My shrink so disagrees with this…wonders where my need to be so nice stems from? He sweetly calls me a people pleaser…a do-gooder…an Uncle Tom (he’s black) and on occasion, even a martyr.
That makes me laugh. A martyr, really? Just because I send birthday cards?
He wants me to be tougher on the world, and I’ve asked him, why would he think I was anything but? I’m tough, have a Teflon finish I don pretty much whenever I’m out in a world he describes as mean and uncaring.
Alright, so I spring a leak once in a while, but still more or less hold my ground.
But what I’ve truly learned, in trial and error, if you don’t at least try to choose love as the antidote, then there is really no hope for change.
Nelson Mandela, who I proudly share a birthday with, passed away last week. When you think of a light extinguished, that part of the world has just had a major blackout.
After being incarcerated for 27 years, his heart remained open. One can only ask, how could that be?
Because he opted for love, that’s why. It’s a conscious choice we can make over revenge and retaliation. Is there suffering involved along with frustration not to leave out the humiliation when time and time again your efforts are thwarted and rejected?
Absolutely…like banging your head against that old proverbial wall.
But it’s also the only chance of causing a shift in the collective consciousness.
Aggression on aggression escalates what already is…like bumping head on into someone on the street…you bounce off one another with tremendous force feeling stunned and addled.
But if you lend kindness in its stead…extend a hand…show that you’re not out for blood and warfare…you can actually hear the planet sigh as if to say…finally, I can put down my sword because frankly I’m fucking exhausted.
Hating, for the record, takes a lot of energy.
I love the beginning of the novel Les Miserables (Victor Hugo, 1862), when the priest pretends he gave Jean Valjean the candelabra he stole so he wouldn’t be sent back to jail. This act of kindness opens Jean’s heart, tweaking the reader’s, displaying the example.
I’ve often compared myself to a raw nerve hurting so easily I’m no challenge. I’m the doe running in the woods the hunter kills because I paused to ask if he required directions.
Next thing you know I’m strapped to the roof of a jeep bleeding all along the Hudson River Parkway…
but look…the stadium.
It’s the bottom of the ninth, 3 men on base and the Stalwarts are losing…but alas…here comes LOVE up to bat…
CAN SHE DO IT… PULL A BABE RUTH RESTORING FAITH TO THE MASSES BLEEDING SO BADLY IN THOSE COLD-HEARTED BLEACHERS?
WE HOLD OUR BREATH AS WE WATCH HER EFFORTLESSLY HIT IT ONCE AGAIN, RIGHT OUT OF THE PARK…
WONDERING HOW WE EVER DOUBTED HER?