pieces that came in their place. 

    I left my old caterpillar ways…and had to learn how to maneuver life as a butterfly. 

    What I know for sure, for me, is that I need to see me in my past, see me in my present, see what inside of me needs transformation and what needs to totally die. 

    I couldn't hide and build a butterfly me.  I had to see. 

    I would have liked there to be an etiquette book on how to navigate the rough waters of exiting a dysfunctional family and knowing how it feels and what would happen as you go from the inside of a family to the outskirts.

    How to leave abuse, is how to leave a family…

    It isn’t comfortable and there is no cocoon.  You are in the open and vulnerable for pot shots that many aim at you trying to shut you up and protect the family’s dark legacy. 

    And even more importantly, I wanted proof or evidence of my sanity.  I wanted there to be a blueprint of undoing the affects of being abused.  With so many turning away or not agreeing with me, it was a place for me to have my say.  I didn’t keep parts hidden away; I shared all of me, for there wasn’t a part of me that was too dirty or shameful for me not to see.

    It is my humble belief, if you can’t bear to see your self, you will want to remain hidden from others. But, if you have the courage to really really look at yourself and all the cracks and crevices you will find a very interesting and intriguing life. 

    You will see how you took that path or formed that opinion or learned to believe this or that.  You will discover a life that you will never ever want to cover up again and go back to live in a small dark space of unknowing. 

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Living Alive

    The word comfortable is a word that will not always speak the truth, it will not say as much about the surrounding reality, but rather your state of being.

    How do I explain being comfortable in a dysfunctional home, to be surrounded by stress and pain and be at ease and pain free?

    As I dug around in my past, in my feelings and in my head, I discovered that the only way was to deny myself.

    I looked up the word denial, but this time I seen it from my point of view, from the self.

    Denial… A refusal to comply with or satisfy a request.

    I never denied the other person or request, but I denied myself.

    I was comfortable denying myself, not looking at myself and instead used myself to make others happy. I knew that girl.

    I was comfortable in my role and in knowing what she had to do, I looked at the other and what they needed and complied.

    I never looked at me as me, or me alone. I was a very comfortable not looking at me. I could only see me as what I was for other people, there was no me alone.

    In a dysfunctional, incestual home, in a place where you are hurt, it is best to not look at yourself, it is best to become absent of self.

    Imagine I was comfortable without a self in the midst of being surrounded by pain, stress, and anxiety. I had to deny my feelings in order to stay there, and I did.

    Being self less is denying any request of the self. I was shut down to hearing or feeling my self.

    I had no connection to me, the lines were severed, I was pain free, for I was so disconnected.

    Comfortably unattached.

    When I became attached to the truths of my life, then discomfort met me, and my comfortable detachment disappeared.

    My security blanket was to keep me separated from my life and the truth that lay beneath.

    Denial kept me comfortable.

    Isn’t it amazing that denial is comfortable? Denial of self allows you to stand among uncomfortable people and places… you simply don’t bring your feelings or knowing there, you leave your self to be there.

    As I sat there in wistfulness of missing the old me, the part I missed was their reception of me, how they received me, not how I wasn’t there.

    What I know now is that they don’t like it when I bring me, when I have requests and when I don’t comply, they only want the me that doesn’t have a me there.

    They want me to be without a self.

    A self less me, to leave my self behind, to come without her…

    I don’t leave home without her…now.

    The differences in the way I live now compared to the way I lived before is with me or without me.

    Before I wasn’t there, did not exist, was living a few feet behind my life, numb shut down unaware.

    The new me is alive and aware and right here, feeling and dealing in this now moment, no longer denying her inner requests.

    The striking differences between living a life with a self inside, to hear her voice, to make her choice, compared to living a life without her, is an ocean of difference, it is like living dead or living alive.

  • This New Day!

    The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature.
    ~Joseph Campbell

    Yesterday the thought came to me how we live on the scales of worthiness, how time, and the days of week are all measured with a preset of one being more than the other.

    Mondays are way down on the scale, and Fridays pretty high, with Saturday and Sundays out weighing them both, yet if we didn’t have a calendar, if we were not taught that each sunrise came with a name we would embrace each day equally.

    Can we truly know as we scan the week in advance which day will be the most valuable? How is it possible to know ahead what will happen, what each sunrise has to offer us?

    The days don’t have a chance, for we already tagged them in a certain category, no chance to be an individual, for every seven days Dreaded Monday appears.

    The seven day cycle keeps things organized and in line, keeps the chaos back, but it also keeps back living in the moment of time, allowing each day to rise like a brand new wave, one we have never seen before, one we have not experienced before, welcoming it being brand new.

    How awful to be a Monday day, to rise and be greeted with groans, before you even had a chance to display your hours, you have been tagged, weighed and judged, all your gifts go unopened.

    Imagine living life unaware of the names of each sunrise, to live in wonderment of what possibilities await, living in the present allowing each new sunrise its own individual day.

    An individual day, unique, separated, not to be re-lived ever again, it comes but once in your lifetime.

    Hard to believe we are unaware of the special ness of each day, that it only greets us once in our lifetime.

    Once.

    So, how can we possibly know it?

    Each day is brand new it has never arrived to see you before, ever. Say Hi to this new day!

  • Steps towards mine.

    My online conversations with family are so enlightening and disturbing, confusing and clear, and they show me who they are, and how they see me.

     

    What continues to surprise me is that they hold me up to an unattainable standard and then have no standards for themselves or the rest of the folks they spend time with.

     

    Their willingness to hang on to my father and let me go leaves me forever puzzled.

     

    My latest infraction is that I knew my mother wasn’t with my father, but I said it for my benefit, for my stories benefit.

     

    I lie for the benefit of my story?

     

    My story is torrid enough without needing one drop of falseness.  They don’t make Hollywood movies that are as tainted and twisted and long-suffering as mine.

     

    I willingly admitted that I assumed wrong, and that wasn’t believed. 

     

    My mother was in my father’s new town, but refused to see him, she would get dropped off before his house and wait while they delivered ‘stuff’ to him.

     

    She was near, but not with him, sorta like when she is up here.  She is near me, but not with me. 

     

    So what does that mean?

     

    We have not had a reunion any more than they have had a divorce, it seems she lives in between.

     

    Between the ending and a new beginning, a no place.

     

    It seems to me it would be easier to end it once and for all, to complete the relationship to finalize it, like ending a contract, for until then you are nowhere, not married, but not divorced.

     

    Separated with space, living in a hammock between both lands.

     

    Her not being near him hasn’t brought her closer to me, I wonder why? 

     

    Where is she really?

     

    No steps taken to sever or to reunite.

     

    What kind of life is it to live in between, to live in the space that isn’t either side, to be free of making a choice either way?

     

    Isn’t that standing still?

    Undecided?

    Unknowing?

     

    I see her as unchanged, for even if she has left my father’s side, she hasn’t made steps towards mine.