53.
Personal
Getting ugly
A ‘friend’ visited my apartment and complained of a rusty type smell and
later when invited for a dinner made an excuse not to come. The smell was
due to cardboard boxes containing books, ceramics, pottery, other
‘chochiks’ that belonged to my mom taken out of storage waiting to be
sorted. Normally I would let this pass but this time I felt violated and
judged. I retorted by insulting the person and saying ugly things. I
had taken the low road. Still, I allowed myself to do so. My insides
were stirred and this was an outlet. It felt alive and even though wrong,
I was energized.
Why this way I asked later? It seemed the easiest way to go.
Suppressing the outrage took just as much work as not. Perhaps, as a
participant in this life, it was my turn to play the brat, the bad cop, the
stopper. Usually one says they will get theirs and moves on. Not
this time. This time I was the chosen one, the low one. What about
being an emissary of peace? What about being light and flowing? What
about silence and patience? Not this time, not this time. I am not
above any behavior.
Perhaps there is some therapeutic value in this, reliving the past and able
this time to speak up. Perhaps all the childhood nonsense has to be
regurgitated and purged, only this time around in the safety zone of knowing an
above. Perhaps, my ‘tit’ for their ‘tat’ is just an old CD that has to wear out
to make room for an intelligent silence.
Oh this life, this everything, again I am amazed and humbled by it all.
Personal
Getting ugly
A ‘friend’ visited my apartment and complained of a rusty type smell and
later when invited for a dinner made an excuse not to come. The smell was
due to cardboard boxes containing books, ceramics, pottery, other
‘chochiks’ that belonged to my mom taken out of storage waiting to be
sorted. Normally I would let this pass but this time I felt violated and
judged. I retorted by insulting the person and saying ugly things. I
had taken the low road. Still, I allowed myself to do so. My insides
were stirred and this was an outlet. It felt alive and even though wrong,
I was energized.
Why this way I asked later? It seemed the easiest way to go.
Suppressing the outrage took just as much work as not. Perhaps, as a
participant in this life, it was my turn to play the brat, the bad cop, the
stopper. Usually one says they will get theirs and moves on. Not
this time. This time I was the chosen one, the low one. What about
being an emissary of peace? What about being light and flowing? What
about silence and patience? Not this time, not this time. I am not
above any behavior.
Perhaps there is some therapeutic value in this, reliving the past and able
this time to speak up. Perhaps all the childhood nonsense has to be
regurgitated and purged, only this time around in the safety zone of knowing an
above. Perhaps, my ‘tit’ for their ‘tat’ is just an old CD that has to wear out
to make room for an intelligent silence.
Oh this life, this everything, again I am amazed and humbled by it all.
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