Saturday, January 29, 2011
I’ve been sitting and marinating in this ‘new’* insight of the artifice in myself, ever since it came into my awareness the other night. Last night gave me a few more glimpses of the constellation this is a part of. That this artifice I have created is my first layer of defense. It has become for me a general, daily wear kind of wall that I put up around myself, in defense of my vulnerability, which is the fear that I am not enough, that I don’t have enough. I dare say that all of my fears and anxieties are rooted in that. Even with the yesterday’s episode of ‘I hate cleaning up after and taking care of someone else”—an ancient re-run of my relationship soap opera, there it is, way down, that fear that I don’t have enough (energy, time, resources, whatever) for myself already, I don’t want to give anymore away, because I won’t have enough left for myself… The poverty consciousness of the Head Types.
But this wall, this artifice, is made of glass, so I can see out into the world from a safe place, and still see what’s going on, so I can continue to live vicariously through it and feel ‘productive’ and ‘useful’. But this transparency also allows others to see me, which, from my lofty (glass tower) vantage point inside the wall gives the illusion that I am somehow superior to those outside, and most important of all, my sincerity and honesty are on display, so as to uphold my holier-than-thou image to others. “Look how smart I am! Look what good work I am doing, working on my own healing and spiritual growth!” Because I am nothing if I am not smart.
But my life of cultivating ‘smart’ seemed to have masterminded this glass screen I am now imprisoned in. The sophisticiation of my intellect created this double-blind that is so cleverly deceptive, I find myself now lost and trapped in the jungle of my own mind. I’ve outsmarted myself, and now I can’t get out.
In my dream of the glass tower, I didn’t or couldn’t leave because I did not have my masculine: the courage and confidence and drive to go out into the world. I flirted with him (all 3 of them!) but did not commit myself to him, so he did not take me with him. Because deep down I don’t really want to leave my glass tower, my false sense of safety, even though there was a revolving door, so I was not even really trapped. The only thing that binds me is my fear of not enough.**
*the quote marks around the new are there because I’ve had inklings of these notions long before they appeared in my consciousness in these particular forms. In these 2 instances, they came as words or labels.
**this is also very true of why I’ve been hitting that wall of artifice in writing poetry, which manifests as the symptom of piling on as many adjectives and metaphors and images and words as I can (as I’ve just done) into every line, for fear that I might miss some crucial embellishment or novel turn-of-phrase that could distinguish me as ‘a cut above’. Even though it is the simple, matter-of-fact, unadorn truth and wisdom that move me the most. I can’t seem to stop myself. It is an obsession, a compulsion, a knee-jerk reflex of fear.
Is there anything to be done with this, on this loop of the spiral? Surrender it to Source. That is all.
_____________
Friday, January 28, 2011
There is a layer of artifice in myself I must penetrate, as thin and transparent as it might be, for that is its disguise. I have been aware of its presence for some time now, but mostly the awareness came and went, until I began to write poetry lately, until I began to strive to be a poet and kept hitting a wall once I get a few lines into it. I think now, that the wall is my artifice. It is the same glass wall that was in my dream a few days ago, of being with 3 love interests in a glass building, then watching them leave through the glass revolving door with other women.
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Thursday, January 27, 2011
Had another DREAM of a small girl child, this time she was with her mom with me looking on, again, full of concern for her welfare, but from a few feet away. Her mom had just set her down to sit, and I thought, I’ve never seen her run around like kids usually do, she’s always just sitting quietly. I had to admit though, she looked healthy, and sweet. Meanwhile, off to the other side, someone (I think it was actually me) was holding and showing a plant and saying, this is what happens when a plant has potato bugs. I saw that there were russet-coloured pudgey wedged-shaped things hanging from the stems of the plant.
DREAMWORK:
I am still keeping a ‘safe’ distance away from my ‘concern’, fretting needless no doubt, but not realizing that my anxiety is caused and fueled by the distance I’ve placed between myself and ‘other’. I am powerless because I’ve removed myself from the position of participation, therefore the right to act. I don’t want the role of a nurturer or caregiver, in effect giving up my right to keep the little girl as my own, even though I know she is mine. Even though I say I want to heal the split in myself, I am holding the sides apart.
The russet-coloured wedges on the plant seemed more like ‘fruits’ than the result of potato-bug infestation to me. Perhaps I believed it to be an infestation—a negative influence—but it’s actually bearing some kind of fruit, or hanging chrysalis. The colour red is one that signifies life to me, though somewhat stagnant in this case because of its darkness. They were full and healthy looking too. I think the potato bugs were my fears, and from my fears I did not expect anything ‘good’ to come, but the dream is telling me otherwise.
Judge less. Wait more.
___________
Unmake Me
In half sleep it came
with an untidy jolt
that before anything else ought to be contemplated
I must unlearn
all that I have
all that I know
all that I have invested
treasured and venerated
in language and words
art and sensibility
sacred and the profane
indeed
how we stand, how
we take our place in
the order and orientation
of all things created
the clay pot that I am
in a long line of vessels
is taken up by an unseen hand
dropped
in a heartbeat
shattered
in front of my own witness
I knew then
the worst
and the best
all the rest
have yet to come.
~~~~~
So I am to be unmade, broken into pieces and reconfigured into a new design for a ‘new’ vessel, as I was once before. Or so I thought… Perhaps this is how it goes, how we are renewed, life after life, life within life. Remembering still the pain of dismemberment the last time, I can only pray that this time, it might mercifully be a process less protracted, IF I can surrender to it with less of a fight, and more stillness.
Ready. Set. Stop.
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