Thy Kingdom Come

I was cleaning out some old drawers yesterday (not those old drawers), and found a little cloth amulet of Jesus with his bleeding heart and sweet face with the rubric “Thy Kingdom Come.”  I got this years ago in upstate New York at an auction.  It came in a grab bag of oddments and I’ve kept it for some reason, all these years.

Aren’t we funny (I mean humans)?  I couldn’t throw this out.  So it will be up to my children and they will look at it (heathens that they are) and probably wonder how I came to have possession of such a thing.

I’m glad I was raised in the church.  The Church, and by that I mean the stories we are told as children, not the dogma, has provided a context, a moral and ethical web in my life.

It has not always changed my behavior but it has certainly let me know when I was off kilter.

 

 

 

Freedom

 

Long long dream last night.  I was staying in an old hotel with all of my family.  We were at the beach and there was some arguing, snivelling, sniping about how much we’d had to pay for these inadequate kind of shabby rooms.  I felt responsible like I had a heavy load to bear.

I went outside  after trying to straighten things out with the hotel staff and discovered, as I walked along the boardwalk, a series of buildings that had a slight overhang.  Underneath this overhang were cots and sleeping happily in these cots were my children.  Happy and cozy and free.

I then turned around and walked toward the other section of the beach and discovered that in an area where there had only been sand, surf and sky, a series of new homes.

I walked toward them.  On my left side was a home designed to look like a roman temple with columns and statuary and one lone person sitting on the steps.

Across from this home was a large modern monstrosity with a remarkable water feature.  To the side of the house was a waterfall of water going up ten stories.  All of a sudden, I was transported up to the top of this wall and realized there was a glorious pool, clear and blue and I jumped in.

Refreshed and clean, I walked back to town where people were trying to find clothes.  I walked down long lines of used clothes emerging at the end dressed, happy and with smiling people all around me.

I thought “freedom”, but from what I couldn’t tell you.

 

 

Undermine

 

 

 

Last night, I had a series of disturbing dreams focused on authenticity.  I dreamt I was “outed” as a non-therapist, a charlatan.  The dream really shook me up.  Then today I had a great session with my client.  What the hell?

Undermining.  To dig under, to make unstable.  I am working with this client to start examining her thoughts throughout the day.  Great exercise for listening to those subversive little voices that undermine our well being.  Guess I better start paying attention as well.

Old Fucks

 

I put a new picture on my desktop.  It is a picture of a long line of wolves walking single file in a snowy terrain. The photographer explained that the older slower wolves walk in front and that way they will not be left behind.  The old wolves set the pace. I like that.  Instead of a bunch of old fools running to keep up with the young ones, the young ones learn pacing, endurance and survival from the old folks.

We seem to race after our young ones—how to stay young, how to cure that crepey skin, how to pretend and disguise the fact that you are an old fuck.

Who cares if you’re an old fuck?

 

 

Oops!!!

 

 

 

I spent three, count them, three days of happiness and now I am reverting back.

Habits are hard to break.  At first I was thinking that I am bipolar( the way I go back and forth in my head);  but, really I think I am trying to change and it’s hard.  Old habits of thinking are just as comfortable and in many ways easier to tolerate than happiness.  I said to my friend “I am going to say yes to everything.  Then I proceed to do the opposite.

Okay, so just say “oops” and move on—Just say “that’s interesting” and move on.

Yes it’s hard, yes it takes a lot of awarenesss—yes, yes, yes.  Just say “YES” and move on.

My father used to say “Don’t think, just do it”.  I cannot really capture him as he said this.  Frustrated, angry, growly—“for Christsakes can you just do what I say.  I am in charge here”.

Of course, he was only in charge of my body—he was bigger,meaner and scarier; but no one was in charge of my mind/spirit.  No one.  His technique of child control turned me into a sneak.   Yes yes yes, I’d nod with my head.  No, no, no, fuck no I’d think in my subversive little head.

So I’ve ended up at the yes, yes, yes/no, no,no junction.  The place of indecision. The place of action/reaction, equals no action.

What do I want?

What do I need?

Yes, yes, yes/ No, no, no.

Crossroads—I read this thing yesterday–the quote was from Robert Frost—

“…I took the road not taken”

Then the writer added

“…and I don’t know where the fuck I am…”

About sums it up.

 

Yup.

Shut up for New Years

My stomach is tied up in a knot.  The voices in my head say you should, you could, you will.   Will this always be the way, that to get to what do I want I have to go through many different rooms of arguing, insulting outrageous voices demanding to be heard.

Where do all these voices come from?  Who are these delegates who I never elected, never empowered, who want to tell me what is righteous?

I am thinking about these young radicalized jihadis who choose to follow one voice (their leader).  Do they give up their unique power of discernment to escape their voices?  Do they only ask to be led rather than fight their way through the rooms of arguing voices?

We all seek clarity.  We all seek a way to calm our fears and mend our hurts.  Humans want surety.

There is no surety.  There is only the constant need to discover who we are.  I don’t mean this in a narcissistic way.  I mean this in the way that a flower unfolds.  The blooming of our true and better selves(we hope).  I mean we could be blooming a stink plant or a carnivorous plant.  We could be blooming a rose, a cedar tree, something glorious.

Is this too woo-woo?  Is it because I was raised a Catholic that I seek meaning in a purely biological process?  I don’t think so.

At the bottom of the mess that are our voices, our clamouring, is a small true voice.  To hear this voice is to hear the truest expression of self.

For New Years, shut up and smell your roses.