Dear Ones,
Here is your song of the day! Temporally, it has nothing to do with today at all, consider it random. Except, well, randomness is hard to take and hard to make.
Here is what is on my mind today: just what all is our self-loathing responsible for, anyway? It could be a lot. I know I am pretty motivated by seeming 'nice,' and lately I don't even know what that might mean. I know I respond often from my low-level shame. I never thought this stuff was shame; all the little I-screwed-this-and-that-up feelings, but I think, years after someone tried to explain it to me, that it is an ashamedness.
Another great bit of guidance that I struggle to assimilate: you are not responsible for your parents' feelings. It's been with me, as a kind of place to get to, a map destination, since a bus stop on the Isle of Wight in 1989.
Here is a more recent one, about 6 or 7 years old now: Everyone makes mistakes. Now, I know what you are thinking, everyone has heard that, but when a woman said it to me that time, I understood it differently. I did not just hear the catch all phrase we use to dismiss little irritations and problems, or the cloying 'don't worry be happy' of its comforting, its reassurance. I heard 'we cannot live, not even for five minutes, each and every one of us, without making what constitutes a mistake.'
Please let me rephrase again what I heard: Not 'oh well, no biggie, pas de problème, no worries, it's all good,' etc., but 'all we do, endlessly, ever and anon, is make mistakes, this is called living, and the antithesis of it, the place we are supposed to want to go to, the place of 'perfect' or 'correct' of 'right again' is an unholy place, a prison that builds walls between us, a pit of despair where everyone is against you, and you are alone in your perfection and nothing else can breathe there- no insects, no plants, no flowers, no time.'
Random thoughts? I think not.
