Ascension

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I had covered my fragility with a skin of stone. Believed that to be needed, was to be loved. That to be compassionate was to avoid causing pain, and therefore meant to deny the self. That to be loyal was to lock away the truth as a secret. That the jewel of my consciousness needed a protector. I wore the future as a brittle crown that cut and bled when I strayed from the path others wished me to walk. The butterfly of my soul flutters incessantly within the labyrinth prison of thought I have bound myself within. But to offer false hope is cruel. Trembling, I sought to open the window to allow my soul back in. Remembering the fall I realise I have allowed devolution to go too far with half-truths and excuses of why fear was too strong. But ascent is still possible. It is absolutely vital and ravenous, I hunger for it.

errant

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Image 1 and 2 courtesy of zemotion

 

Softly spoken anger

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I am, by nature, a gentle and kind person. I give too much and often find it hard to say ‘no’. I am not a push-over by any means, I am strong and some men (I am speaking in platonic terms here) find me intimidating when I speak my mind. But there is anger within me. Sometimes I express this anger and I usually do not do it well. It is my learning curve. Yesterday I responded to a security complaint in my workplace, I went toward it confident and calm. I met the complainant, heard their concerns and approached the party allegedly at fault, I approached in a relax manner and as I went to introduce myself I was met with a verbal barrage of unsavoury insulting language. It was like being punched in the stomach by a stranger on the street. Luckily support was immediately at hand and I was saved further confrontation. I know the vitriolic anger was not intended for me yet it still created fear and hurt. This situation helps serve as a reminder that it probably feels somewhat similar when I express my anger inappropriately, thus, this experience fuels my intention of learning to express myself with control, that I can be heard without verbally assaulting the one I wish to hear me. That I can softly speak my anger without creating fear or anxiety, only open lines of genuine communication.

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Image courtesy of Prometheus1706

Gifted

One of my maternal great uncles was a gifted healer; what in many cultures would be called a prophet or shaman, he had no specific religious affiliation and spoke of God in many forms. It wasn’t until much later in my life that I realized he was a man of great renown. Of course growing up with him in my life, although I knew he was unique and incredibly important to me, I did not see what those from the outside saw. He guided me and kept me safe. I was very unwell through my early years and he would always turn up with freshly caught fish in hand for my mother and he would heal me and teach me how to remain well.

In his later years (at 70) my uncle ended up spending many years in jail. He was accused of a crime that I know he did not commit, how do I know? Because he taught me some of the most important lessons of my life I know his spirit and it was just not possible for him to have committed this crime, it would have been against everything he stood for. His, our, family abandoned him. I was forbidden to see him or talk to him. I was a young teenager at the time. The man who had for all my years of life been caring for me and teaching me had been demonized. The insincerity that there were others within the family that had committed far worse crimes living freely, unpunished and kept close within the family meant that I withdrew myself from these people. Including my parents. The ban on contact/communication was so strong that when I asked my mother a few years later how he was because I couldn’t sense him anymore she looked at me oddly and said he was dead.

A few years after his death I had a chance encounter with his closest friend a man I had never met. A friend and I were on a trip and she asked if we could stop off to visit her spiritual mentor. He was a prophet or channel of sorts; my uncle had been his mentor. We arrived and I sat apart to let my friend have her time with the man. Suddenly he asked me why I was there. It was a rhetorical question with deeper meaning than “I am here because my friend and I are sharing a car ride”. He then asked me directly what Frank meant to me. I was surprised but explained that he had been my great uncle. He rose and went to get something. When he returned he told me that my uncle had served great purpose during his time in jail. The hardest, most violent and disturbed criminals were put in with Frank and his presence and way of being calmed them and changed them. He handed me a poem my uncle wrote when he was in jail and said that he believed it was for me. He then went on to tell me all that I had not known about my uncle and he reminded me that Frank had never forgotten me.

 Although I had never doubted my uncle I hated that he had been accused and found guilty of a crime. I hated that my family had ostracized him partially for what he was and then because of what he was accused of. It was like they had agreed that they had always thought that he was ‘evil’ or ‘strange’ and here was the justification. It planted a seed of fear within me that if we use our gifts the light we create draws the darkness to it. I had felt it in my own life over and over. The brighter I burned the more darkness found me. I could see that people were afraid of me, or what I represented for them. So I doused the light and donned a myriad of masks to hide behind. As I lift the veils that shroud me I feel so much pain my heart cannot bear it but I must allow myself to feel it so that the capacity for love that I have within me can shine. I cannot remain in hiding anymore. The thought that clearly came to me today, as I realized this and started to let my heart open to the deep hurt within me, was of my uncle and his poem:

Light in the Cell

And a light shined in my cell

And there was not any wall

And there was no dark at all

Only Thou, Immanuel.

Light of love shined in the cell

Turned to gold the iron bars

Opened windows to the stars

Peace stood there as sentinel.

Dearest Lord, how can it be

That thou art so kind to me?

Love is shining in my cell

Jesus, my Immanuel.