Writing Exercise: Five Core Values

This comes from the book: Ensouling Language by Stephen Harrod Buhner.

Directions: Choose 5 deeply meaningful words, ones that approximate the center of who you are and evoke emotive content for you. Write them down. Any words will do--as long as they are meaningful to you.

Example. Earth, Stone, Green, Leaves, Plants.

Or another. Love, Happiness, Child, Wandering, Hope.

Here was my list: Soul, Compassion, Creativity, Healing, Intuition.

Do this part of the exercise now without reading the rest of the directions...

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Next. "Write five poems, each of which uses all five of the words. You can use as many other words as you want, nevertheless each poem must contain all five of the words you have chosen. Take as much time as you need..."

When done, read the poems in sequence. You might be amazed by what comes out. Here are all five of mine in order...

One
the soul of healing
grabs intuition
and holds on
birthing compassion
creativity's apex.

Two
intuition speaks from soul
breathing with compassion
creating a healing force
magical enough
that few believe its existence.

Three
the real trick in life
is ferreting out compassion
from soul
when poured empty
and used up.
creativity wanders in
searching for healing intuition
that has sporified
in order to survive.

Four
living the soul's creativity
heals the parts of
intuition, wounded by those
that sacrifice
compassion on pain's altar.

Five
healing
pilgrimage of creativity
to soul's center.
seeking out
bits that keep us human.
splinters
most wanting of compassion.
the inward glance
pains.
but, in the stumbling dark
intuition
holds our hand.

You Do Not Matter

I'm not so cynical or jaded in life that I think it odd to care for another human being. In fact, some non-caring harsh things, I cannot do. Offensive psychology and street smarts be damned. Perhaps, I am the lesser for it. Or not.

But, I cannot say to just anyone, You Do Not Matter, no matter what they do. Somehow, that is a threshold, I cannot cross. Even when I imagine truly evil people from the past or present, I don't think I can say such. In fact, I don't know many people at all, even enemies--people I hate--my own ex-narcissist, that I could say that to. I'm not sure I could say that to the parents--of some of the people I help--whose awfulness has most obviously contributed to some of the awfulness of the trauma I am treating. These the same people I've heard terrible tales of. In fact, I'm not sure I could say that with certainty to anyone on the planet. I just cannot imagine scenarios where I could say such intense words.

And recently, someone typed those words to me in an email.

This person knows some of my intimate secrets, in fact they were supposedly acting in a helper role. They know some of my most vulnerable points, including the fact that I have often felt like I do not matter. And this was a particular point we were working on. Perhaps, this is a common theme in being intimately connected to a narcissist--feeling as if you don't matter--feeling invisible. Whatever the case, someone I thought I trusted slung those particular words back at me.

It seems my treated wound became the weapon to harm. How does someone, anyone think that is ok? How does someone supposedly seeking to help hurl those words? Ever?

I have been trying to get my head around it. And I can't.

Shock effect? I don't really know. I'll probably never know.

But somehow the over-reacting slinging swing was too much. It backfired. Perhaps, the principle of like curing like really does mean something. Cause the words seemed to almost have the opposite effect of what I suspect was intended--to inflict pain or abuse? I found myself easily disconnecting, discounting, writing off the words. After all, the words sounded way too exaggerated, too hyperbolic, too over-the-top, too out there, too much of a fantasy to be taken seriously. And so, I was able to separate from them.

You do not matter. 

Yes, I do. As all human beings, do in fact, matter.

Somehow, this you-do-not-matter sounded so intensely ridiculous, that I was able to see it, for what it was. For the first time, I was able to relate to the silliness of it completely outside myself.

And the irony is that this is not something I could see through when uttered to myself inside my own brain, for years. But when someone you trust, someone who once seemingly cared about helping you, says such, it sounds absolutely ridiculous, almost straight out of some sort of Ripley's-believe-it-or-not-warped-mirrored-fun-house, as in most obviously, distorted. And the over-the-topness of it struck me. And I was able to separate from it like never before. Strangely healing.

Yes, I do matter. No, I'm not perfect. In fact, I'm kinda fucked up. And somehow, I matter all the same. Being a part of the human race, we all matter. Even truly awful people, actually matter. And truly incredible people like Mother Theresa also matter, though they have passed on. And I guess the point is all human beings do, in fact, matter. Even fucked up therapists, working out their own shit, do in fact, matter. Well, ok.

Brick Walls

It hurts to be misunderstood. Especially, when you realize someone seems to believe and see only the shadow, dark side of you—the repressed stuff that you’ve done your damnedest to allow space for.

Sometimes its tough when the sledgehammering most obviously misses the mark entirely. When it triggers the old wound, charging it once again with invisibility.  

I know you will not respect my request to not be contacted and so you will try to contact me via false emails and such and I will warn you now, you will be blocked.

Yes, that is absolutely who I am in some sort of counterfactual world.

I guess my naivete is jumping up and down on me. I'm no rocket surgeon, but I gather that this is something people apparently do to one another, in your counterfactual world. 

I see that people have slung such arrows like this at you in the past. Or perhaps, this is something, you've done to people. Ok. I’m really sorry people did that to you. I’m sorry they hurt you in so many ways. I’m sorry for the pain they and I caused you.

And here is the weird truth of the matter, I actually felt safe with you. Expressing things I haven’t to many people at all. I realize now, it was too much for you to handle and I’m sorry. You did take it personally. I knew that with certainty when you claimed, that you absolutely did not.

This is not personal. I see who you really are.

No, you don’t at all.

Apparently, I'm invisible to you. You do not see the real me. Because, you missed some significant factors. Like the fact that it has never even occurred to me to do the things you are so worried I will now do. Wow. Even the power of suggestion or projection is not enough to compel me to behave in such ways. I can't believe that after all of this, you still don’t actually know the most basic premise of who I am.  

And that, kind of hurts. This does feel remarkably similar to that which I am trying to heal.  

But, not at all for the reasons you might suppose.

And, no, I’m not actually that girl that you clearly think me to be.

I am inclined to speak with you, only because of the denied opportunity to close things off with the sort of respect human beings ought give one another. I respect your need to end things. I have no intentions of persuading you otherwise. I just don’t understand not allowing space for humanity in the process. Isn't that what you've taught me the narcissist does? The human being part of me that reaches toward peace wishes to speak my piece. I do feel like contacting you—not out of some sort of frenzied desire to lash out—but in order to understand my role in all of this and to communicate the space from whence I resonate. I’d like to speak with you, in order to learn how not to repeat the mistakes I made with you. But, you don’t seem to know how to “fight” fairly--though you seemingly have always known a lot about fighting. Perhaps, that is part of the problem. You don’t seem to understand that respect for human dignity means that even when we least expect to see the other person’s perspective, we graciously give opportunity for the other to try to persuade us. Instead, you brick walled off in your unclaimed pain and never offered the chance to respond to your words, to have the other half of the conversation as human beings ought to do for one another.

You are so rigid...

Perhaps. In my so-called rigidity, I'm trying on your ideas. But, I don't believe I'm the one acting like a brick wall, here. This is your emotional cut-off tactic. Any human being would feel inclined to want to respond, to defend, to explain—but you abruptly slammed the door on such and projected out the idea that in wanting to respond to such, one would necessarily need to see oneself as victim. And that is not necessarily the case. One might need to respond not to claim victim-hood but rather in order to be a human being. To understand, to clear the air, to see the whole, to not be rigid, to learn from one's mistakes. 

But, in keeping with your request, as I'm re-framing it. I shall not respond to this. I shall treat you with respect.  

I shall endeavor to take you at your word. Perhaps, no one ever really has in the past and so you don't know what that feels like. I shall respect your request to be left alone. It is all I can do. And because, as human beings, who actually respect each other, that is what we ought aim to do for one another. I am sorry for your pain. I even wish that I could heal it.

But, I cannot.

Volcanic Eruptions

For many years, in living and coping with a narcissist, I have suppressed my anger. Pushing it down somewhere into the dark recesses of my soul, I have separated from it—partial coping strategy, partial delusion of not wanting to see the shadow side of myself as angry person. Denial will only go so far. Suppression will only go so far and then the closet door, bulging at the seams violently bursts open.

This week, I oh-so-nastily went off on one of my helper, healer people, someone who has, in fact, helped me quite substantially. My suppressed rage erupted from the deep. In projecting my own massive pile of shit onto my helper person, the volcano burned up the already strained therapeutic alliance. Somewhat understandably, my helper responded by lashing out, giving me quite the ass whooping by oh-so-accurately attacking me at my known weak points. It hurt and will for some time. On some levels, the striking was over the top, complicated further by poor communication and misunderstanding—but then so was my own initial lashing out. Not surprising, raw, dark energy matched with equally raw, dark energy proved combustible.

I get it.

Unfortunately, I get it too late.

The damage is done. The alliance dissolved in an acidic, toxic soup.

And I am left staring at the bleak, blackened landscape, oddly enough, that I largely created through my unbridled, destruction percolating from the deep.

Perhaps, there could have been more understanding, more space holding for my shit, but, I don’t fault my helper person. Everyone has their own individual capacity for shit holding. The rain barrel overflowed and my helper person turned over and emptied the rain barrel. Fair enough.

I find myself deeply longing for the opportunity to look this person in the eyes, take responsibility for my bad behavior, and apologize. And while I deeply regret the harming, that likely sounds too flowery and too altruistic. It is what it is and is part of the whole. Partially true, yet incomplete. There is another side of this desire to apologize. If I am truly honest with myself part of my longing stems from my own discomfort in seeing this destructive, ugly, awfulness in myself—the very thing that created the bulging closet of destruction in the first place. I feel compelled to push it away—to see it outside myself—to not look closely at it—to numb my own wound with the Novacaine of apology, rather than sitting in the stew pot of my own dis-ease.

And so I shall sit deliberately in my own discomfort with my own destruction. In so doing, I hope to one day right the balance betwixt destruction and creation, death and rebirth, endings and beginnings. I choose to trust experience to lead me and guide me. In the words of John O’Donohue, “Experience has its own secret structuring. Endings are natural. Often what alarms us as an ending can in fact be the opening of a new journey—a new beginning that we could have never anticipated; one that engages forgotten parts of the heart.”  

Oh, wounded healer, thank you for your dark work. I am deeply sorry. I send my words out with the breath. May they rinse your soul. I bid you adieau and wish and hope that healing chases you and always finds you.