Musings III

 Pain Teaches

“But it hurts so much to remember. The unfairness of it all. It wasn’t my fault. Why me?” Pouring out our collective memories, we are wounded creatures. The hard work, success, expectations, bullies betrayals molestations beatings unfairness ignorance neglect resentments rejections carelessness accidents wrong choices bad luck illnesses handicaps favoritisms power and pride. “I’ll show you the rage”, intimidation futility despair, tentacles of bitterness leaving deeply rooted scars, forming emotional anatomy that governs personality.  

We become slaves, compulsively wounding others, often unaware.  We are delicate human tissues, raised up in human environments where emotional reflexes go on wounding each other, inspite of us doing our very best.
Never give up, never surrender.

Early wounds leave permanent scars in the Emotional Anatomy.  Frequently the pain of early life events separates us from conscious awareness because the pain is too much to bare.  Unaware of these crippled influences, emotional reflexes force our behaviors.  Pain teaches. Life knows how to teach us to pay attention to the obvious and more often subtle scars through repetitious failures.  Intelligently designed, personal significance to the story of freedom motivates our willingness, and we choose to join in.

“In intelligent design, pain can become a teacher directing our attention to the awareness and location of wounded mood movies and ultimately free choice. Not until the pain becomes so great are we willing or motivated to think and choose differently. Intelligent design is persistent and persevering in persuading us to survive. It is our stubbornness that resists.”

“The way I fall apart is etched into my emotional anatomy.   I have even become aware of horrific memories against which I recoil in rage, even refusing my rhythms of gratitude. I’ll never be grateful for that! The rage I feel is justified. I have spent my whole life preparing myself professionally and I run into these assholes again, only now, they are in charge.”

We are not lost. We are freedom fighters.
Yes, my confidence is growing and guiding me through gratitude. 
Perhaps I will introduce you to flying lessons,
the story of freedom
and the magnificent woman.  

Motivated by the story of freedom, you can count me in.

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One Response to Musings III

  1. Dina4now says:

    It is other worldly that an object can bring back the dead. The book was lying on the bed among all the other objects I had sorted thru in packing my things to move. It was one of those things lost under the bed, or stored away in a closet, forgotten and then found. After a long busy day I had retuned to my bed to lie down and there it was, “America’s Painted Ladies”. The last book my mother and I looked through just before she died.
    I couldn’t ignore the impulse to open the book like we did that sunny day in Kohala on the Big Island. And then it was as if she were sitting here with me, turning the big pages one after another, discussing the fine workmanship of restored Victorian homes. She knew she was going to die, very soon, but on rare occasions when she wasn’t tired she would try to live as if it was just another day, only with such a profound grace, a peaceful waiting for the inevitable.
    Then there were other days in that last month of her life where she would becomes clingy. She would get up from her place and feel driven to communicate with one more soul or feel despair at not having done something for someone. I would gently lead her to her bed, and as the tradewinds moved through her home I would read some of her favorite verses from the bible, while she contemplated meeting her maker.
    To soon the day came when she spoke no more, and the tradewinds on the north shore were felt and heard as we listened, for the sound, of my mothers voice. Yet my mother’s spirit had not left her body. It was if she waited still yet.
    On her last night before she left this earth, her husband of 35 years had a dream in which she appeared before him. “Your standing up” he says to her. “Well of course I am, everything is going to be fine”.
    As the next day was drawing on its end, there was a knock on the screen door from the kitchen of the old plantation house and in walks her pastor and friend unexpectedly. He walked directly to where my mother lay on her side like a sleeping frail child, and placing his hands on her he prayed, then began to sing, and sing he did. His singing encompassed both the sadness when saying good bye to an old and dear friend, and the joy of celebrating a life. So heart felt it drew us forward and we all laid hands, heads, close, touching, and then there was no movement of breath, and without knowing why we all knew, she had left her body. I was blow away at the peace of it and the choosing of that particular time to let go. I wanted to see all of her face, I wanted to kiss her, hold her, and as I reached out to turn her towards me, my face so close to hers, the last breath of her body breathed into me. I stayed there in this place between heaven and earth for a time without moving. I had breathed in her last breath,, the sweet breath of her spirit as it went from her to me and then on to total freedom. I had witnessed death up close and personal for the first time.
    As I flew back across the channel to my home on Maui, I knew it would be a long long time before I returned to the Big Island. The windy country side of Kohala, and my mothers own “Painted House”, with the only close line between tropical fruits and flowers which she insisted on doing because there in the simplicity of it all was God, in her garden.
    For the next few months I thought a lot about death, and how unnatural it seemed. Yet it seemed the natural consequence of a process leading to life eternal. I can’t believe my mother doesn’t exist, in fact her existence seem larger and it is I who feel small. You see, all these emotions and sufferings you mention are part of this place, but I witness a freedom in death, where life was set free, and it soured towards heaven. That doesn’t mean we should all run off to die, for everything and everyone there is a season, and even this life here is becoming to the spirits development towards that freedom. But I knew, without knowing why I knew that my mother still existed and is free. I became aware of two places coexisting, only it is our side that has the narrower vision. I will suffer here in this place, it’s part of the process, but my vision does not have to be of this place.
    In a way, you have to die to be totally free, but there is a freedom in becoming the witness to your own life if you can look objectively and with love as if a spirit who has been given a life to protect and nourish through this place. It’s hard sometimes to love ourselves, but it may be all we have, and it seems a good place to begin. It seems natural to to be attached, and that’s a good thing or it would be to easy to “get on board” . We need to be here, life here is what gives wings to our spirit. Some times that means restoring our hearts wings before taking flight. In the mean time, as I feel my mother’s presence from a much bigger place, I will try not to feel small but significant in my progress towards freedom in the vision of Heaven.

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