Healing An Old Wound........ 10/13/16

       I turned around the corner.  There he was, standing near the eggs, in a grocery store.

      I hadn't heard from him in more than two years.  His jowls were baggier.

      His look was that of someone who had been sitting at the
Department of Motor Vehicles for three hours, without actually having sat at that confounding place for three hours.  No mirth to be found.

      Slumped were his shoulders, under-neath his Hawaiian shirt.  A few weeks earlier, he spent three hundred dol-lars, giving to his church.  It offered a special dispensation of grace if he cough-ed up the money.  Much good it did him on this day.  That's right, none.

       But he did his duty, adding to the coffers of a movement that en-riched their leader, the proclaimed new messiah, to a personal worth of more than a billion dollars.

       Not only did its founder benefit financially, but his wife, and chil-dren.   Those who had worked tirelessly "for the cause" provided this self-proclaimed messiah with multiple palatial compounds around the world.  Not to mention the casinos, an ammunition factory, hotels, lim-ousines and the like.

       The fellow I saw, in his late sixties, now works for Lyft.

     "I heard you told oth-ers I gave you the cold shoulder,"  I said. "Your pastor used gossip to motivate church members.  He recom-mended they not relate with me because he heard from you we had a falling out.

       "Your conclusion was an in-terpretation not based on facts.  There was no falling out.  That was your imagina-tion,"  I continued, as shoppers rattled their carts past us.

       "Who told you about Reverend [So-and-so's] action?" he asked.

        "Several people.  I want you to know all interpretations, assump-tions, conclusions and judgments are never experienced, they are imagined," I said.

         "But you didn't reply to the letter I sent you, ending our sponsor-ship relationship," he sputtered as someone reached between us, to grab some bread.

          "That doesn't mean I gave you the cold shoulder.  I invested more than three years of my life with you,"  I replied.  "We met for hours every Wednesday.  I deserved better than receiving an email, letting me know your decision.  I merited learning this news from you, face-to-face."

           "Your letter did not deserve a response," I said, while, with warmth, my left hand held the back of his right shoulder.  I was not angry. I was calm.  My eyes looked at him kindly, as I spoke.  We stood a foot-and-a-half apart, facing each other.

            I used Clint Eastwood as my example.  But, with a difference.  I used love apples---a gentle, but genuine---smile on my face.  They let me know if I am reacting or if I am responding.  If I have love apples when confronting another, I am responding.

             My tone was measured while steadily gazing into his blue eyes.

             When I react, I am operating from past scars of vivid pain.  I al-low others to determine my moods and define who I am.  This is code-pendency.
  
               When I respond---during crises and intense times---I am apply-ing recovery.  I do what it takes to take care of my needs.  At the same time, I am respectful of others and their needs.

              Living with recovery is hugely different from being passive and tormented, wondering what others think of us.  Drawing strength from my convictions and being present is a maturer, and more satisfying way of living I love enjoying.

             My spirit is not bitter nor tormented by past pain.

             I've learned how to feel my grief and let it go.  I know that no one is responsible for my feelings, be they good or bad.  I am responsi-ble for my feelings.  This is acceptance. 

             When I respond, I am exercising my personal power.  I am owning my power.  I am not letting people poop on me.  It is the result of leaning on the grace of God, the hard work I have done related to personal growth, and time being a mem-ber of Al-Anon Family Groups.

             "The letter you e-mailed me had no emotion.  There were no feelings expressed.  It was entirely cerebral," I said.

             "It was like a form business letter," I continued. "I needed con-nection and compassion.  This was especially true after the years we shared at an intimate level."

             Being authentic is saying what we want and feel.

             When we don't, we are inauthentic.  When we present our false selves, we commit "soul murder," according to Alice Miller, author of The Drama of the Gifted Child and The Body Never Lies.  It leads to many outcomes like depression, isolating, perfectionism, paranoia, schizoid affect, the Borderline condition, self-loathing and the like, as stated in Kaufman's book, Shame.

            "If I was wrong in what I wrote, I apologize," he said.

            "That isn't an apology," I replied.  "The 'if ' in your apology is not taking responsibility for your action," I said in my soft-spoken voice while gazing calmly into eyes surprised by what I just said.

             "Pablo, I was wrong."

             "I accept your apology."  I then told him a story.....

*****

             I am not done with this posting.  I'll work on it more when I have time.

             Thank you, for dropping by.  I notice many bloggers are giving up. They announce they are quitting.  Kaput.  They will no longer post. Or worse, their blogs are now defunct.  Their archived posts aren't even accessible.

     I am posting this to let you know I am doing well, head splitting notwithstanding.  I am enduring a migraine while pressing fingertips to keyboard.