Motivation and Judgment and Forgiveness, Oh My

So the way to deal with Doubt is to apply Grace, and Judgment. So far in every instance, the way to carry on and maintain our spirits has been to openly apply Grace. When Trust is broken, Grace covers it. Doubt is raised, Grace applied.

Just as Grace and Rationalization are two sides of one coin, the thought occurs to me that so too are Motivation and Judgment. Bear with me on this.

Motivation is what spurs the action, Judgment is what tempers it. A child wants a cookie but is able to apply its mother's caution “Don't eat any cookies before dinner. It will spoil your appetite. You can have two after you eat.”

Motivation is and is not important. The end result remains in spite of motivation – the car's bumper is smashed, the plate is broken, trust is destroyed. So the damage exists separate from motivation. Amends must be made regardless of motivation. Repairs to the car, replacement of the plate, whatever can be done to acknowledge the disconnect and rebuild the relationship.

But motivation does come into play in some regard. If you accidentally back into another car, your actions are forgiven once restitution is made. If, however, you did a Kathy Bates in “Fried Green Tomatoes” and purposefully smashed into someone's car – that's another story. Dropping a plate is one thing; throwing the plate, another. Then there are various shades of “throwing the plate” and what those mean. It can get endless.

So is Motivation important, or not? How does Judgment fit in? What about – oh no, another concept rears its head – Forgiveness? Will this butterfly chase ever end? I doubt it.~~GHC

Grace vs, Rationalization

In a perfect Universe, when Doubt stands on your shoulder and whispers sweet somethings in your ear, Grace steps in.

Grace is transforming. Grace offers a safe haven that enables us to gather our courage and take action, but does not restrict us. Grace is an open shelter.

Grace's evil twin is Rationalization. Rationalization is crippling. Rationalization is a wall that blocks us in and keeps us trapped.

So how do we recognize the difference between the roof and the wall? 

First, let me remind you that I am not a psychologist (nor do I play one on TV), or anything else; I am just a person like you traveling the Path. I have no authority or power. These are just my thoughts, expressed and shared with others. This is some heavy-duty stuff. Each of us is responsible for doing our own work. I'm just letting you peek at my paper.

So I am faced with the situation (carrying over from yesterday's blog post) where I need to decide whether I can trust others (Still? Ever? Someday?), or whether it is safer/more acceptable to me to choose not to trust. Note that this has nothing to do with others and everything to do with me.

Grace says, “Rest in me and it will be enough. You are safe. You can do it; you can move forward. It will be all right. I promise and I always keep my promises.” And She does.

Rationalization sidles up and whispers, “Do [or don't]; you can always change your mind later.” Rationalization is the voice that tells you to stop thinking about a situation and put it off until tomorrow. Sometimes we get so overwhelmed and confused that we rationalize in order to function.

Rationalization is like quicksand. It sucks at your shoes and prevents you from moving forward.

I'm thinking Grace allows all parties involved to move freely; Rationalization holds back the one who rationalizes while permitting the object of the rationalization to move along.

The illusion is that you are moving on. Your feet shuffle, the scenery changes, it seems like you're traveling. But in reality, you are marching in place. Rationalization says “He meant well; he wasn't trying to hurt me with those lies.”

Now we're moving into not only Motivation, but Judgment as well. This may well be a neverending series of musings, folks. Every time I think I'm coming to a natural conclusion, I find another butterfly to chase. Maybe I'm drawing closer to finding Truth?

Then again, maybe all of this is total bullshit.

Still, I find myself wanting to forgive, to let go, to refuse to hold onto anger and resentment, to trust. This represents one of Life's paradoxes. While it is simple to close one's eyes and -- poof -- blow away the chaff from one's hand, it is complicated to let go of anger and resentment.

Forgiveness and trust feel a lot alike to me. The sensation I get when I actively forgive another person is a breath of fresh air, a lightness, a positive energy. Trusting someone freely feels nearly identical.

I like how it feels. 

So for Today, with the help of Grace, I choose... to trust.~~GHC

The Boy Who Cried 'Wolf' and the People Who Loved Him

A person whose role in my life has been significant for many years was recently exposed as having habitually lied to me. Under numerous circumstances, sometimes seemingly out of no deeper motivation than avoiding a second question.

If you know me, you know I am innately curious and ask lots of questions. I don't interrogate anybody for the sake of judgment; I seek to understand for my own edification. It's really all quite objective. It is extremely rare for me to “get personal.” Think of me as a slightly more mature four year old: “Why? Why? Why?” I imagine I can be annoying. That's why I try not to ask any more often than I feel compelled to know. The world is definitely not ready for my level of curiosity; this I learned the hard way. I am a giant knowledge sponge.

So this significant person established a decades-long relationship on a foundation of lies. I only recently came to understand this reality. Now I am dealing with the fallout. And in my objective, scientific-ish way of handling relationships, I weighed the impact of this break in trust. Naturally, I find it difficult to trust this individual, but it goes far deeper and further than that. I hear whispers of doubt when dealing with others, as well.

Doubt is a bastard. But like a sherpa on a trek up Kilimanjaro, a necessary bastard. We all need a little doubt to stay alive. If we blithely walked everywhere without questioning, we'd soon end up dead. But too much doubt undermines one's ability to lead a fulfilling life. Too much doubt causes one to question others' motivations when maybe it really doesn't matter. When what the others do really doesn't have a thing to do with US. When we hold up the yardstick of our existence and force-measure someone else against our standard. That's a negative result of doubt.

Another negative result of doubt is questioning ones self. What was wrong with me that I believed those lies for so long? Is there something functionally wrong with me that I cannot see through deception? Is this new person lying to me now? Will the next person I run into, say at the post office, lie to me too? Does everybody lie? Studies tend to suggest everybody does. What does that even mean?

These are the truly evil consequences of his lying. Not even the situations that were hidden and lied about, but the fallout, the loss of trust, the doubt, the residual lessening of ME and my spirit, my life, the revealing of my weakness, my reluctance to trust. 

In my spiritual Universal way of thinking (my personal spiritual path that remains unlabeled yet is fairly defined), the lesson here is that I must trust more fully, more deeply, more willingly. His lies exposed my doubt. They laid open a wound that had never fully healed, an ugly wound at that.

Two sides of the coin: Trust, and doubt.

So how does one deal with Trust and Doubt? I'd say with Grace and Judgment. More on that tomorrow. ~~GHC

Nature, Grace, Redemption

(In honor of the first day of Autumn. ~GHC)

West Virginia roads suggest dancing. There is an innate rhythm to the undulations formed by lanes carved to shadow waterways that gently curve down the mountains. A sensuous sway of Nature's hips; she is a Mountain Woman making her way down the path with an apron full of walnuts in Autumn.~~GHC

Nature, Grace, Redemption

Each morning, Sun's light darts through thick foliage, seeking his mountain woman. He issues a clarion call to awaken and join him in the forest. He watches over her throughout the day even when she feels alone. She is courted by both Sun and Wind. The jealous suitors vie for her affection in an eternal battle.

Sun soothes her spirit, warms her body, lights her way in the gloom. Sun breaks the dark grasp of Winter, heralds the promise of Spring. Sun beats her in Summer, smothers her with his passion, lashes her with his harsh rays. His heat coaxes her musky essence; it drifts on the breeze. Mountain Woman lies panting and sweating in a verdant valley, drained and spent when he leaves her. She cries out from her spirit to Wind to come and bring relief.

Rivulets of perspiration trace the curves of her countenance and she dreams of Wind's sweet touch. Sensing her scent in the zephyr, Wind joins Mountain Woman. He whispers against her cheek, smoothes her hair. He strokes her everywhere at once. The hairs on her arms stand up as he wraps around and over and under her, finding his way into tiny crevices that Sun never discovers. Mountain Woman shivers from the sensation. He brushes her nipples, causing them to reach for his touch. He obliges.

But Wind is as cruel a lover as Sun. In Winter, he causes her hair to lash her face. He chaps her skin, chills her to the bone. In Winter, she sometimes weeps for Sun, wondering if he will ever return. Wind leaves as suddenly as he arrives, without warning every time. He is capricious, unlike faithful Sun who soars across the sky each morning and stays until nightfall when he settles into the trees like a bird returning to its nest.

Mountain Woman has a third lover: Night. Night too is faithful but undemanding. She waits until Sun leaves, gracious and patient for her turn. Her gentle fingers soothe Mountain Woman's tired spirit and restore her soul. She pulls Mountain Woman to her bosom, murmurs into her ear to rest, sleep, renew, and refresh.

Sometimes Wind comes while Mountain Woman lies within Night's arms. He rails against the walls, his jealousy evident. He howls outside her window, impotent and incapable of forcing her to unlatch her door and allow him in. He warns of Night's deceit.

Glittering diamonds emphasize Night's dark beauty. She offers gifts to Mountain Woman: the Moon and Stars. Night's jewels are sempiternal but cold and distant. They sparkle with false brilliance. Their light is mere reflection; their lives forfeit long ago. Like Mountain Woman, they cannot be possessed.

Mountain Woman wakens and makes her way down the hillside to the River. River is her true Love. River fills her every crevice, gentle and insistent, patient, persistent. Thorough. River caresses and treasures everything Mountain Woman offers and nothing more. If she deigns to only dip a dainty foot in, River caresses it, worships it. When Mountain Woman chooses to disrobe away from the prying eyes of Sun, Wind, or Night, and offers herself entirely into River's embrace, River welcomes her. River always accepts, never judges. River extends an invitation but never presses. Steady yet never stagnant, faithful yet not fawning, loving without lusting, River is the keeper of Mountain Woman's heart.

No More Mr. Nice Guy

Living with Mental Illness

The bathroom was dark when I woke up this morning, and I knew it was going to be a bad day. There are no windows in the upstairs hall or bathroom. We keep the bathroom light on 24/7. It serves as a beacon to the stairway and the landing. It functions as a nightlight for the entire upper floor of the apartment. We can all sleep in utter darkness, safe in the knowledge that as soon as we open our bedroom doors, there will be a guiding light to lead us to the bathroom. When I awoke today, the hallway and bathroom were in darkness.

My husband urinates in the bathroom sink. It doesn’t bother me; if I could pee standing up, I would probably do it too. Seems practical to me. The principle is the same: elimination in a porcelain bowl that is washed away with swirling water. But when he falls into the bowels of depression, he can’t bear to look at his own face in the bathroom mirror. He turns off the light so he doesn’t have to – literally – face himself.

I decided to go back to bed for awhile because I figured I needed the extra rest to fortify myself for what I would surely endure later. Eventually, I woke up again and went downstairs. We keep a whiteboard on the front door where we leave messages for one another. When there’s no new message, we just leave the old one there and it remains, sometimes for weeks. Our messages always revolve around our love for each other. The message that had been showing was “I love you, G” in my husband’s handwriting with “For forever” followed by a drawing of a young girl – the last two added by my daughter. The message board had looked like this for several weeks now. This morning, it had been erased. It was blank. The board has never been blank since we bought it several years ago.

So my husband took away his love message, and took away my daughter’s as well. This was symbolically his way of un-loving me, of punishing me, of hurting me. When he’s depressed, I experience a constant barrage of these little slights, these emotional slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, these expressions of his pain and anger. For example, I suffer from near-constant back spasms and it is painful for me to bend forward. Consequently, I have repeatedly asked that no one set anything down in my customary place on the couch. I have also explained – numerous times – that the meaning I make when I go to sit down and my place is blocked is that I am unwelcome. Silly, but it is how I feel. I am meticulous in making sure my husband’s seat is always open. It’s a twist on the idea of setting a place for Elijah.

My seat on the couch was, of course, covered with a blanket, an empty bag of potato chips, and a book this morning. His side was bare.

Last night, he came in after dark. I had made a conscious decision not to turn on the porch light. This will sound petty, and I agree that it is, indeed, a small thing. But so is a head louse and if you’ve ever had one, you know its impact is nothing if not huge. He says, “The porch light was off” or something profound like that, meaning “I noticed you didn’t turn on the porch light.” I looked up from my laptop and replied, “I didn’t turn it on tonight. I have always made a point to turn the light on for you and our daughter, but I’ve noticed that nobody ever turns it on for me. So tonight, I didn’t either.” Obviously sensing something was wrong, he apologized for not turning on the porch light in the past. He immediately associated what I said with himself. Of course, there is a “himself” component to the issue, but there are four I’s and one me in my statement about the porch light, and only one you. I also realize that we filter everything through our own consciousness and weigh things against ourselves. But not everything is about ourselves. Especially in a marital relationship.

When I express sadness, my husband immediately makes the meaning that he has failed me. Then he wallows in HIS sadness and failure, ignoring me. It then becomes incumbent upon me to comfort HIM. His “ME” is so big that he can’t see anyone else. His “ME” hurts so much that he can’t feel anyone else’s . . . anything. He constantly views the world through funhouse-mirror glasses.

See, if it had been me, I would have wondered what made my spouse decide that NOW is the time to stop turning on the porch light. I would have wondered what changed their way of thinking and acting. What suddenly changed a decades-old behavior pattern? What’s wrong with this picture?

There is a difference to the dynamic today, however. See, I decided last night that I have grown tired of forgiving and tired of understanding, tired of the tyrannical petty abuses and insults followed by tearful apologies, texts, IMs and mid-night confessional sessions that never resolve anything. I am tired of the acting out childishly, the horrendous treatment that no one else would ever stand for, that he could not “get away with” in any other situation. In short, Grace is gone. She collapsed last night in a barrage of passive-aggressive bullets. No one knows if she will survive or not. Time will tell. For now, there’s a new kid in town and I don’t know her name.

On a lighter note, it's been sixty days since I last smoked. So far, so good.

"John Maloney Shrugged . . ."

On Clifford Garstang's recommendation, I read Sven Birkerts' essay "Finding Traction." If nothing else, I am definitely more paranoid about my opening sentences now. Then again, I think back to Charles Dickens' "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . ." and I relax a little. Birkerts' article is still worth a read.

I've been working hard, typing my fingers to the bone so to speak. Well, the arthritis is rearing its painful head, anyway. Started Osteo Bi-Flex last week and am anxiously awaiting its magical relief ("Shows improvement in joint comfort within 7 days!" it promises). All I can say is, if this is an improvement, I'm sure glad I took the Osteo Bi-Flex or I'd be suffering more than I could stand. Yes, it's been difficult. 'Nuff said.

Has been forty days since I stopped smoking! Forty days and forty nights. That's a magical number, the number of days Christ fasted in the wilderness and was tempted by Satan. It rained for 40 days and 40 nights when God "cleansed" the world and "started over". Egyptian embalming took 40 days. Noah spent 40 days on the mountain with God. Twice. Lent lasts 40 days and nights. Elijah walked for -- well, you get the idea. According to one source, the number 40 represents a period of grace and preparation for some special action of the Lord. Of course, another source says that 40 merely represents a Biblical "long time."

I feel as if I have finally overcome my smoking dependency. Now if I could just kick this rotten cold . . .