March 10 / 06
It occurs to me that all war, internal and external, is about a lack of self love. All abuse and misdirected anger, self destruction and violence towards others, comes from this fundamental place of not loving who we are; the place of needing to take from others (and ourselves) because, for some reason, we do not feel like we are enough.
I'm certain we were not born in a state of self loathing. That, like everything else, is an acquired skill. And like every skill, it takes practice. We have to work hard to block out the good and continually engage the lies. In some cases it is a full time brain job. I held this position for a long time in my own life, but not long ago I fired myself.
It went something like this.
After a life time of trying to analyze and spiritualize and work my way to a place of self acceptance, I recently found myself in yet another pit of darkness. As I wallowed there choosing helplessness, I asked someone I love "how can you put up with me." His reply changed my life. He said, "Because this is not you. This is a false Susan."
Immediately, I knew he was right. I had allowed layer upon layer of life's difficulties to create a me unrecognizable as the person I was born to be. So I started to think, "If this is the false me who is the real me and where would I find her?" Almost instantly the images began to appear: a little girl in a uniform, beaming after winning a choral competition, a teenage camp councilor, making kids laugh with a song and dance routine, a young, university student hitch-hiking my way though Yukon Territory towards summer employment, a mother-to-be walking five miles a day to give my unborn child her best chance at strength and health.
As I practiced this new way of remembering myself, I came face to face with the reality of how much time I had spent nurturing the memories of the not so stellar moments of my life. I had created a monster me and had been living up to her reputation (at least inside my own head)
From that discovery, I decided to return to another life changing point in time. I went looking for my earliest memory of shame, my first recollection of fear, the beginnings of self hate. I found it, (without much trouble) and I won't describe it here except to say that it happened when I was two and it was not traumatic or abusive or cruel by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, to anyone watching it would probably would have appeared to be harmless, possibly amusing, but certainly a passing moment. For me however, it was the beginning of the un-truth, the agreement I made with the world to be less than me.
Re-visiting this scene in my life, I realized that my first moment of shame was linked with my first awareness of external judgment. (This is probably true for most humans). As I watched the memory play in my mind, re-living the pain I had felt as a child I was filled with a compassion for my wee self. There I was, barely passed babyhood, absorbing a comment that would shape me, change me, a criticism that I would allow to impact me from that instant onward.
This time, however, I didn't stay in the pain , because it occurred to me that if I went a little further back in time, even five minutes earlier in my life, I might find the real story, the pre-shame, pre-fear era of my existence. I might find the person who was certain of self.
So I did. I went back
The truth about strong memories is that they are strong for a reason. This memory is potent for me because it impacted me in a negative way. If it had not, I may never have remembered any part of that particular day in my life. So, when I tried to go back further, to a time even minutes before the incident of which I speak, I did not have a clear memory. All I had were my suppositions, my imagination, my belief. And using those things (which I deem valid) this is what I discovered .
Once upon a time I was a happy, naked, child, prancing proudly across my living room floor,
December 01/06:
I saw the results of a social experiment where a homeless man was given on hundred thousand dollars and all the resources needed to change his life. In a very short time the money was gone and he was homeless again. As I watched, I felt my own temptation to comment upon this situation with some sense of self-righteous judgment; and then I saw the truth. I have been given all the resources to better my own life. Time and again I am offered opportunities, support, wisdom, love and yes, even money. More often than not I have squandered some part or all of these offerings without using them to my best advantage. Today I sit in judgment of myself knowing now that I want to do better.
I must strive to be the best I can be as a response to the miracle of being, to honor the wonder of my unique possibilities. When I strive for any other reason I feel emptiness and a constant hunger for more.
Every decision I make sheds light on the divine creation that is me or casts a shadow on the same and only my heart will know the difference.
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