I listened to Danna Fauld’s poem on a meditation tape in the night – Tara Brach’s – and was taken by these lines in particular ( in italics:)
Why wait for your awakening?
The moment your eyes are open,
seize the day. Would you hold
back when the Beloved beckons?
Would you deliver your litany
of sins like a child’s collection
of sea shells, prized and labeled?
“No, I can’t step across the
threshold,” you say, eyes
downcast. “I’m not worthy.
I’m afraid, and my motives
aren’t pure. I’m not perfect,
and surely I haven’t practiced
nearly enough. My meditation
isn’t deep, and my prayers are
sometimes insincere. I still chew
my fingernails, and the refrigerator
isn’t clean.” Do you value your
reasons for staying small more
than the light shining through
the open door? Forgive yourself.
Now is the only time you have
to be whole. Now is the sole
moment that exists to live in
the light of your true Self.
Perfection is not a prerequisite
for anything but pain. Please,
oh please, don’t continue to
believe in your disbelief. This
is the day of your awakening.
This morning I had a Skype sharing with Kit again. I had not planned to say what I said, but out it came. I told her about my clear impression/inner image of an old sourpuss – and how it feels that he has occupied my body and soul. Sometimes he feels so viscerally close that I smell the old tobacco stench from his filthy clothes – as if he is present as an imprint, just invisible.
He hates and sneers at absolutely everything. And – there is something else, something so disgusting about him – I don’t get it yet …
Sometimes when he is present, I identify with these feelings, his presence – and feel that something is off, since I am not an old hateful man who stinks of tobacco. But “he” does occupy my nervous system. And – I uttered this vehemently to Kit- I cannot fathom why I hold on to this soul piece to make myself small, as the poem states it.
Kit points to the intensity I say fathom with – filled with judgment and condemnation for myself. It is true: I have such venomous hatred for that part of me who has subjected me to this foreign male drunk-energy or whatever it is.
So instead of trying to figure this out and get rid of it, we agree that we will just BE with it and allow stuff to come as it will – and not judge my condemnation of “him” or myself for having accepted his energy/soul-part.
The minute I accept and don’t try to figure out and resist, I am back to being 11year old, on the way back from school on my bike together with a class mate. I “see” him crystal clear now: his old dirty thin long gray black coat, and him flashing it open, being naked, and the red strange bulgy looking thingy between his legs – and me wondering what in the world that was – since I had never seen such a thing before.
In this moment there is an avalanche of energy going through me: I HAD seen this thingy since I was born, both my father’s and other men’s – but now I realize the tremendous dissociation in my mind: there was the belief and experience of a “whore-Leelah” – and this other, “normal” schoolgirl who knew nothing at all about the part that was considered a whore. This 11 year old schoolgirl now saw an erected penis the first time, and had no idea about what that was. I feel her reaction: “What is that? why does he do that? what for?”
This is the tremendous power of the mind to split, to make separate selves.
Kit tells me she get shivers up her legs – and then her whole body – when I share this. That’s the sign I need that I have touched deeply repressed stuff, allowing it to be seen at last.
As I now see the image from outside, I see an energy transfer from him to the 11 year old me. Just writing this makes me yawn and feel nauseated: I see this soul stuff, this old hateful thought form/whatever we may call it/ coming into me.
At last this has fallen into place: “he” - who might even be the man’s own father’s soul part -is with me.
What I see now is a great insight: his flashing was the first time this “normal” girl-part saw this sexual part of a man. The flasher is bridging the two parts of me - and only when I am 69 years old, do I at last realize the scope of my splitting and repression.These 2 identities had no knowledge of each other.
And right now I think I have to figure this out – otherwise “he” will stay inside my being forever, parasiting on me -
“Only as long as you believe in it” suggests Kit – “what if we just BE here right now, until something pops up.”
An ocean of grief is seen. And the tensions of having to be prepared for the worst to happen again and again and again.
Kit remembers the Zen Kuan of the gooseling in the bottle – how to get it out of the bottle? The student realizes “it was never inside there in the first place” – and is enlightened.” Leelah, you are saying that you don’t want him there – but what if he never was there, - you have experienced it, but there exists another dimension where he was never inside you -
You can turn toward the dimension where he was inside you – or you can turn toward the light shining through the open door.”
Yes I truly can and will
Kit shares about a fall-out between herself and her youngest boy who refused putting warm clothes on when leaving the kindergarten – and her ending up with taking him on her lap in the park and force-dressing him – with devastating results for them both – and how she ended up with allowing her son to walk to the bus in his thin clothes. She shared her feeling of helplessness and powerlessness, and found deep feelings of personal shame. She suddenly thought about the flasher and saw the direct connection: when we do not find space for, and accept the helplessness within ourselves, we give room for the violence and brute force.
The “monster” is really an expression of our deepest despair and powerlessness, and his act is a scream: “help! I am powerless!” We see the universal aspect of powerlessness that we all share – and the shame comes when we take it personally – when it is all about “me.”
Suddenly I see through the appearance of the flasher. There is forgiveness for us both, for everyone who find themselves trapped within a dark emotion that they identify with.
Do you value your reasons for staying small
more than the light shining through the open door?
The morning after writing this, I have dream. I am teaching in a Waldorf School, and the pupils are about 14-15. But there is a little girl among them – maybe 4 years old. She is dressed in a homemade knitted red dress and red dressing and shoes – and she beams at me with such a joy and love, and comes to me and hugs me tenderly. Her love and gratitude enfolds me.
Yesterday I set her free.