Kitten kindness with majesty |
When you were a child
Do you remember when you were a child? The you that was? I do. I was dogmatic and rigid, opinionated and stubborn. I liked to discuss and verbally navigate and convince others of the "right' way which often times, was somehow really, just my way? Forgive me dear reader, there is a joke, if it's not one thing, it's the mother... I learned these attempts at people trickery from you guessed it, my mom.
Purr to claws out
I started drinking coffee at the age of four (not full mugs, that would have been child abuse!) and that may be when my sleeplessness began too, along with my wondering about our existence, the universe and what "it" all means? My parents drank coffee and smoked cigarettes in the house; it was fashionable to do both.
Do you remember when you were a child? The you that was? I do. I was dogmatic and rigid, opinionated and stubborn. I liked to discuss and verbally navigate and convince others of the "right' way which often times, was somehow really, just my way? Forgive me dear reader, there is a joke, if it's not one thing, it's the mother... I learned these attempts at people trickery from you guessed it, my mom.
Purr to claws out
I started drinking coffee at the age of four (not full mugs, that would have been child abuse!) and that may be when my sleeplessness began too, along with my wondering about our existence, the universe and what "it" all means? My parents drank coffee and smoked cigarettes in the house; it was fashionable to do both.
Navigating
My dad, he was an interesting cat. Playful and full of fun until something irritated him, and then his claws came out. He could swipe and cut with a glare, a terse word of verbalized disgust, a snarl and the cold shoulder treatment, that would last for days of silent disregard. My mom did her best navigating this man of hers, who could call out I love you to each of us individually from the front room and alternatively, ignore us when we came near. He had his own wounds: he suffered in his memories. He was twelve when he last saw his own mother and siblings, torn from them during war, stolen from at a young age.
To love means...
To understand someone is to know what they have seen, heard, experienced. To love them means forgiving their shortcomings, and seeing them in their own brilliant God glow light. I love my dad and as an adult, I know who he was and is to me. A man who did his very best to keep his pain to himself, but it spilled out like hot lava on others, the ones he lived with: my mom sisters and I, had to find pathways around the heat. Coming too close meant getting burned, staying away to wait for the cooling meant distance between us and in turn, meant loss of relationship...
To love means...
To understand someone is to know what they have seen, heard, experienced. To love them means forgiving their shortcomings, and seeing them in their own brilliant God glow light. I love my dad and as an adult, I know who he was and is to me. A man who did his very best to keep his pain to himself, but it spilled out like hot lava on others, the ones he lived with: my mom sisters and I, had to find pathways around the heat. Coming too close meant getting burned, staying away to wait for the cooling meant distance between us and in turn, meant loss of relationship...
My mom did a lot of circumventing to have things her way. Emotional, psychological survival, requires steadfastness, a belief that our way is the right way in order to maintain our sense of self, our self-possession, no matter what anyone else thinks, says, and or does, to point out our wrongness. She had to manipulate because it was the only way around a loving decent man, that was gentle and kitten sweet and conversely, tyrannically a deadly lion.
The reason for sharing
Why do I share this dear reader? I must, I simply must. Because I have a son and I have people in my life, and I must of necessity, hold the truth in my heart and mind with a life grip, so that I do not manipulate people; so that they do not feel the need to navigate around me.
The reason for sharing
Why do I share this dear reader? I must, I simply must. Because I have a son and I have people in my life, and I must of necessity, hold the truth in my heart and mind with a life grip, so that I do not manipulate people; so that they do not feel the need to navigate around me.
I don't want to burn or freeze anyone out, and I never want to manipulate another for self preservation sake. I want the truth to be told and felt and seen in me, and around me: and I want this, and only this from the people in my life. That means I must be honest at all times.
I never want to be an imposter, poser, fraud, and I ask you:
- Are you willing to do the hard work?
- Are you willing to live and love truth?
It is easy to see the flaws in others, to point out how they have made mistakes, or could have done things better, or differently. It is much harder when we take a look at ourselves, and say ah yes, there it is, the very same thing is in me, and I don't like it there, it must go.
And it must go dear one, if we are to be close, safe, intimate, in love
A work in progress
I have not cornered the market on truth; I am learning its purity as I go, with the choices I make. I am a work in progress, and part of the work is seeing my people in action as they too struggle, learn and grow, to be more manly, more womanly, more like our Good God.
Jesus could not tell a lie and dear one, we mustn't either, not to our selves, and not to our others.
I leave you now with a request:
I leave you now with a request:
Commit to honesty in kitten kindness today. Listen for and speak the truth and forgive, forgive, forgive
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