Hidden Fury

    While in Arizona I began asking myself where I tucked all my anger away. I have known for a while now that though I cannot access it and I can't feel it, that it is simply hidden away. It's improbable for one to go through a harrowing past like mine and not hold any anger towards the person or towards God. I've been angry at God plenty, but have felt indifferent towards my father. Not only that, but I feel as though I have to suppress my anger when around other people so I won't lose those I care about. I have had this belief that there is a thin tether between me and those I love and that it is easily snapped if I step out of line...by getting angry at them or angry around them. I feel as though I need the people around me to believe I'm always happy or something. 

    So back to the hidden rage... I picture it in a plain wooden box with a lid that slides open... But I can't open it yet, because the box is surrounded by a massive Gordian knot and each twist of the knot represents the false beliefs I have about anger, specifically my own anger. Aside from the false belief mentioned above, I also tend to believe that it is unsafe for me to express my rage and fury. I have also felt extreme guilt when I used to copy our biological parents Motus operandi  by first yelling at and then hitting my sister when she didn't respond to my fury the way I wanted her to. (I was 4, 5, and 6 years old at those times and my sister found it hilarious when I yelled at her since my voice would crack and my face would turn bright red.) This guilt caused me to push the anger down even further. I have also believed anger and sadness to be childish emotions to show. Even though I couldn't stop the tears (even in public) I'd feel immense shame when my grief spilled over like that.

I recently let some of that anger out in private, but I barely scratched the surface.

Let the Past Die

    So, the piece I just finished writing that I split into four separate parts was inspired by a couple different people. One person had me close my eyes and imagine being imprisoned in a dark chamber and then instructed me to try to find a way out. The second person told me to look for my practically feral inner child somewhere deep in a cluttered basement. I modified that bit and made the primary obstacle darkness. My goal is to find a way to get the inner child to trust me again since I had denied her everything for so long. On top of that, she points out that she can't trust me because I don't believe what I say. I've tried to sugar-coat things, tried to claim that the past does not matter, to I wave it off as insignificant. But that is why I wrote a while back that "the past taught me x, but now I know y." I know I have to acknowledge the significance of the past in the way it sculpted me and my personality; it would be foolish to claim otherwise. I can't tell you how eager I am to drop this load and walk away from it already.

Let the Past Die

My past force-fed me lies.
It had me believing myself to be weak.
It had me believing that I was unlovable.
It had me believing I was undeserving of good.
My past force-fed me lies.
Please, dear God, let the past die.

I see the truth, I know the truth,
but I still don't believe the truth.
I have lived off the torment of lies
and now I wish to be nourished by what's true.
And what's true is that I can't be weak
and capable of walking through the wilderness for 6 months.
What's true is that I can't be unlovable
and experience the loving support of my community.
What's true is that I can't be undeserving of good
and a child of God born in and with the Love and Grace of God.

I say and write the words but don't believe what I say.
The proof is laid before me,
but I struggle to let go of the force-fed lies.
Please, dear God, let the past die.

A Way Out (finale)

"Keep knocking," I tell her. "I'm going to try a couple things."
She does as I say and I crawl towards the sound.
When I reach the right place,
I feel for any seams that might betray a hidden door,
hoping I can just press it in and have it click open.
"Come on. Come on. Give me something."

"Please hurry."

"Oh! I got something! Let me see if it works."
The knocking stops as I gently press within the seams I found and hear a promising click. Nothing happens.
I try it again and push harder. Click. Creeaak.
The door to the crawl space opens stiffly.
"Hello?" 
"Help. I'm still stuck. Grab my hand."
I reach blindly into the crawl space for a tiny hand.
After a brief moment I feel something cold and clammy and grab hold.
As I pull hard, I feel a second small hand seize mine.
I need both my hands to keep my grip and I try pulling from her wrists.
"What are you stuck in?"
"I don't know."
I army crawl into the crawl space to see if I can figure out what has her trapped and ease her out.
In mere seconds I realize why she's stuck.
There are voices of fear filling my mind telling me that it is dangerous to leave,
that it will be worse "out there" than it is here.
She wants out, but she and I, even now, don't believe it's safe to leave.
I try to ignore the new fears or push them out of my head,
but they fill my being with dread.
While reeling in the midst of this internal chaos,
one small sliver of my conscious mind hooks my arms under the arms of the girl and pulls yet again.
Somewhere deep within that small sliver of consciousness, a prayer suddenly blossoms into my frenzied mind, calming it.
It springs unbidden, out through my voice,

"Let me see myself as I am in light.
Let me know myself as I am in light.
Let me see myself as I am in love.
Let me know myself as I am in love."

The prayer appears to be calling in the light of the universe.
Oddly, as the light streams in, the crawl space and the damp, smelly tunnels cease to exist. We're surrounded by light on all sides and is so intense, we close our eyes.
When we dare to open them again,
we are standing before a massive blue-green lake
with an almighty mountain as its backdrop.
After the journey through the darkness,
I am eager to wade into the water to cleanse my mind, body, and soul.
Still holding my inner child's hand, I ask if she wants to join me.
Wide-eyed, she nods yes and we slowly walk into the chilly water,
our skin tingling, both with cold and delight.

A Way Out (part 3)

"What can I do to help you trust me?"

"Nothing! Go away!"
I can hear the unuttered, "I hate you!" in the echoing silence.

"I promise, I didn't mean to.
I didn't know what I was doing.
I put you here in an effort to keep us safe."

"I don't care. Don't look for me." 

"I'm so sorry I believed the lies.
I thought it wasn't safe
to allow you to express yourself.
I thought that was why we had been hurt
and abandoned so often.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean to."
My face is wet and it takes me a moment
to realize that I'm crying.

Drip. Drip-drip. Drip.
The next thing I hear is, "Getting me out isn't enough.
You've got to make this up to me.
Thanks to you, I don't trust anyone.
Thanks to you, I don't know who I am."

"I promise to make it up to you.
Whatever you want.
Whatever you need."

She surprises me with her request:
"First I need you to stop lying.
You can't tell me it's ok to be sad and angry
when you don't believe it yourself.
You may say words that are true,
but I know you don't believe them.
Your words of comfort have always been hollow.
So don't use words. Just be there."

"Ok. I promise," I say as I inch my way forward.
"Where are you?"

"Keep walking... Keep walking...
I can hear your footsteps somewhere over my head."

I start crawling in case I stumble across steps or a second trap door.
"Am I getting closer?"

"You've got to find a way down here. I'm here. I'm right here. Please hurry!"

Suddenly my foot snags on something.
I turn around and search for the culprit with my hands.
"I got it!" I exclaim as my fingers brush another metal ring.
"I'm coming."
I heave up on it with all my might
and it slams against the ground.
To my chagrin, there is still no light below
and now it also stinks to high heaven.
With another short prayer,
I do my awkward drop to the floor
and discover there is even more water here,
if you could call it that.

It's eerily quiet again.

"Hello?" I call out.

Silence.

"Hello? Where are you?"
I know I'm close.
I feel the deep shame me and my inner child carry.
This place reeks of shame.
I'm ashamed of myself for placing her here
and I know she's ashamed of being found in this dark, smelly place
and we both carry the shame of the pain we share.
But I know now, better than ever,
that there is no reason we should.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Then a barely audible whisper,
"I'm here. Down here. But I'm stuck."
A knocking sound reaches my ear
and I realize she's trapped in a closed space
almost as low as the baseboards. 

A Way Out (part 2)

Stretching my arms out to the walls,
I realize I seem to be in a tunnel.
There is still an echoing voice
and though I cannot make out the words,
it is clear she is desperate for help.

I close my eyes focusing my attention on the sound,
trying to pinpoint where it is coming from.
With one hand on the damp, rocky wall,
I begin to make my way toward the child.
Careful not to trip on the uneven ground,
I move as quickly as I dare.

It takes a while before the echoing cries sound closer.
Suddenly I am able to decipher the words.
She's calling out "Help! Help! Let me out! Let me out! Please! Let me out!"
Her voice is strong, but raspy, like her throat is sore from shouting.
I want to break out into a run, but I still can't see.
All I can do is yell back, "I'm coming! I'm coming!"

A sudden overwhelming quiet hits me like a heavy blow.
I realize I must have scared her.
I add, "I promise I'm here to help! Keep talking to me."
Still no sound. I stop moving and listen.
Drip-drip. Drip-drip.
Then, "Who are you?"
Without thinking, I blurt out, "I'm you."
and realize in that instant, it's the truth.

Another excruciating silence.
"Oh. I don't want your help."

"What?!? Why not?" I ask.

"Because you're the one who put me here."
That statement takes the wind out of me.

To be continued...

A Way Out (part 1)

I close my eyes and sense a pitch black room...
or prison chamber.
Pressing my palms against the cold stone walls,
I feel my way through the dark
hoping to lay my hands on a door knob.

I feel the creases between the stones;
in some places the mortar is cracked and crumbling,
but otherwise, the wall is solid.
In a short while, I have circled the room,
its circumference is only a few paces;
no more than ten.
I make my way around a few more times,
varying how high I place my hands.
It comes to nothing.

The only other way out that comes to mind
is through the floor.
Kneeling carefully, I blindly continue my search
with my fingers meticulously feeling out every inch.
At long last I feel a small crevice
and gently glide my finger along it;
it turns a corner, then another one.
Using my left hand,
I begin hunting for the metal ring typically found on trap doors.

Aha!
Found it at last.
Still grasping the ring,
now with both hands,
I gradually climb to my feet and pull up hard.
It's unusually heavy.
I return to my knees, relax, and try again
with more muscle, more might.
Ever so slowly, the trap door begins to move.
When I get it high enough,
I give it a final massive shove
and it clatters satisfyingly against the dusty floor.

Looking down, I still can't see.
But I hear the unmistakable
echoing sound of water drip dripping
to a shallow pool below.
Sitting down with my feet in the hole,
I briefly search for a ladder of some kind
below the lip of the trap door.
I am not surprised when I don't find one.
Resigned to an unpredictable jump,
I grab onto the edge, let my feet dangle a bit
and then, with a prayer, release my grip.
While weightless in the air,
I draw my knees up just a little,
to spare them from the jolting impact.
I land in a crouch with a splash.

Hoping to see some sign of light,
I pause, staring into the blackness.
Nothing.
But I hear something new.
A strained, distant voice;
the voice of a child. 

As I Am In Light

I used to think I was the darkness that surrounded me:
      Let me see myself as I am in light.
      Let me know myself as I am in light.
      Let me see myself as I am in light.
      Let me know myself as I am in light.

I used to think I was the shadows of hate that surrounded me:
      Let me see myself as I am in love.
      Let me know myself as I am in love.
      Let me see myself as I am in love.
      Let me know myself as I am in love.

Let me see myself as I am in grace.
Let me know myself as I am in grace.
Let me see myself as I am in grace.
Let me know myself as I am in grace.

My past taught me I was insignificant,
but now I know, in truth, that I am sacred.
My past taught me I was a burden,
but now I know, in truth, that many enjoy my company.
My past taught me I was unlovable,
but now I know, in truth, I am deeply cherished by others.
My past taught me I was a powerless victim,
but now I have tasted the true essence of my courage and power.
My past taught me I was always going to return to a place of suffering,
but now I can see, that in truth, I am divinely protected.