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Work and Germany; Benedictines and Buddhists: Attitude
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 671763" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>One of the threads is about the way we view our mates, and is about the way we view ourselves in our relationships. For those with an abusive parent ~ which will mean, I now believe, a gamut of intergenerationally abusive relationships of varying degrees of subtlety or overtness ~ from grandparents to nieces to aunts and uncles to sibs and their children, too ~ consider the abusive parent's interpretation of your mate, and of yourself in relationship to your mate.</p><p></p><p>Think how nasty my mother's interpretations of myself, of my mate, our home, our children...and though I told myself that was just how my mother was, on some level, I believed, <em>and believed I deserved no better or I would not have believed no one would hire me. But I did believe that. Like a brainwashed soldier who cannot determine reality, I believed whatever she said or implied.</em></p><p></p><p>Huh.</p><p></p><p>These people had such terrible effects on every aspect of our lives, on every smallest nuance of self. Once we see it, it is shocking. Shocking, to understand that was so intrinsic a piece of who we were that we did not question it.</p><p></p><p>That we never even saw it.</p><p></p><p>No wonder D H never liked my mom or my sister. I thought he was just being jerky.</p><p></p><p>And he never thought much of my brother, either.</p><p></p><p>Or my aunt or my grandmother.</p><p></p><p>But he hosted the most beautiful dinners for all of us, and he enjoyed that part. Just not them.</p><p></p><p>D H did like my father, very much.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>On the shining mother part: These are brown and shriveled things, now. There are still some determinedly bright images of my mother, but I know now there is trauma beneath. I recall Jung, supposed to have kept a representation of himself in a tiny box in the attic of his childhood home. I recall him working with rocks, huge rocks, because of their connection to Time, in the home where he retired. He brought the representation of self there with him.</p><p></p><p>I don't know how those two things come together, or what that means where my mother or my process at this point is concerned.</p><p></p><p>I only know it is connected.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>Kind of a yucky feeling, all of this.</p><p></p><p>Like wandering around a Carnival after dawn. All the lights are out ~ some of them, burned out. The lot is dirty and deserted, the costumes tattered and cheap looking.</p><p></p><p>Everything so cheap looking.</p><p></p><p>Bad smells.</p><p></p><p>Only the Fortune machine looks the same.</p><p></p><p>Sort of a friendly, familiar scary thing.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>So, that's good, then.</p><p></p><p>I have just enough money to learn my Fortune; maybe, a little more. Before I do though, I will sit and drink coffee. And the Fortune will be from some friendly scary thing, old and familiar and beloved.</p><p></p><p>Remember my contention that this is all connected somehow to breathing, and to asthma, and to allergies.</p><p></p><p>To limiting myself.</p><p></p><p>To never risking <em>and succeeding</em>,<em> and learning Mother lied because that would be very wrong</em>.</p><p></p><p>That is an essential piece of the conflict here for all of us: Who is the liar, here.</p><p></p><p>Think how strong a hold those belief systems have on us. Think, oh just think, what they have cost.</p><p></p><p>So. If I were going to name the illness my mother suffered, I would name it Narcissism. But I have read Narcissists do not generally beat their children or kick their dogs or threaten with fire. </p><p></p><p>Sociopaths do.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>Does it matter what the name is. It does, in the sense of why the Liar lied, and how that was justified. And how it was that what happened to all of us was justified. And continues to be not only justified, but celebrated, to this very day.</p><p></p><p>Huh.</p><p></p><p>There are witnesses to the shunning now, and to my changing interpretations of what it means, of what it represents. Maya, an Englishman, some others.</p><p></p><p>Balance.</p><p></p><p>Something here about balance. The surfing imagery contained information about balance; about speed, incredible speed, and wind and sun.</p><p></p><p>Pay attention.</p><p></p><p>There are sharks, where the water is deep and very cold. </p><p></p><p>And shafts of gray light, piercing the dark.</p><p></p><p>Climate change.</p><p></p><p>Maybe.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>So, I was 42, when I graduated. </p><p></p><p>I am glad that happened, for all of us.</p><p></p><p>It is good to have signposts that cannot be sullied or disproven.</p><p></p><p>And that was a very classy school, and was an impossible thing that I did, at the age that I did it. And I did it while my life and my marriage were falling apart, and while I became a Grandmother for the first time. And while I was losing hope that daughter would be able to put this behind her. And the falling in love with that little girl I would name here Baklava grand.</p><p></p><p>Easy cheesy.</p><p></p><p>F you, Mom.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>It's possible she would have done better if she could.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Thank you for witnessing for me, everyone.</p><p></p><p>This part feels pretty awful.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 671763, member: 17461"] One of the threads is about the way we view our mates, and is about the way we view ourselves in our relationships. For those with an abusive parent ~ which will mean, I now believe, a gamut of intergenerationally abusive relationships of varying degrees of subtlety or overtness ~ from grandparents to nieces to aunts and uncles to sibs and their children, too ~ consider the abusive parent's interpretation of your mate, and of yourself in relationship to your mate. Think how nasty my mother's interpretations of myself, of my mate, our home, our children...and though I told myself that was just how my mother was, on some level, I believed, [I]and believed I deserved no better or I would not have believed no one would hire me. But I did believe that. Like a brainwashed soldier who cannot determine reality, I believed whatever she said or implied.[/I] Huh. These people had such terrible effects on every aspect of our lives, on every smallest nuance of self. Once we see it, it is shocking. Shocking, to understand that was so intrinsic a piece of who we were that we did not question it. That we never even saw it. No wonder D H never liked my mom or my sister. I thought he was just being jerky. And he never thought much of my brother, either. Or my aunt or my grandmother. But he hosted the most beautiful dinners for all of us, and he enjoyed that part. Just not them. D H did like my father, very much. *** On the shining mother part: These are brown and shriveled things, now. There are still some determinedly bright images of my mother, but I know now there is trauma beneath. I recall Jung, supposed to have kept a representation of himself in a tiny box in the attic of his childhood home. I recall him working with rocks, huge rocks, because of their connection to Time, in the home where he retired. He brought the representation of self there with him. I don't know how those two things come together, or what that means where my mother or my process at this point is concerned. I only know it is connected. Cedar Kind of a yucky feeling, all of this. Like wandering around a Carnival after dawn. All the lights are out ~ some of them, burned out. The lot is dirty and deserted, the costumes tattered and cheap looking. Everything so cheap looking. Bad smells. Only the Fortune machine looks the same. Sort of a friendly, familiar scary thing. Cedar So, that's good, then. I have just enough money to learn my Fortune; maybe, a little more. Before I do though, I will sit and drink coffee. And the Fortune will be from some friendly scary thing, old and familiar and beloved. Remember my contention that this is all connected somehow to breathing, and to asthma, and to allergies. To limiting myself. To never risking [I]and succeeding[/I],[I] and learning Mother lied because that would be very wrong[/I]. That is an essential piece of the conflict here for all of us: Who is the liar, here. Think how strong a hold those belief systems have on us. Think, oh just think, what they have cost. So. If I were going to name the illness my mother suffered, I would name it Narcissism. But I have read Narcissists do not generally beat their children or kick their dogs or threaten with fire. Sociopaths do. Cedar Does it matter what the name is. It does, in the sense of why the Liar lied, and how that was justified. And how it was that what happened to all of us was justified. And continues to be not only justified, but celebrated, to this very day. Huh. There are witnesses to the shunning now, and to my changing interpretations of what it means, of what it represents. Maya, an Englishman, some others. Balance. Something here about balance. The surfing imagery contained information about balance; about speed, incredible speed, and wind and sun. Pay attention. There are sharks, where the water is deep and very cold. And shafts of gray light, piercing the dark. Climate change. Maybe. So, I was 42, when I graduated. I am glad that happened, for all of us. It is good to have signposts that cannot be sullied or disproven. And that was a very classy school, and was an impossible thing that I did, at the age that I did it. And I did it while my life and my marriage were falling apart, and while I became a Grandmother for the first time. And while I was losing hope that daughter would be able to put this behind her. And the falling in love with that little girl I would name here Baklava grand. Easy cheesy. F you, Mom. Cedar It's possible she would have done better if she could. *** Thank you for witnessing for me, everyone. This part feels pretty awful. [/QUOTE]
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