| Home | Our Pathway Home | Musings | Library | Art Gallery |
| Links | FAQ | What's New | Site Map |
Personal Sharings / Healing Fragmentation
All I ever wanted was your love. Father, God, Spirit, lord of the White Palace, whoever you are in your many guises...
I wanted your love so desperately, and I feared being cast out of the White Palace and sent to live in the darkness. Every moment of my existence there with you was torture, walking on glass. Fearing being cast out, needing your love, fearing to show my need, devising ways to get your love without appearing to be trying or needing it. Vying for your attention with others who were MUCH better at being like you than I was. I couldn't hide my feelings the way they could.
Did you ever like anything at all about me? Was there anything in me that pleased you? Aside from my holes, which you used for your pleasure whenever you felt like it... Was there anything about me that you loved?
How long did it take for my heartache and need to build up to the point of breaking? How long did it take for me to begin fragmenting and falling apart? Hope tried to live, love tried to stay alive there in the White Palace. For a very long time, I tried and tried and tried...
But I beat myself bloody on the cold marble wall of your back. You cold, heartless, mean, sonofabitch. I gave you my love, I gave you my tenderest heart. I tried so hard to please you. Nothing I ever did was good enough, nothing could turn your heart to softness. Do you have a heart? Can you even love?
I finally turned from the cold stone wall and went in search of some part of you that might love me. I needed to know if there was any love for me there, in that cold place. I need to know if there was any love anywhere, any love at all.
Everywhere I went I saw false smiles and shallow joy. Nowhere was there any real warmth. I could find no depth behind their eyes. I searched and searched, God, I looked and looked. What kind of place was this I was living in?
That I was even questioning like this was evidence of the cracks happening within me. Heartbreak was overpowering both fear and hope.
Lo and behold, I encountered a young man. From a distance I saw him and a shock of recognition went through me, though I couldn't remember having met him before. Was this your Heart? I knew it was, I felt it. I came near to him and I felt a softness in him that was not present in you, God. A softness that I longed for, that I reached out for ... without thinking, my need leapt ahead of me and reached for him.
But he pulled away from me.
His eyes became veiled.
His face became hard and stern.
With his armor up and securely in place, he came forward to me then, and spoke to me for a long time. He lectured me, he told me all the things I was doing wrong, and how I should be able to do this and that, or be this and that. Never once did he ask how I felt, or how I had come to be here. I looked at him and felt into him and felt my heart breaking all over again. His love was only inches deep. It broke off just under the surface, torn away in ragged flesh from underneath, and all he had left was the appearance of love. He showed this loving face to all, and in spite of his gaping wounds, he seemed to believe that he was the most loving of all. I felt him trying to hide his missing essence from me, I felt his panic that I had noticed it, and his lecturing and posturing became louder and more insistent. He grew angry with me. The fault was mine, he said, I wasn't listening. If I listened to him, I could learn so many things, I could learn how to be better, and how to be loving like he was.
I began to cry. I couldn't help myself, my grief was overwhelming. And he turned from me, disgusted with me.
Was this truly your heart, God? What had you done to him, to make him so ... heartless? He was trying so hard to be like you, and also... to be better than you. He was trying so hard to show the appearances of more lovingness than you ever showed. But in truth, he was trying to please you more than be himself.
I found another young man, another piece of your heart perhaps, who was softer even than the first. And he seemed to have more real love in him than the first... but his love was all the impersonal kind, and he preached at me too, telling me personal attachments were limiting and not truly loving. To be truly loving, he said, one must love all the world and every being in it, equally.
How did this happen, god, that you would only allow one kind of love, impersonal love in your heart... and yet you call it unconditional love, and you proclaim it to be the best and most loving.
Everywhere I found pieces of your heart in various forms, but none of them held the love for ME that I was hoping for.
Finally, crying and grieving, I called and called and demanded to know if there was any shred of true love for me ... anywhere in this godhead... anywhere! I needed to know, if there was even a tiny bit of love for ME! I called and called.
And then I felt it, the pull, from far far away in a part of the land nobody ever went to, on the edge of nowhere. And I was drawn there, pulled, and as I followed the pull, hope began to rise again. And then I saw what I was drawn to...
was a garbage heap. I saw there, buried behind a pile of filth, a tiny baby boy. Smashed and ruined, broken and dead... a tiny baby that had once been your love for me, for the Will, for the Mother. You killed him! You killed your heart. You killed your love for me. What was so terrible about loving me, God? What was so terrible about loving the Mother? Was it such an awful vulnerable state that you couldn't stand it? Was it so horrible to feel love for her, to need her love in return? Was it so awful that you had to kill this tiny infant before he had a chance to live and breathe and have life?
I grieved and grieved and grieved. I gathered him up in my arms and held him and rocked him and tried to breathe life back into him. But I couldn't make him live again.
Hope died then. Heartbreak won the day and I shattered into many small pieces, little hopeless bits of essence crying and grieving and raging... floating away into the darkness... floating out into the void, into the gap. Trying to die. Trying to die.
As I cried and remembered these things, it was almost impossible to imagine continuing, to keep going forward. If God truly had killed all of his love for the Mother, then what was the point of going forward or trying to heal anything? I have to believe that at some point God found the dead baby behind the garbage pile, found his heart, and brought him back to health and life. I hope this is true. I think maybe it is. Maybe the God who came through in the RUOW books has found his heart. Maybe it's there in my Engineer Man, in the piece of the Father of Manifestation that is ever there for me supporting me and helping me. I believe in his love, he has proven it over time. And so I have hope. But I would like to hear this story from him. I would like to know how he found his heart, and how he healed and nurtured his baby boy back to life. --pct