I haven't posted in a long time. I've written, but I've not been able to post. For some reason, I need to write this one. Then I may move on to something else.
The priest said to me on Friday, "You're free." and I suppose he believes it. The trick for me is to believe it, and accept it, too.
I have prayed over and over to God to heal me, to make me a healer, to help me become the very best I can be...and all of that seems revolve around my idea that I need to be a priest...or that I want to be a priest. Wants and needs can be the same things, but not always. But I recall the pure hatred from the nuns who didn't care or understand me on any level. I asked the wrong questions, I asked too many questions...and I was always, always, always bored. The priests always took an interest in me, made me feel valued, like I really existed. If I truly loved God, then I must be a good person: a priest...and never ever a nun.
So the journey was sometimes terrifying and tragic...and it was fairly clear from the beginning, I had no one on my side. It is difficult to write about because...I am beginning to assimilate that, after 50 years, I think I have real people there with me...and like Pinocchio, I am at long last a "real boy"...or in my case a "real girl"...although that still sounds so strange, because I still have in my head very unkind images of "real girls." Only a few have offered kindness to me...most were hateful and catty and jealous, concerned with shampoos and boys...I thought of them as hens clucking in the distance, dismissing them of having no value to me. But then...I didn't realize what had happened to me...and now, after 50 years, I know.
It's not pretty. Not the kind of thing one writes about even...and I am not yet clever enough to weave the truth into some cautionary tale of fiction...though I wish that I could.
I recall, somewhere around the age of 13 or 14, after reading the book, "Go Ask Alice" that I had kind of a choice finally, I actually thought about, wrote about, becoming crazy...because reality back then was just so horrible. I thought about it. I had within me, the power to abandon the world through my mind, if I chose to do so...and knowing I could do it scared me to death.
Perhaps that was the point when I went to God in prayer and kind of gave up: I told God the world was evil and there was no escape, so I said, "use me as you wish, I will go into hell for you, because I love you that much." (Over the years, I have known others, usually women, who have made that prayer, too...let me correct that: in my readings, I have read of women who have offered themselves in this way. These women were deeply wounded by the world. I wonder if the brain finds that idea as yet one more survival technique: I cannot escape hell, so I am going to try to make hell disappear by crusading against it) Not an unusual prayer.
Factor in my Clearwater blue eyes and pleasant face, blessed with a voice that can calm even a firestorm, and that makes me a reasonable candidate for becoming a healer. That is, once I rid myself...or should I say, with God's help, survived and forgave all the evil that came my way...and that I offered out of hurt to too many gentle souls. I had been born with the power to create and destroy, to build up and to tear down...which is true of every one of us. But we cannot build up without the story...nor do we tear down without it.
In fact, I have come to understand that the story of who we are is what separates us from the animals. The story of us is the soul of us, the spirit of us is what we send out and gather in. Good and bad. Building up and tearing down. None of it means anything unless we tell the story.
I've searched in many places for help in telling my story. Many places. I recall the moments I reached out. Sometimes I was seen, sometimes I was seen and ignored, and sometimes I was completely invisible. (Now think about this for a minute: we do this everyday, all day long. We see what we choose to see, and we ignore the rest. It is a terrible reality of our humanity, which is why we must always adopt a state of forgiveness in our hearts, not just for those who wound us, but for ourselves, because we wound others when we choose to not see...some part of you knows that is true. It has to be forgiven, not ignored or dismissed...or it will haunt you later. The devil will bring it up to you in those last days, and you must be prepared)
I am seeing it all so much more clearly now. I have a calmness I did not know before. Perhaps the priest is right, I am free.
I saw my shadow...and it doesn't frighten me anymore.
As a scientist, I can never actually say to another scientist: God exists. It would waste his time and mine. But there are greater things in this universe, in this "being alive" that we have not yet even begun to understand. All of truth is accessible though, if you are willing to step out of thinking about it. Like Peter walking on the water. Yes, he began to sink the moment he began to think about it...those of us who are contemplatives, if we dare to analyze our consolations, they become something less...because we try to put them in the box of the human mind. We pay a price to tell our stories, but it is still a necessary way to help others along the path...if they want to follow the path.
In this last month, I finally faced my shadow. I went into the cave, like Luke Skywalker, carrying only what I had with me, and the only battle I had was with myself. Yoda said Luke failed in the cave. He killed his shadow. But the shadow was part of him, so he killed part of himself.
It's not that we have to kill off part of who we are to have that "happy life"...it is that we have to see it, to know what it is, and to manage it. That was the lesson that took me forever to learn. And I hated looking at my shadow, because I realize that my shadow was the one who was raising my daughter most of the time...and separating me from her, telling me I had no right to be her mother. I have recently stood as an observer and recognized it for what it was. And I have had to forgive myself for what I was not; and recognize that, for her to heal, she will have to choose to do the work herself. I really can't help. I can see it, because I recall when my son was born, I began to tell my shadow to go to hell. Because I made a little progress, I thought I was "all better." Alas, I had barely begun.
I'm coming up on the first anniversary of my husband's death. (It has just started to rain on the skylight now). We were divorced almost 18 years when he died, but when he died, I felt a pain I have never felt before. I loved him deeply, he was the most perfect person for me...and I was the most perfect person for him...but we both lived too much in our shadows and the love that united us was not strong enough to keep us together. I wanted that to heal...and now it never will. So with the great vigor of someone with nothing to lose, nothing to wait for, I began in earnest to undo the knots in my heart. If I must stay, then let it be an adventure and not a prison!
A long year it has been. I often remember standing on that little hill, near Cochita Lake, where Bob died...looking out into the clear cold sky...finally asking, why did you leave me? I waited and now you are gone forever and I'm stuck here, you son of a bitch...and the thousand thoughts that followed. The perfect family never happened. I always believed in the perfect family...the one I didn't have but was going to make.
So, looking back at the year...my daughter, who does not speak to me unless required to, looks more beautiful than ever. She is healthier than ever. She has a long way to go, but I suspect she will always find what she seeks. I don't get to choose what she looks for, but I pray that when her life winds down, she will be content in her heart. My son is well on his way to good things, with his own list of challenges, making sense of his life. They both have their stories to tell...to write.
For me, it was a big deal, too see my shadow and tell it to "go to hell." That really didn't work, because it is part of me. What I had to do was tell it to "shut up." It was so skilled in knowing how to own me and try to destroy any good in my life. I did not realize how much it had taken control of my life until this last month. Oh, how surprised I was...and what amused me perhaps more, was the surprise on "woman walking with me"s face. I don't know if that was for my benefit, or if I had just done a great job conning her along the way.
Many people have tried to help. I never stopped asking. Each had their own theories...but I could not let go until I understood some part of it, enough of it to finally say "enough!"
Now...for a quarter at the St Vincent de Paul thrift shop, I find for a quarter "The Dolores Passion of Jesus Christ" on CD by Catherine Emmerich...and I began to listen to it...carefully. Slowly. This was no accident. In the Garden of Gethsemane, how the devil attacks Jesus...not the confusing beautiful images of the Mel Gipson movie, but the words, all of them...and I think about it.
What I have always understood was that our salvation is contingent on what we choose to believe, accept as real. On my storyboard, Jesus stands at the "gates" asking, "well, are you coming in?" and we have, even in those last moments, the opportunity to choose...and I always understood that was a big deal. When I meet with people close to death, I often hear, "What if Jesus doesn't want me?" and I have always had a comforting response...knowing the struggle inside...and suddenly, I have come to understand that we each have our Garden of Gethsemane, where we will sweat drops of blood when we look back at who we were, the story we told, what we embraced and what we didn't...and that voice of Satan, that shadow, make his final play for our souls...reminding us of every little thing we left undone, did poorly, ignored, abandoned, hurt...
The devil shows us our shadow and tells us that's all we are: shadows. But we are not shadows. We are lights. We have the ability to shine even in the darkness...even when the winds blow. We are lights...and lights always have shadows. But the shadow is not the light.
John of the Cross, was said to have told his brothers to stop telling him about all the good he had done in his life, that only God's grace would bring him into heaven. And that is the truth. It is not giving you permission to stop doing all the good you can in this world, but the truth is, no matter how much good you do, it will never be enough. There will always be more to do. So relying on your own work will only take you to the gate.
Knowing who you really are, and who you really belong to, what you were created for...these are the things that matter...and you can only face your shadow when you have the light with you, and inside you.
There is no need to be afraid any longer.
Winter is over...you are free.
Love, Cindy
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