In my hind memory..
It was only a matter of time that I would have to face the inevitable.
I mean, it’s been nearly four years since the fallout.
I’m not even sure if it can be described with a simple word or sentence or perhaps even in a cohesive collection of essays highlighting that which has affected me to my core, resulting in the questioning of my very existence. For this plight remains the same and upon reflection of the young girl I grew out of, she pulls at my skirt hem, reminding me of her omnipresence.
I’m convinced the questions led to a realization that I would never be certain in my answer. This was the only certainty–uncertainty. I guess that week long course at the Chopra Centre, along with a myriad of similar workshops taken over the years, left an imprint. Still, no course or workshop can teach you what life’s experiences do, for it is in the very experience and realization of such, that understanding and growth occurs–often painfully so. These old bones, oh how they ache!
In my hind memory, I want to say it was with ease to come to terms with this, yet even as I record these things, with the intention of sharing…(pause)…perhaps I’m not ready yet….
I abandoned my plight once again in fear of another shaming from a society not yet ready to engage with what I lay down. It is in this state of vulnerability, that truth exists, yet my witness is but a judge and a court full of jestures. all is scorned and laughed at and denied, for who am I to speak of things I do not know. And what privilege have I, if even in my truth, I submit to the consequence equivalent of a Spanish necktie?
It is now the 12th of October 2014.
I last left this trail on the late morning of July 9th 2014.
..and I continue…
I have somehow manifested a reality beyond my dreams. I would have never guess at being in this very spot, so far from the reality that kept me stuck in its whirling stories like that of a dervish. Not even eye can stop in all its dizziness.
I have lost all control of my life, in every aspect and found myself bound to a hospital bed bleeding from the wounds I kept open for too long. I could not create a safe place, for I too fell victim to the illusions and stories others told, until they fell from the lips of mine own parched mouth.
I became what I was not in the cast away and shaming that was too familiar from once unto the tribe and now perceived at it were, from a society and in my stricken state, when perhaps I needed friends and family by my bedside, not one appeared.
Instead, those of angels took their place and in my suffering I observed the play on my life’s stage and all of the gestures feigned for so many days. Years have passed. That now, in my time of need, I could only be blessed with the presence of angels, the kind that embodied and defined the true friend and sister, even the mother I until now, never knew.
Yet the one angel, my son, remained steadfast, although ignorant to the fact that he was lacking in enough understanding one gains through maturity…and sadly , life’s disappointments and acceptance of such things. Even what the ideal of mother would be in his young eyes. I was surely a disappointment.
Still it remained, that I stood before mine own shattered reflection of a million pieces, wailing fist upon fist, blood drenched knuckles as evidence of such self-hatred non-acceptance and denial. That I should do such a thing, react and lash out toward oneself until with fractured reflection and a fixed blind eye I became, this distorted reality.