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had a great fall

had a great fall

Well Poop, I am Humpty Dumpty.

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I was trying to figure out which Fairy Tale was most like my life. I really dont know why I was trying to figure this out, but it seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. I have had great perseverence historically and I thought about Jack and the Beanstalk originally. I couldnt come up with a specific example for an analogy of the beans. Sure, I could have called them the false gods I seem so attracted to. They could be emotional escape, intimacy, alcohol, television, whatever. But I dont think I would climb that high without a harness.

I kept thinking of the squeeky clean exterior I wore as a mask for decades. My outward appearance was pretty shiny. It became impermeable to mild assault. It repelled and maintained its luster. Inside was gelatinous goo. I protected the vulnerable insides with a smirk and sarcastic wave. I was deft enough to avoid many a calamity. In fact, when things did arise, I would immediately call attention to them so that others could tell my exterior how wonderful it appeared. I kept hoping the kind words and support would make it through the impermeable wall I had set up. Nothing could get in or out. The goo had spoiled and had begun to stink, the shell held its ground.

I perched on a wall, far removed from other people. I went to meditate and consider my plight. I had been told that an egg was only half a life. What I needed was another half. I needed to be completed. I had searched and found someone willing to take on the job. My shell grew thicker instead of thinner. We both faked happiness as we clamored internally to the sounds and fume of rotting souls.

I had been told that success, power, women, money, recreation, even God…. would restore my soul. It would allow me to relax and direct my life. The shell held its ground. I knew no other way to protect my fragile insides.

Ever wonder what caused Humpty to fall? Was he pushed in an attempted murder? Did the wind blow and he simply lost balance? Did he jump? Was he staring into the future and longingly trying to grasp it? Did he scream to God that he could no longer continue on? Did the pressure of the fumes and gaseous emissions inside build up an unsustainable level? Was it all of the above?stock-photo-an-egg-is-broken-306767045

I hit the ground and cracked. I shattered. I felt the foul ooze seep on the ground. I watched as my shell splintered and scattered. I smiled. There was instant relief. I knew that the insides would repulse others. I knew that I was fetid and broken at that point, but I wasnt fighting to hide. Despite the relief and the freedom, I tried to put the pieces back together. It was a fantasy, but I thought if I hurried, no one would noticed. I could be decorative porcelin with age cracks. I struggled to imagine life without my shell. I was defenseless. I called upon others to help me. They were royalty in my mind, or near to it. I demanded they helped. I begged them to help. They tried, noses wrinkled. They tried to ignore the sticky goo. They searched for shell. They had creative substitutes for the pieces they couldnt find. I patched the shell with other false gods. I tried to be someone new with the same broken and now defunct shell.

I also forgot to collect the insides. I rebuilt the shell, but left the goo. I was hollow. More importantly, there was nothing inside to rot, nor to heal. I had effectively allowed myself to not hurt, but I wouldnt be able to love. I had a body, but no soul. I had a structure, but no function. I was inert.

As I looked at the goo on the sidewalk, I wondered if I was an unfertilized half being. Did I need something to complete me? Was it the insides that mattered and the outsides were useless? I imagined trying to be just the amorphous blob sliding through life. I would have emotions. I would be open. I would be vulnerable. There would be nothing hidden. The carrion birds I had in my life began to carry away parts of my goo. The soul and the heart of who I was were pecked at, tormented, and assaulted. With wrinkled nose and a fake smile, I was urged to climb. I was urged to perform. My non existent shell was beheld and complimented like the emperor’s new clothes. It felt great to feel appreciated. It felt great to imagine I was loved. I think I knew it wouldnt last, but I held on to it. I wanted to be seen and accepted for my insides. When it was exposed as a scam by the same people that had imagined it, I was again defamed and left to rot.stock-photo-an-egg-is-broken-306767042

It came as a whisper. It came as the wind. It was a warm breeze and a chilling breath. I am not half. I am not inside nor outside. I am both and that is whole. I am permeable protection. I need shame resilience, and self regulation. I need to defend myself from the hate and hurt from others, but I also get to enjoy my insides. I get to grow and nuture. I get to cherish the stuff inside for its limitations and triumphs. I am a whole egg and a good egg at that.

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Posted by on November 18, 2015 in divorce, faith, journey, life

 

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Boris, Natasha– you un-rock

I needed to warn you about my last post. You see, apparently when you acknowledge the swirling spectors around you, it is the same as welcoming them in. Let me tell you how I discovered this. I decided to go on a bike ride after that post. I love to ride and consider it a meditation. I delight in the fatigue of my muscles, the pounding of my heart and the quickening of my breathing. I loaded up my bike and headed to the trailhead.  I am listening to a CD describing Buddhist meditation and mindfulness. The author spoke of recognizing your breathing. I had already been thinking how breath and spirit come from the same word, Ruah, which means wind. I thought of the swirling wind around me and saw it as breath. The exercise was to breath in naming a loved one and breath out asking for peace for them. I started with the name foremost on my mind, my ex girlfriend. I went through names, acknowledging them, their peace, and my own emotion.

Do you remember the Rocky and Bullwinkle show? In with the bad air, out with the good? Natasha and Boris didn’t really have it backwards as the voice over suggested. The opposite is obviously the goal, but it doesn’t always happen like that. The deep breath we take at pivotal moments in our life can cause two different reactions. It can suck in the distasteful and painful or it can begin the healing. The spirit of memory isn’t good or bad, it is how we react.

As I rode my bike, I pedaled as hard as I could. It is very hot here today. I was tired and sweaty. I am also afraid of snakes and had my attention on the brush, hoping I wouldn’t get bit. That isn’t completely true, I spent some time thinking about what I would do if I got bit. I imagined telling those in my life that I loved them. I imagined the hospital. I even imagined that the shock of me being near death would awaken the love from my daughters and ex-girlfriend. Part of me wanted it to happen just so I could be reunited with them. As you can tell, my mind wonders quite a bit when I ride. My breath quickened, heart pounded, and body sweat. I imagined the wind moving in and through me. I have been consumed with memories and regrets as of late. I am practicing acknowledging them and letting them go. I think that sometimes we let the ghosts in and then try and wrestle them or forcibly kick them out. It remind me of an internal greased pig capture. You cant hold on to it and it just runs faster as you chase it. When you are exhausted, you have spent all your energy and time and resources chasing the uncaptureable. I was imagining breathing in the spector and then letting it flow out. The problem in my ever-wondering mind, was that I thought since I was going so fast, breathing so hard, that I was catching up with my expelled breath. Self torment seems to be a hobby of mine.

I breath in and breath out. I try not to label the memories as good or bad. They just are. I let them in and let them out. Sometimes I imagine that I am Boris and Natasha, self sabotaging my breathing. I remind myself to just breath. I opened myself to the wind, and the wind infused. Not sure I was prepared for this. Breath  Sure hope this works.

 

 
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Posted by on June 26, 2015 in journey

 

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so, how long you been dead

I was the dead person the little boy saw. It was a long day, being dead and all. I wasn’t certain that I was dead at first. That made for some awkward moments. You may not know this, but when you are dead the living are not so polite to you. Its really criminal. I have started a petition for the equitable treatment for the living impaired, but that’s a different blog. My first encounter with this was with my ex-wife. Apparently, once you are among the soul less individuals, treating people as people is no longer required. The first step to separate yourself from the recently dead is to send an email to everyone you have ever had contact with. What you need to do is taunt the newly dead and point out all the things that have strangled the life out of the departed. IT is like a game. If you overshoot the victim role, you end up squarely in the perpetrator role. Its the balance beam of subterfuge. The next step is to turn to the family. This is a much more delicate operation. There is more history with the relatives. They understand that the loved one was once living and , in the living, had some very alive moments and some near dead moments. The way to circumnavigate this is to isolate them. You make sure there is no contact with the dead. Changing the locks and having the loved ones refer to the dead by a foreign name helps. Don’t worry about your own soul or about being honest, the dead aren’t welcome in courts and if you slid yourself into the victim role, the departed are now the perpetrator. Make sure that you are caustic and over dramatic each time you interact with the dead. You must keep up appearances at all waking moments.

The second experience was with a woman I dated.  I still had not recognized I was dead and was actually feeling much better.  Maybe I was only mostly dead. I enjoyed a new living with her. I loved very deeply. We played. We laughed. We cried. It was like nothing I had ever experienced in my former life. It scared the living shit out of me. A few months into the relationship, I started to feel my spector self. I recognized my death through counseling and some new friends I had made. The stink of death had not completely left me. I wanted to address it, but it is overwhelming. The spector weaved in and out of my new life. The taunts and humiliation of the past weaved through my being. I tried to talk about it, to address it. The living don’t want to hear from the dead. She pulled away and I panicked. I tried to re-engage in life and living. I feared the return of death. I died all over again. I didn’t like being dead, but I had not figured out how to be alive completely. I have only now recognized my re-death and progressed to live again. However, I am dead to her.

The fascinating thing I learned while dead is that our memories and unresolved traumas stay as ghosts. They are like the wind. The swirl around the living, blocking them from connection with the other living. IF the dark memories, traumas, and insecurities aren’t dealt with, they grow and multiply. The swirling becomes violent. They are isolated from the next step, the light of the world. The living cant see them. They grow slowly enough that the choking is subtle. You grow accustomed to it. The living wonder through a half existence in the midst of a swirl, a dermish. At variable intervals, part of the swirl dives into the corporeal. The ephereal infuses the body and mind. It taints and taunts. The dark diminishes the light. It confuses. IT misdirects. For my new life, it cost me love. IT always costs the price of the moment. IT seems real. It seems like a tangible force. IT feels like being hit by a truck. When it leaves the body, the ghost droppings remain. It stinks up the living. It has to be found and cleaned. Sometimes, the recently departed become part of the swirl. The pain and hurt and other emotions that accompany the memories are darker when compared to the light that was present days, months or years before.

Be Still and know I am God. These words to me quiet the swirl. It recognizes that the swirl and the turmoil are inevitable.  Letting the swirl torment you is optional.  Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. The wind has to be recognized. It has to be addressed. If the pain is too great, too violent, it will be there when the living is able to deal with it. It will infuse eventually, the swirl is constant and unpredictable. Being aware of it, addressing it deliberately, honestly, and compassionately is the key to knowing God.

 
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Posted by on June 26, 2015 in divorce, journey

 

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missing

I will miss you.

I am saying farewell to my daughters for awhile today. It was a few years ago that my older daughter spewed venom at me. She was victim to some very nasty parental alienation. She was very similar to me and her mother spoke of how much she hated me and how bad I was. It translated to my daughter that 1/2 of her was less than dirt. She rejected anything that was like me. Her anger increased as she couldn’t get away from herself. I listened to her read the letter that stated she would not see me again. It was filled with hate, venom, and barbed wire. I listened. I thanked her for her honesty. I stated I wished she didn’t have to feel this way, and that I love her. It was the last time I saw her for any length of time.

My youngest daughter is ready to live life without me. It has been very hard on her. The difficulty of trying to be in two places emotionally and in two different attitudes was ripping her apart. She has stopped contacting me at all or responding to my contacts.

I miss them. I tried everything I knew to do. Then I asked what else to do and tried that. I tried to hold on. I tried to fight.  But my holding and fighting seemed to only make it worse.

I thought of Solomon. Solomon stood before two women claiming a child as their own. The fight was brutal. He declared the child should be cut in half. The woman that couldn’t bare to see it was thought to be the mother. My fighting and holding has served to tear them apart. I have to let go. I cant hurt them anymore.

I thought of Hannah, mother of Samuel. She received a blessing from God and was totally willing to let it go. She released her son back to God.

I miss you. I love you. I release what I want more than anything.

 
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Posted by on May 11, 2015 in children, divorce

 

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anguish

There were 2 babies in the parable about Solomon tearing the baby in half to give one to each who claimed to love the child. The first child was being torn apart. One parent had made a mistake. IT caused the disagreement and the ensuing war. Still, there was love and tenderness. he longed to be with his children. The other parent was wounded. Their pride was damaged and out of fear and pain, poison had been given to the child to confuse the brain and cloud the soul. The only way to understand the child would be to look at her heart. The child wailed in pain and torment. The poison worked and fueled the anger and dismay. Solomon was frustrated and confused.
solomon baby
Both parents feigned caring. Both parents seem to want the child. He pronounced custody. The child wailed as she realized the torment would continue. One parent dropped to their knees. hearing the screams, seeing and feeling the pain, he let go. For now. He knew the child might not ever come back, the poison had gone deep and wide. However, he could not bare causing the pain he saw. He let go.

The other child swang on the hands of both parents. Happy and joyous, she seemed content and untainted. She loved well and she loved without reservation. It would be some time later. The poison spilled from the first onto the second. The parent who took the first, celebrated her victory of winning the child, lauded it over the second child as proof of how she should let go of the hand. He felt the hand slipping from his and tried to hold on tighter. He asked for help, he shared, he panicked, and he loved. Standing before Solomon again, he remembered the nights of horrific pain. He recalled the tears and torment. He felt the pain of letting go. He couldn’t imagine living through that again. He smelled the poison on his child and saw the venom oozing from the serpentine teeth of his former love. He prepared for a battle. He came to fight and win. There was a glimmer from the face of his child. He quickly glanced, wanting to keep his eyes on the attack. There was a single tear on her cheek. Her eyes seemed not lost, not angry, but confused.
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He knelt down and dropped his weapons. He cried and told the child that he loved her with all his heart. He loved her, her sibling, and even her mother. He would always be ready to welcome her. He just couldn’t cause more pain. He let go of her hand.

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA


The pain was excrutiating. The noise deafening. The smirk on the parents face as they led the child of joy away was nothing short of evil.

 
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Posted by on May 7, 2015 in children, divorce

 

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sucking chest wounds

I am made of Velcro. I seem to let fear hump my leg like an annoying dog, then attach itself to my chest. It is almost like I believe that if I have fear, at least I don’t have pain. Its a lie I tell myself.

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I have spent a huge amount of time over the last 8 years, and more so over the last 3, digging into the muck and filth of my heart and soul. I have surveyed, considered, addressed, dispensed of so much pain, so much turmoil, I had thought I was done with it. About 3 years ago, I discovered some more pain and more filth. The fear that hid it from view was tenacious, a yellow eyed, heavily armored demon. The implosion and explosion of my life and soul was just barely able to shake it loose. It left me with a sucking chest wound.

The sound was deafening. All of the horrors I had dispelled came back with such force and such glee. It was a homecoming of terror, bewilderment, fear, and despair. The yellow eyed demon of fear scampered back to cover the wound. I had learned to use it to protect myself as I grew up and hid. It was only then that I recognized it as holding the pain inside, not protecting me from more. The noise of the inner turmoil, the cacophony of despair was louder than the sucking chest wound and felt comfortable. It was something I knew.

I went back to work, allowing God to remove the fear. I sorted, surveyed, considered, addressed and asked God to dispense the character defects once again. I thought it was over. I felt relief. I seemed to feel the warmth of the Spirit of the Universe working in and through me. I started to rejoin life. But Fear and Pain are like a foreign body in a wound. It isn’t really going to heal while that is present. In fact, the wound festers. Eventually, all the healing is for naught.

th5CKMUA0U

When my fears laughingly deflated my life again by ending the relationship with my girlfriend, the wound opened and festered. The wound opened and sucked in the Panic and Despair. The wound roared a horrible roar, and gnashed its awful teeth. As I saw the relationship deflate, and I heard the whirlwind, I knew the Pain would return. It did. I have been trying to work on it again, and thought I was approaching the feeling that I could pray for her to just be happy and content with or without me. I prayed the same thing for my ex wife and my estranged daughters. I felt the emotions. I allowed healing.

I was getting better, but the final blow on parental alienation. I am having to make a decision to let my daughter go and not pursue the legal wranglings that would just reinforce her resistance. I am having to accept that this is what my ex wife wanted and has attained. The wound opened. The sound returned. The fears, the pain, the insecurities attached to me like Velcro. They were gone. They were removed. But when I felt the rejection and pain, I invited it all back again. I let the Velcro adhere. I panic and try and cover the whole. The closest items are fear and the hurt. It makes it worse but dulls the noise. I scream in pain. I ask God for help. He is there, he begins to pull the fear away. He strips the despair. He whispers and it is louder than the wound.

JesusvsDemons

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2015 in children, divorce, faith, journey, life

 

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live, life, and love

At first, I was afraid. I was petrified.

I am not sure why this song keeps ringing in my head as of late. I have been on both sides of that song, I have been the survivor and the one who hurt with goodbye. I have even been both at the same time. I don’t like either role, however.  don’t get me wrong, I admire my perseverance and ability to survive for some nasty life circumstances. However, that isn’t really the crux of that song.

I have some odd intimacy issues that I am working through. I would even say that I was dangerously close to a relationship addict. I was certainly in a 20 year marriage that had a multitude of addictive characteristics.  After I got out of the marriage and started dating a wonderful woman, I slid right back into some of those destructive habits. It is all I knew and a coping mechanism for some very hurtful internal struggles. I am so thankful the experience revealed some pretty core issues I needed to work on. I am also pretty remorseful that it cost me a love relationship and my best friend in the process. My fear was of being alone. I “kept thinking I could never live life without (you) by my side.” I was petrified that I needed someone by my side to tell me I was ok or I wouldn’t be ok. I feared being alone and clung to people.  However, I also was smart enough to know that would eventually be annoying and smothering. I was afraid of attaching and I was always on alert for who I would date next if the person walked out the door. My fear and internal chains led me to feel sorry for myself and state false bravado. Id push women away, desperately wanting them to stay.

When they got sick of it and left, Id go the other way. Id be in a panic that I was alone. Id start to fear loneliness. What if I never loved again? What if I was never loved again? I’d see myself as unworthy, unlovable, undesirable. My chains would get tighter. Id choke.  If someone did come back, Id fear the hurt more than desire the connection. Id send them away, proving to myself that I wasn’t worthy. Laying down and dying would have been less painful. I had crumbled, and pieces have much more surface area to accumulate pain.

I used to think that survival was the goal. It sounds so strong in the song. Follow that up with I will stay alive and I heard power and hope. The truth for me is that neither one is all that worthy of a goal. Both imply existence, which is a good start for sure. However, they are not dynamic. Survive and live are akin to existing. You can exist and sit on the couch. You can exist and not grow. You can exist in a shame marriage. You can exist and wear a mask, cowering from interaction and your true self. You can exist in darkness, blotting out existence. You can exist and be afraid. You can exist and be petrified, solid and frozen forever.

The goal is living. Living into each moment. Embracing growth and change. The goal is living who you are and who you are becoming. The goal is perpetual journey into a better and better version of yourself. The goal is to know that when we are alone, we are the same person as when we are not. The goal is to not be afraid of true intimacy with ourselves. I needed to embrace me. I needed to know that when I sent me out the door, I had lost my best friend, my true companion. I needed to know that I could exist without my true self, but I could never live. If I was willing to be accepted or rejected by someone else and maintain my journey, I would grow. I would be able and available for a dynamic, truly intimate relationship.

I do have all my life to LIVE and all my love to give. It has to start inside.

 
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Posted by on April 30, 2015 in journey, life

 

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