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Infectious Madness by Harriet Washington
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 670406" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>So, I watched the Marlon Brando clip posted on P.E. </p><p></p><p>I am still toasty warm. </p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>But...I remember that kind of passion. Remember being that young? It was enough just to have it, just to ride that out; there was nothing to compare it to then, and there is nothing like it, now. Then come babies and living and not being the prettiest thing because for children, we must become the most stable thing. It's like voyaging across waters of so many different colors, living a life.</p><p></p><p>White sails, snapping in the wind; the water deep and scary or breaking and shining and catching the sun.</p><p></p><p>D H has always said: Love happens over time. In the beginning, it's chemistry.</p><p></p><p>I was so offended about that. </p><p></p><p>But now that the chemistry part is pretty much gone? I think he must have been right, all along.</p><p></p><p>I know what you mean though Leafy, about wishing for more. D H and I are forever falling out of happiness and into hatred. That is, as I make very clear to him, because my D H is a jerk, sometimes. I am serious. D H can be loud and verbally abusive and pretend he doesn't know it when of course, he knows exactly what he is doing. In the beginning of our marriage, I needed that exact kind of man. Someone I could come into balance around; someone who would tell me what was the matter with me so I could address it. This is the essential question we are left with when we have been raised in abusive family systems, whatever else is floating around in there. But no matter how fast I danced, how much I understood, how often I forgave...my </p><p>D H was who he was. He had been brought up in a certain culture, too. They say that for Italian men, there is the Madonna, and there is the Whore.</p><p></p><p>I am not sure what the imagery of the beautiful whore washing her feet in the sun meant for me, but part of that imagery had to do with reclaiming the Whore; with cherishing her attentiveness to loving and appreciating her own beauty for herself. In some way having nothing to do with a man, or with anyone watching or not watching. The snapping, buzzing neon sign.</p><p></p><p>The dust, and the heat.</p><p></p><p>And none of that matters to the beautiful whore (Susan Sarandon) because she possesses herself. And no matter how many times she sells herself, she has never sold herself, because she has incorporated and cleared all the negatives surrounding whatever names others have assigned her to believe.</p><p></p><p>She knows a different truth.</p><p></p><p>I love that imagery.</p><p></p><p>I have been washing my feet like crazy, you guys. And putting lotion on them. </p><p></p><p>And I think about that movie, when I do that.</p><p></p><p>I can feel the sun in it.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>For a woman to incorporate that kind of thinking (Madonna/Whore) in a man, she has to be very certain she is her own Whore. Her own Madonna. Her own self. There needs, I think, to be such value for herself in the woman that she can disbelieve whatever fantasy the man has grown up believing about women.</p><p></p><p>Just as we need to come to grips with the truth that our husbands are not heroes who are never frightened, are people who sometimes don't know what to do, either.</p><p></p><p>And who need to be loved just for themselves, sometimes.</p><p></p><p>That is how my D H and I fell into this family kind of love, but with a bullet, I think. The steady, sometimes shocking, erosion of illusion. And it's like you look into someone's eyes and say: </p><p></p><p>"Well, hello there."</p><p></p><p>"Have you been here, the whole time?"</p><p></p><p>And there is a real person there, under everything I believed about him and about me, and I love him so much because he taught me to love myself. I had to stand up to my D H or I could never in a million years have stood up to my mother and my family of origin. I am still tumbling into nasty, surprising true things about the way my family of origin worked.</p><p></p><p>How did I not see it?</p><p></p><p>Everything was forever a defensive/protective "That is my mother." Or, "That's just mom. Or, sister. Or, brother." They really did commit the craziest actions, say the craziest things. It was as though I had committed to understanding and forgiving thoughts and words and actions that were wrong from their inception...but I don't know why I did that. As we have gone through these past months on FOO Chronicles, there were so many times I felt shame at who they were and at who that made me.</p><p></p><p>Maybe that is what I did not want to see? Or why I refused to believe they could possibly mean to do what they were undeniably doing? </p><p></p><p>Or maybe, I was too afraid to confront them until I could love or at least, accept and feel protective enough of myself, and of that little girl I was, to survive the condemnation that would surely come if I were to cross them? And that is why I did not let myself see that there was no loyalty there, no cherishing. That in fact, there was a corrosive ridicule and a kind of destabilizing, decentering labeling.</p><p></p><p>"Just don't think, Cedar."</p><p></p><p>Contempt.</p><p></p><p>Much of what I have accomplished would not have happened had I not had Copa and Serenity and IC and all of you to witness for me, and to keep me honest with myself. But in the beginning, it was needing to stand up, to gather my forces, to declare my own name before my D H that made me strong enough to interact with my family of origin, at all.</p><p></p><p>So Leafy, this is my long, chain of consciousness way of explaining what I understand about why we choose males who love us but do not love women.</p><p>(This is where I generally launch into my feelings about the misogyny permeating every aspect of all of our lives. While I won't go into it at length, that it exists, that it is real, affects us all, male and female, alike.)</p><p></p><p>I am like, exquisitely keyed into misogyny in a male. I mean into the flavor of the misogyny for that particular male. And it will be there. And in a female, for that matter, because we believe so much that is hateful about ourselves, too. For instance, think about the clip with my chill amorata Marlon Brando and that woman. The woman is presented as powerful/powerless; as slinking, and somehow, ugly in the face of her desire.</p><p></p><p>We miss stuff like that, all the time.</p><p></p><p>If we begin to watch, then we will see. That too is an area of healing for all of us, male and female, alike. We need to heal into compassion for ourselves</p><p>and our mates and our kids. We all are doing the best we know, and none of us really does know.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>So, I am thinking again about allowing my family of origin forgiveness, or trust, or belief in them. In reality, I had no right to do that. <em>To lose even one felicity is to be robbed of more than we have a right to spare. (</em>That is Charles Williams, of course. <u>Descent Into Hell.)</u> I needed to wake up, and stand up, not even so much to Family of Origin, but to and for myself. I needed to say what was true, and to see the ugliness that was true and stop ignoring what was happening because I was forever believing it would be getting better oh, just any minute, now.</p><p></p><p>To heal takes such a long time.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 670406, member: 17461"] So, I watched the Marlon Brando clip posted on P.E. I am still toasty warm. :O) But...I remember that kind of passion. Remember being that young? It was enough just to have it, just to ride that out; there was nothing to compare it to then, and there is nothing like it, now. Then come babies and living and not being the prettiest thing because for children, we must become the most stable thing. It's like voyaging across waters of so many different colors, living a life. White sails, snapping in the wind; the water deep and scary or breaking and shining and catching the sun. D H has always said: Love happens over time. In the beginning, it's chemistry. I was so offended about that. But now that the chemistry part is pretty much gone? I think he must have been right, all along. I know what you mean though Leafy, about wishing for more. D H and I are forever falling out of happiness and into hatred. That is, as I make very clear to him, because my D H is a jerk, sometimes. I am serious. D H can be loud and verbally abusive and pretend he doesn't know it when of course, he knows exactly what he is doing. In the beginning of our marriage, I needed that exact kind of man. Someone I could come into balance around; someone who would tell me what was the matter with me so I could address it. This is the essential question we are left with when we have been raised in abusive family systems, whatever else is floating around in there. But no matter how fast I danced, how much I understood, how often I forgave...my D H was who he was. He had been brought up in a certain culture, too. They say that for Italian men, there is the Madonna, and there is the Whore. I am not sure what the imagery of the beautiful whore washing her feet in the sun meant for me, but part of that imagery had to do with reclaiming the Whore; with cherishing her attentiveness to loving and appreciating her own beauty for herself. In some way having nothing to do with a man, or with anyone watching or not watching. The snapping, buzzing neon sign. The dust, and the heat. And none of that matters to the beautiful whore (Susan Sarandon) because she possesses herself. And no matter how many times she sells herself, she has never sold herself, because she has incorporated and cleared all the negatives surrounding whatever names others have assigned her to believe. She knows a different truth. I love that imagery. I have been washing my feet like crazy, you guys. And putting lotion on them. And I think about that movie, when I do that. I can feel the sun in it. *** For a woman to incorporate that kind of thinking (Madonna/Whore) in a man, she has to be very certain she is her own Whore. Her own Madonna. Her own self. There needs, I think, to be such value for herself in the woman that she can disbelieve whatever fantasy the man has grown up believing about women. Just as we need to come to grips with the truth that our husbands are not heroes who are never frightened, are people who sometimes don't know what to do, either. And who need to be loved just for themselves, sometimes. That is how my D H and I fell into this family kind of love, but with a bullet, I think. The steady, sometimes shocking, erosion of illusion. And it's like you look into someone's eyes and say: "Well, hello there." "Have you been here, the whole time?" And there is a real person there, under everything I believed about him and about me, and I love him so much because he taught me to love myself. I had to stand up to my D H or I could never in a million years have stood up to my mother and my family of origin. I am still tumbling into nasty, surprising true things about the way my family of origin worked. How did I not see it? Everything was forever a defensive/protective "That is my mother." Or, "That's just mom. Or, sister. Or, brother." They really did commit the craziest actions, say the craziest things. It was as though I had committed to understanding and forgiving thoughts and words and actions that were wrong from their inception...but I don't know why I did that. As we have gone through these past months on FOO Chronicles, there were so many times I felt shame at who they were and at who that made me. Maybe that is what I did not want to see? Or why I refused to believe they could possibly mean to do what they were undeniably doing? Or maybe, I was too afraid to confront them until I could love or at least, accept and feel protective enough of myself, and of that little girl I was, to survive the condemnation that would surely come if I were to cross them? And that is why I did not let myself see that there was no loyalty there, no cherishing. That in fact, there was a corrosive ridicule and a kind of destabilizing, decentering labeling. "Just don't think, Cedar." Contempt. Much of what I have accomplished would not have happened had I not had Copa and Serenity and IC and all of you to witness for me, and to keep me honest with myself. But in the beginning, it was needing to stand up, to gather my forces, to declare my own name before my D H that made me strong enough to interact with my family of origin, at all. So Leafy, this is my long, chain of consciousness way of explaining what I understand about why we choose males who love us but do not love women. (This is where I generally launch into my feelings about the misogyny permeating every aspect of all of our lives. While I won't go into it at length, that it exists, that it is real, affects us all, male and female, alike.) I am like, exquisitely keyed into misogyny in a male. I mean into the flavor of the misogyny for that particular male. And it will be there. And in a female, for that matter, because we believe so much that is hateful about ourselves, too. For instance, think about the clip with my chill amorata Marlon Brando and that woman. The woman is presented as powerful/powerless; as slinking, and somehow, ugly in the face of her desire. We miss stuff like that, all the time. If we begin to watch, then we will see. That too is an area of healing for all of us, male and female, alike. We need to heal into compassion for ourselves and our mates and our kids. We all are doing the best we know, and none of us really does know. *** So, I am thinking again about allowing my family of origin forgiveness, or trust, or belief in them. In reality, I had no right to do that. [I]To lose even one felicity is to be robbed of more than we have a right to spare. ([/I]That is Charles Williams, of course. [U]Descent Into Hell.)[/U] I needed to wake up, and stand up, not even so much to Family of Origin, but to and for myself. I needed to say what was true, and to see the ugliness that was true and stop ignoring what was happening because I was forever believing it would be getting better oh, just any minute, now. To heal takes such a long time. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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