|This onion I peel, one layer at a time... |
I believe I'll never belong, be acceptable.
Under that is the belief that I'm not ok.
Under that is the death I carry,
that I try to hide
from myself and from everybody else.
This death I carry, has always made me the outsider, and guilt says it should be so, since I always draw death and disease down on those I'm with.
This horrible death - I have encased it in stone, and I'm holding it tightly, refusing to open my hands and heart to let it out. If I open... if I let it out... then there'll be nothing, just emptiness inside, and the need, oh god let me not feel that aching need again. Yes, I know, the death is poison, like radiation and acid and I know it kills, but how can I open and be empty and vulnerable again? I cannot bear that need! The need is what drew this death to me in the first place! How can I go through that again? How do I know the death won't come back and hit me again? How do I know God loves me and will fill the empty place with loving light this time? I want some guarantee, dammit! I want to know for sure!! Don't ask me to take this step on faith!!!!
I am in the heart of the Mother. I am very young. I am desire and longing
and love. But I am also empty of something. My longing pictures a love
for me, a lover who will need me as I need him. I dream lovely dreams of
our togetherness, half formed images and hazy glowingness that I can't
quite get a hold of. With each dream the longing and desire grow, my heart
aches, everything aches, the desire is a burning. It finally ignites, and
I scream my need into the darkness.
I am answered! I feel him coming toward me, but he is ... resisting,
holding back, pulling against my pull. I call again, louder and stronger
from my need, and then I can't wait and I go out into the darkness toward
him, my arms open, my heart open, my longing naked and open. It's working,
he is coming, but oh so bright, and oh too fast and
I am hit
Large parts of me tumble out into space, but I barely notice. I am burnt
to the core, seared and blackened and bleeding. I look at my heart and
feel the hate and the hate and the hate and the darkness there and for a
time I am too stunned to move. What, why, he hates me, he says I must die,
and with the pain and heartbreak I begin to die, and the terror spreads
from me back into all the cells of the Mother. She pulls me in and our
desire to survive kicks in and we duck and cover, holding ourselves still
while the storm beats at us, pain in every cell. We are sent spinning out
into space and - I am still holding this darkness, this hate, this death. I
think, maybe now we will die. Maybe we should die, maybe the dark thing is
right, we shouldn't live. I called it, I pulled it, my need did this. My
desire did this, brought this to us.
After a time I am aware the spinning has stopped, there is someone there
and he is talking to us. He is holding us, and I begin to feel stirrings
of hope. Will he let me cry? Will he hold me and let me feel this pain
and cry until it goes? I begin to sob of the hurt and the heartbreak and
for a little while he listens, but then he grows impatient. Come out, he
says. It's safe now. Why are you so afraid? he shouts at us. And I
tremble and know, in that moment, he will not let me cry. He has no
patience with me, he thinks I will forever be whining. I am now and will
always be alone with this darkness inside me. In that moment, I embrace
death, I try to die.
Splinters occur within us. I feel somebody angry and strong inside us and
she wants to live and she pulls away from me. She begins to move and ...
so many things happen but I am lost in my terror and only know an explosion
of light and color and a throbbing that feels good to parts of me but
doesn't reach into the darkness I hold.
I realize that we're out and still alive. At that moment several things happen, decisions that forever change me:
I know the darkness I hold is a part of HIM - he sent it and he secretly hates us. And I know that if I ever let him see that I know, he will absolutely and finally kill us.
I know that none of the other parts of us, the Mother, want to know of this darkness or my fear. They want to live. They want to believe in at least some of His love. I know that I must hide this darkness from them too. I must hide our secret shame and never let it be known that our lover wants us dead.
I know this death/darkness is poison. I feel it like a disease, rotting
the flesh, it EATS life, RADIATES death. I know that if I let go of it, it
will destroy all that is. Because it hates me first, I believe it is my
job to protect the rest of life from it. I must try to hold it and hide it
I know my desire and need is what drew this to us. I know that forever
onward I must hold my desire and love in check. If I ever let it reach out
again unchecked, we will surely die.
All of my existence is bent on holding these things in place, hiding and
protecting. And curiously, I feel that, at least the emptiness is gone.
It's filled now with something. And maybe this death/darkness is better
than emptiness. At least it's clean and pure. It isn't a lie, or
crazy-making. The pure hatred of it is actually easier to take than the
lies HE tells.
Later, when Lucifer comes to us and pushes on us with guilt and
whisperings, and we splinter again and again and grow smaller and smaller,
we are ... susceptible to him ... in this secret place I hold that God has
never been able to penetrate. Because Lucifer knows the darkness, it isn't
hidden from him. He grins his evil grin and pokes around the edges of it
and says THAT'S what we really are, even if nobody else knows it. The
symbiosis is formed and I am forever secretly captive. Living becomes a
moment by moment hellish torture, forever dancing on the edge of a knife.
There's so much more, but only one more thing for now, one more thing I need to say to other Mother parts...
I was so afraid and I could never stand up and fight back. And I'm so
sorry. I could never tell you why! I couldn't show you this dark thing I
hold, I couldn't show you the death that I had drawn to us. I could only
cower and quake and I know how pitiful I appeared in your eyes. And now we
are broken and splintered and I long for you not to hate me. I withheld
the power of our desire all this time, and it might have made a difference.
Then again, maybe not.