Sunday, November 23, 2014
Crows, sheep and goats have all figured in my life today thus far. And it's only a little after noon! What will the afternoon bring? Given how I am starting this entry you might think I had traveled over the rainbow and landed somewhere only Dorothy could reach with the unexpected assistance of a tornado.
I awoke to a very gray morning and the sound of many, many crows. I didn't need to look outside my window to estimate it was a true 'murder' of crows. I could hear so many different individual voices in the collective din in nearby Loring Park that someone might think a reprise of the movie The Birds was being performed. I found it both amusing as well as very fitting that I should awaken on this particular morning to the sound of crows. I'll share more details about that shortly.
I later walked through Loring Park on my way to the Basilica. Loring Pond could have been renamed Fog Pond today. The much milder, humid air has made for interesting fog formations over the now very chilly (and partially frozen) lakes and ponds of the area. The layer of gray hovering over the pond evoked something more fitting of Halloween.
I heard about sheep and goats during the service at the Basilica. Yes, I attended a Catholic mass. I went mainly for the purpose of listening to beautiful music. I also wanted to receive a blessing from Fr. Bauer. I didn't even check ahead of time to verify he would be saying the mass I attended. As it turned out he was. After I received a blessing at the time of communion I briefly went downstairs and quickly downed half a donut. And then I was off to my next activity.
The gospel reading for the service came from the Gospel of Matthew. It was the story in which Jesus is said to divide the metaphorical sheep from the goats. The one group he offers entrance to the Kingdom of God by virtue of the fact that they treated the 'least' of God's children with kindness and compassion. The other group, the goats, he condemns to eternal punishment for their failure to offer even the smallest of kindness to those they encountered who were suffering and in need.
I thought of my paternal family of origin as I heard the homily. Why? I thought of them because this story lays the foundation for why I feel I have a legitimate dispute with them. In the summer of 2013, when I was very ill and was also suffering from anxiety and flashbacks, members of my family responded to me in a way essentially identical to the time in 1982 when I was traumatized by the near murder of my father. They avoided paying any authentic attention to what was happening to me. As before they avoided the deeper issues at play and instead looked only at the superficial difficulties and pain I was experiencing in that period of time. And just as in 1982 when my own fundamental need to be safe and have my most basic needs met was not given sufficient attention so too did the same dynamic play out again last year. But this time, as an adult, I had a choice. I could continue to tolerate my family's failure to actually do anything substantive about the deeper issues I was raising from my childhood. Or I could choose to protest and, if that effected no change, walk away. I did the latter.
I was pleased to be reminded that I have a scriptural basis for my dispute with my paternal family of origin. But I am nonetheless remaining resolute in my decision. I will not engage in any sort of interaction with them in the future unless they, <gasp>, actually truly listen to me. I do not believe it is realistic to expect that will ever happen so I have instead been doing the difficult work of grieving what I have lost. And I have also been grieving what I never even had the fortune to enjoy in the first place.
It's been a difficult time.
Despite the bouts of hardship I have endured in the last seventeen months I nonetheless feel I am starting to turn that profound corner towards a brighter life. This morning I had another moment in which something seemed to well up inside me. No, it wasn't the antibiotics I have been on the last two days. What I felt inside me was a warm assurance that one day I will be done with this most demanding process of recovery. One day I will wake up and the past simply will not hold this immense influence over my psyche in the present day. When that day will arrive I certainly still cannot say. But I feel it drawing nearer each and every day and week.
......
I found the murder of crows in Loring Park such a fitting source of my wakeup call this morning because today is the one year anniversary of my soul retrieval session with shamanic practitioner Mary Rutherford. Ravens and crows have been a prominent feature in past deep personal growth work I have done. You could call them one of my 'power animals'. They appeared as part of an amazing dream I had during a research trip I made to the Netherlands I made in October, 2004.
......
This coming week will mark my first Thanksgiving in which trauma doesn't hold such a strong influence in my life. I already enjoyed a Thanksgiving sized meal today at All God's Children Metropolitan Community Church. The vivid colors of the diverse foods that were laid out over three long tables still stand out in my mind a few hours later.
I have a lot to be thankful for.
What are you thankful for?
Crows, sheep and goats have all figured in my life today thus far. And it's only a little after noon! What will the afternoon bring? Given how I am starting this entry you might think I had traveled over the rainbow and landed somewhere only Dorothy could reach with the unexpected assistance of a tornado.
I awoke to a very gray morning and the sound of many, many crows. I didn't need to look outside my window to estimate it was a true 'murder' of crows. I could hear so many different individual voices in the collective din in nearby Loring Park that someone might think a reprise of the movie The Birds was being performed. I found it both amusing as well as very fitting that I should awaken on this particular morning to the sound of crows. I'll share more details about that shortly.
I later walked through Loring Park on my way to the Basilica. Loring Pond could have been renamed Fog Pond today. The much milder, humid air has made for interesting fog formations over the now very chilly (and partially frozen) lakes and ponds of the area. The layer of gray hovering over the pond evoked something more fitting of Halloween.
I heard about sheep and goats during the service at the Basilica. Yes, I attended a Catholic mass. I went mainly for the purpose of listening to beautiful music. I also wanted to receive a blessing from Fr. Bauer. I didn't even check ahead of time to verify he would be saying the mass I attended. As it turned out he was. After I received a blessing at the time of communion I briefly went downstairs and quickly downed half a donut. And then I was off to my next activity.
The gospel reading for the service came from the Gospel of Matthew. It was the story in which Jesus is said to divide the metaphorical sheep from the goats. The one group he offers entrance to the Kingdom of God by virtue of the fact that they treated the 'least' of God's children with kindness and compassion. The other group, the goats, he condemns to eternal punishment for their failure to offer even the smallest of kindness to those they encountered who were suffering and in need.
I thought of my paternal family of origin as I heard the homily. Why? I thought of them because this story lays the foundation for why I feel I have a legitimate dispute with them. In the summer of 2013, when I was very ill and was also suffering from anxiety and flashbacks, members of my family responded to me in a way essentially identical to the time in 1982 when I was traumatized by the near murder of my father. They avoided paying any authentic attention to what was happening to me. As before they avoided the deeper issues at play and instead looked only at the superficial difficulties and pain I was experiencing in that period of time. And just as in 1982 when my own fundamental need to be safe and have my most basic needs met was not given sufficient attention so too did the same dynamic play out again last year. But this time, as an adult, I had a choice. I could continue to tolerate my family's failure to actually do anything substantive about the deeper issues I was raising from my childhood. Or I could choose to protest and, if that effected no change, walk away. I did the latter.
I was pleased to be reminded that I have a scriptural basis for my dispute with my paternal family of origin. But I am nonetheless remaining resolute in my decision. I will not engage in any sort of interaction with them in the future unless they, <gasp>, actually truly listen to me. I do not believe it is realistic to expect that will ever happen so I have instead been doing the difficult work of grieving what I have lost. And I have also been grieving what I never even had the fortune to enjoy in the first place.
It's been a difficult time.
Despite the bouts of hardship I have endured in the last seventeen months I nonetheless feel I am starting to turn that profound corner towards a brighter life. This morning I had another moment in which something seemed to well up inside me. No, it wasn't the antibiotics I have been on the last two days. What I felt inside me was a warm assurance that one day I will be done with this most demanding process of recovery. One day I will wake up and the past simply will not hold this immense influence over my psyche in the present day. When that day will arrive I certainly still cannot say. But I feel it drawing nearer each and every day and week.
......
I found the murder of crows in Loring Park such a fitting source of my wakeup call this morning because today is the one year anniversary of my soul retrieval session with shamanic practitioner Mary Rutherford. Ravens and crows have been a prominent feature in past deep personal growth work I have done. You could call them one of my 'power animals'. They appeared as part of an amazing dream I had during a research trip I made to the Netherlands I made in October, 2004.
......
This coming week will mark my first Thanksgiving in which trauma doesn't hold such a strong influence in my life. I already enjoyed a Thanksgiving sized meal today at All God's Children Metropolitan Community Church. The vivid colors of the diverse foods that were laid out over three long tables still stand out in my mind a few hours later.
I have a lot to be thankful for.
What are you thankful for?
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