The Knitting Journeyman

Gathering Up One Thread At A Time As I Weave This Web Of Mine.....

Saturday, October 3, 2009

The Week Of Truth

Part of me actually worried about this week.  I am well-known for my ability to see what I want to see when I want to see it.  It is part of my job as a counselor to be able to find the version of the Truth that both helps my clients, as well as appeals to them. 
            That is the fine line of what I do.  There are many many ways to say the exact same thing.  Sometimes by saying it in the right way, it provides more…assistance, comfort, joy, whatever….There are times when I say something that feels more right for me, but the person to whom I am talking flips things around in their minds and hears something completely different.  I strive to find that balance between things, where I walk the Truth, but get the necessary gist of Truth across to the person in the best way for them to accept and integrate it into their own lives.
            While I was in massage therapy school, I dragged my best friend, and now boyfriend, through Unified Field Therapy.    This training taught us how to separate our own reference points from any given situation.  Where we are able to strip away the emotional attachment and look at the situation pragmatically.  R was always much better at it than me.  I preferred the shifting state, rather than the let’s think this through from start to finish state.  Mostly because I didn’t want to have to look at things where my children/son’s father was concerned at the time.  UFT is difficult to explain on its own.  The way I am presenting things is my interpretation of what I learned and how I metabolized it.  Please, go to the website, find a Practitioner, learn for yourself. 
            UFT does not teach you to strip the emotion away and neglect it.  It allows you to take that emotion and examine it.  Everything is triggered by something else.  I have a strong a reaction t the scent of baking bread—just as I have an equally strong reaction to the thought of my mother’s white bean soup.  The white bean soup causes me to react in highly emotive ways whenever white beans are present.  It is a conditioned response.  UFT has allowed me to tap into the finer mental interplay between my mind, my memories, my everything, in order to go down, break down and visualize every step in between.  I decide whether I want to continue to have that reaction to the white beans or not.  I prefer to keep that violent reaction to white beans.  Just as I prefer to maintain my over-swelling beautiful perfectly happy reaction to the smell of fresh baked bread.
            Truth is all about choices.  I chose to get up every day, to go to a job I absolutely could not stand, to pay my bills—and on time too, to tolerate the actions of a man I had long since fallen out of love with, but was choosing not to let go of.  We make those choices every single day.  You choose to get up with that alarm clock.  Choose to adhere to dress codes.  Choose to obey –or to disobey—those laws.  You choose to go 70 mph in that 55 mph zone, because you are late, because you chose to sleep in that extra ten minutes.  These are choices.  You could choose to wake up at 11 in the morning.  Wear sweats and a t-shirt.  Not go to work.  refuse to pay your bills.  Live in a cardboard box out in the park.  These are valid choices.  Yet, you chose to do otherwise, because of what that means to you.  Many people are perfectly happy living in ways that to others seem unconventional or inappropriate.  Just because someone else thinks it inappropriate does not mean it is inappropriate. 
            My own choices where my lovely daughter are concerned are a constant strain to my brain some days, because I allow it to be.  I allow my daughter a great deal of personal freedom.  She has chores that I require to be done.  She chooses to do them, in her own time, in her own way.  I allow her to make her own choices.  I also see to it she accepts the consequences of her actions as well.  I could very well spank my daughter every single day, every single time she does something wrong, every time she refuses to do her school work right there that second.  I could turn her into me.  When I was a child, I was terrified.  I had to do everything just right.  Not that I did, but I was supposed to.  And there were violent punishments if I did not do everything.  I’ve been washing dishes by hand since I was about 7 years old.  That is why I HATE to do dishes.  I spent so much time obeying as a child that when I was free from family-life, I fell into a cycle of obedience.  That alone has caused me more pain than I can ever enumerate.  I do not want that for my daughter.  I want her to be strong and savvy, to be her own person.  Of course, I want this, while having a loving and obedient daughter as well.  Beating the snot out of her is not the way to achieve these things.  Of course, I often feel like a schmuck because she is grounded—she is not allowed to play outside.  I do not buy her nearly as much as I used to, nor do I let others buy a lot of stuff for her.  She has to choose to take care of her toys and her clothes if she plans on keeping them.  That is her choice.  If she refuses to take care of things, I throw them in the trash.  Which so kills me some days.  I hate to do it, but I have to, because I said I would.  That is my choice.  She could have a pet snake right now.  Hermit crabs.  Her own Wii system.  A Nintendo DS.  She chooses not to do the necessary schoolwork in order to get all these things she so desires.  I don’t like to take her places when she doesn’t do her work, but I have little choice.  I could leave her at home, but I’d get arrested for child endangerment.  I choose to bring her with me. 
            Choices choices choices.  Truth is all about the choices we make in every thing. 
            It is pretty obvious I have issues with the exs in my life.  I have chosen to release a great deal of my pent-up aggression in my writing.  I used to release a lot more via my writing, but one ex used that to convince his girlfriend (who was what12, 13 years younger than he was) that I was honestly going to kill him.  His choices speak volumes some days.  What honest decent man refuses to feed a child, especially one he knows has blood sugar issues, based simply on the fact that he doesn’t want to?  E was with him for several hours the other Sunday and he did not feed her.  Now, she did say he offered her cereal, but she didn’t want cereal.  We dropped the kids off about 12:30N and picked her up about 6? 7?  Somewhere in there.  No meal in all that time?  No meal, in all that time?  What choices is this man making?  What version of the Truth does he tell himself to justify not feeding a child that he has yelled at me numerous times about because of her poor eating habits (she’s a picky eater)? 
            Is my version of the Truth, the way I see any of the exs, the “real” version of the Truth?  Based upon the way they treated me, based on the way I treated them, based on our interactions…based on interactions with others, who have put pieces into place in many a situation…what is the Truth?
            The ex when he was with me was a huge homophobe, a bigot and racist, and a confirmed atheist.  Who later grew to not be such a racist, although that bigot in him doesn’t seem to have changed much.  He is definitely not a homophobe, given his many proven relationships with men.  Plus, his girlfriend or whatever she is was all over me about how he had always been a Christian.  We won’t go there—because, as I often say, there is an ENORMOUS difference between the Word of God and how his people interpret it…that is a whole other discussion on Truth there…the man who used to brag about wanting a copy of the Necromomicon bound in human skin, or in any skin at all really, but human would be best.  The man who got me into the Wiccan ideology, although, yes, I already had the open-ended religious background, but I never really studied much of the Pagan organized religions until that man handed me his collection of books and had me read them.  That woman swears it’s all me, because he told her I was a witch.
            My Truth is I am not now, nor have I ever been, anything likened until someone who could or would bear the Title of “Witch”.  My mother is a Witch.  I am merely a Wyld Woman.  I am a dirt worshipping tree hugger.  My religion goes back millions of years, before the creation of language.  Oh yes.  But that does not make me a Witch.  I am something else entirely.  My Truth leads me in other directions.  Completely.  I will be the first to say I am an Ordained Non-denominational Minister.  That means not that I deny any religion.  I have chosen to incorporate many religions.  I simply choose to stay away from mainstream organized religions.  That is my Truth.
            If you get me started on religions, we might never leave here. 
            I thought this week of Truth would be difficult for me.  I’ve been having a very hard time in the past few months, learning how to deal with falling in love with my best friend, learning how to be happy, learning how to enjoy things.  Among other situations.  This week was actually a complete boon to me.  I spent several days of this week, alone, with my boyfriend, at his house.  My daughter is visiting her cousins until tomorrow.  My son didn’t have school today, so his dad dropped him off at R’s house for me.  R and N need to spend more time together.  N trusts him.  N loves him.  He should.  R is the very first man in N’s life.  And the only one who has always been stable and consistent.  It’s so much fun to watch them play.  It’s more fun when N isn’t tired, as he was towards the end of the evening, when he became Light Boy, with a flashlight on his head, one in his hand, and a lantern in the other hand.  He didn’t want to give up a flashlight when R needed one as we were grilling in the dark, making salsa.  But they need to get more used to each other.  It really is only a matter of time before we are all living together, and a whole new set of parameters will come into play.
            This week has been a very decisive week for me.  I learned many things in the past couple days.  The one thing I did finally ingest and metabolize is the fact that this really is going to be that darned ‘happily ever after’ program I have spent so much of my life either running from, or fighting to maintain.  I am not saying every single moment is going to be angels blaring trumpets or romping in the daisies.  We have kids.  Nothing will be perfect.  That’s the meaning of kids.  But we will be happy, because we are happy now.  The simple act of sleeping the entire night in one another’s arms has been perhaps the most cathartic and meaningful thing that has happened for quite awhile.  Something so simple, that many people take for granted.  Something that this man has been denied for years, simply because of the people he’s been with, because they always ended up as far from him as possible in bed, when all he wanted was to fall asleep and to wake up in that person’s arms.  He finds it as strange as he finds it wonderful that when we sleep together, we not only fall asleep in each other’s arms, we wake up that way as well.  There is no fleeing from one another in the night, as he has been so used to experiencing.  I won’t even describe my experiences with that.  Let me just say that I haven’t been comfortable sleeping with any man in my bed since the ex-husband.  Until now.  My son’s dad I never could trust.  I was so happy when we finally got the house and we got separate bedrooms. 
            Let me try to stay on track here.

            Jamie asks:

If you were carrying around a little joy-meter, what would you be noticing about the joy in your life? What are you discovering about the relationship of Joy to Nothing and to Truth? Sharing our insights and discoveries brings us all closer to joy!

            My joy quotient is definitely MUCH higher this week.  As I flip my keyboard over and shake it out—and have glitter drift all over the place.  I kid you not. 
            I am actually getting better at Nothing.  I have crocheted the same egg white no less than five times this week—only to frog it out because I cannot get it to turn out like the first one.  I don’t know what I did or how I did it, but no matter what I do the second fried egg is simply not wanting to cooperate!  But, I am not actually getting overly upset by that.  I frog the thing.  Set it aside.  Start over the next day.  My friend egg meditation time.  Let me tell you, I surely have to love my friend to keep working this same darn egg over and over and over like this.  And I do, really.
            Truth has become so much easier for me.  I have worked and worked at Truth for YEARS now.  I thought it would be much more difficult, but I have worked so long and so hard at seeing past the veils and the frames of reference and the melodramas that so many people seem to enjoy interjecting into other people’s lives for whatever reason. 
            I am not afraid of who I am.  I am not afraid of what I am.  I am happy.  I am strong.  I work for myself.  I lead the life I want to live.  Yes, there are things I am working towards improving, but I am getting there.  There is no rush to do these things.
            I know it is only October, but I am truly looking forward to the coming year.  This past year has brought us some of the most mind-boggling changes.  I still have the readings of the projections that I made.  We are on track, even though we are not on track the way I thought we would be.  But we are heading the way I thought we would be, heading the way I hoped to head, even though I did not foresee a great many things.  Like R.  He and I weren’t supposed to get together til we were much older.  We’d even discussed it earlier in our relationship.  We made the conscious decision to set all of that aside and remove the middle man, so to speak.  We made the conscious choice to be together now.  We each gave the other more than ample opportunity to run, to leave, to walk away, during the entire process.  We both chose to stay.  Things just keep getting better and better between us. 
            We played pool tonight.  I love pool.  So does he.  It was something so simple, again, but it was such fun.  And N was there to bop in and out, to add his two cents, to knock balls around when we least wanted him to, to tease and to pick, and to just spend time together. 
            There is so much love in our home now.  Even though we have not settled on a house yet.  We are setting up our own Home, together, the four of us, plus the dogs, and the frakkin’ bird, unless I find her a home quick.  If you know anyone in the St Louis area who is knowledgeable about birds and who can care for a conure parrot, and who wants a conure parrot, please let me know.  Email me. 
            Tomorrow, we, as a family, are going to go look at vehicles.  We’ll be going to my dad’s the following week-end.  Picking up a motorcycle.  R will b e riding it until he gets his, and until I get my motorcycle license.  It is good to have a guy around who loves the same things I do.  We are the couple you love to hate.  The ones that not only finish each other’s sentences, but the ones who say the exact same thing at the exact same time in the exact same rhythm and pitch and tone.  lol  It’s pretty funny.  If you only knew how long everyone who has ever seen us together has thought us a couple…ever since we met, darn near.  We have always had that rapport and solidity between us.  I am more than amazed by how good, by how much better, everything is getting between us.  I knew we were good together—we were always good as friends.  But this is more than incredible.  He was always my back-up, the person who stood with me, who stood by me, no matter what.  Now it is so much more than trusting a friend to have my back.  We are still friends, but it is so much more now.  There is nothing we cannot accomplish together.
            To be cliché, it’s a beautiful thing.