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Showing posts with label resentments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label resentments. Show all posts

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Freedom from Injustice



Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree.
Rabindranath Tagore

I’ve been busy shining light in my own soul for the past few weeks, seeing for the first time in two years some hard truths about myself. I know without a doubt now there’s a Higher Power who’s personally interested in my spiritual growth, because the sequence of events these last weeks has inexorably brought me to a gigantic, life-shifting Aha! moment of emancipation, forgiveness, and peace.

My inner darkness began two years ago this month when the FBI burst into my mother’s care facility one morning, arrested the owners for trafficking in slavery, booted out the residents, and destroyed my demented mom’s life. She lost her fragile grip on reality and was dead four months later. I got a major resentment and wrote about it here in April of 2010.

Three weeks ago, the newspaper reported the care home’s owners were sentenced to 18 months in prison and $600,000 restitution to nine workers brought in illegally from a foreign country and treated like slaves. As I read the newspaper report, I suddenly remembered searching for a new home for my mother in the weeks before the FBI raid because the quality of care had deteriorated.

My intuition had told me to move my mother but I didn’t act fast enough. The facility owners and the FBI were beyond my control, but I suddenly saw my part in the fiasco. Recognizing my role in Mom’s meltdown had an immediate effect, releasing me from two years of resentment over the injustice of it all.

That epiphany created a chink in my armor. On its heels came a series of events that brought me face to face with other people whose actions were unjust in the past two years. A little army of people who had hurt me came marching through my life, in circumstances that required me to act helpfully and humanely toward them – something I can’t do when I’m fiercely holding on to resentment about the injuries I suffered.

Because of the chink in my armor, I saw flaws in my own character that were surprisingly similar to those in other people I had judged harshly. I went to my AA sponsor, a woman I’ve met with almost every week for the past year because I wanted her help in learning to live in an unjust world. I told her what I saw in myself. She nodded her head and smiled. She reminded me that we’re all God's children doing the best we can with what we’ve got inside us.

I left her house that night a free woman. My resentments evaporated. I could do the right things now, for the right reasons, with a clean soul.

When I’m willing see my full truth and come clean inside, accepting my part in whatever has injured me, I’m no longer the helpless victim of someone’s wrongdoing. In my experience, all of us lit matches that sent something up in flames. I don’t have to blame anyone anymore. I’m freed from the bondage of resentment through the gift of forgiveness.

I’ve been digesting this as I worked preparing my garden for spring. I’ve pulled out dead stalks, turned the soil, and planted seeds, thinking all the while how wonderful it is to be an imperfect human being. Last night the rain came at last. This morning the ground is soaked, black and beautiful. Fragile first leaves are emerging. Life is good.


Friday, April 22, 2011

Hanging Pictures in the Sewer



Well, hail. I've had an overdose of harsh words running around in my head, and it got so noisy and poisonous in there that I took to my bed, that refuge of depression.

When I wasn't seeking the oblivion of sleep, I was outside in the yard, working among living, thriving beings, or finding respite from orneriness in AA meetings. I haven't been a happy camper inside my own soul. In that quiet place where I've found contentment through the years, a few words from a few unhappy people and a few sad situations wormed their way in and started putting down roots.

When I was newly sober 21 years ago in LA, I heard an AA speaker named Joe G from Venice Beach give his pitch one morning. I don't remember a thing he said except one: If you got a resentment against me, and you're thinking about me, you're giving me free rent in your head. Thank you!

Another man named Joe spoke in that same AA meeting hall one night. He said, "I'm an alcoholic. If I fall in a cesspool, I start hanging pictures." I married that man because of what he said.

While I've been lying in my bed, sleepless or sleeping, I've been licking my wounds and hanging pictures. A loved one with wounds of her own recently told me that I am a deeply troubled person. I immediately without passing Go became a deeply troubled person. Some of us give the most amazing amount to power to others.

There comes a time when you have made all the amends you can make, done your best to bring reconciliation and clean up your side of the street, prayed all the prayers you can pray, and things still are bad. Either you start hanging pictures and giving up that free rent, or you walk away. You have come to the end of the line where your power to change things is concerned.

I went to an enormously satisfying poetry reading last night, where I heard a lot of good work by some fine poets. Everyone was at the top of their game. I was glad to be part of the night, to be one among such people. There is no price for gifts like this. There’s no price for the soul-satisfying act of being who and what you are, and proud of it.

Today is Earth Day and Good Friday, a whole bunch of redemption packed into one little day. I won't notice the goodness of heaven and earth if I stay in the cesspool hanging pictures. So I'm out and about where there is plenty of love to share.

Here is a Flash Friday 55-word poem about a different sort of thing putting down roots in your mind. Go see the G-Man, the G-force behind this Friday madness. I call this piece “Obsession.”

When it should come to this,
that I should sit like stone,
not uttering a sound,
not twitching a thumb,
as the hours pass and think
only of your dark eyes,
I will know myself
a fool, unglued,
that it is time to don
the round red nose and play
for nickels on the corner.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Why Is There Air?


Curious phrases that pop into my mind first thing in the morning: Why is there air?

That one came out of the deep dark past. Way back in my prehistory, Bill Cosby put out a comedy record (remember those?) that we kids thought was hysterical. In one of the bits, Cosby says his kids come up with impossible questions. Why is there air? they ask him. He doesn’t know, and in frustration he says, “There’s air to blow up basketballs!!”

I realize this morning that I’ve been harboring a few impossible questions myself. They’ve been buzzing just below the radar so I’m not aware of them but they’ve been influencing my attitude.

I walk around in serious pain all the time now. This past week I learned parts of my spine are falling apart. Meanwhile, I’ve been very busy combing through my mom’s medical records and sending stuff off to my friendly law professor. That has forced me to deal with health-care facilities and the Privacy Act. And every time I use the keyboard on my computer, the cursor jumps around maniacally so I waste tons of time correcting its random acts of violence, not to mention the hours searching the web for solutions.

This morning, as I look out window at the foggy landscape and hear the question “Why is there air?” in my head, I realize something important: In the shadows of my conscious mind, I’m asking impossible questions of the universe.

Why did my mother get Alzheimer’s? Why did that doctor treat her so abominably in the emergency room that night? Why are my computer’s cursor and mouse misbehaving? Why do I have to deal suddenly with disintegrating disks and vertebrae in my neck?

These questions are causing resentment, or they arise from resentment, I don’t know which. Resentment is literally sickening. It makes life uncomfortable, makes my attitude bad, interferes with my relationships, and prevents me from living in gratitude.

Hm. I need to go have an attitude adjustment. Read, pray, get my Higher Power involved in my thoughts. I have a busy day ahead of me and it would be good if I were thankful for the ability to live and be.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I Want to Steal Daffodils


Down the street from my house is a house where yellow daffodils grow in clusters around the front yard. I pick a couple daffodils when no one is home. When a car is parked in the driveway, I stay on the sidewalk.
I put the daffodils in vases and enjoy them. Here's a photo of one so you can see for yourself how pretty they are. I just discovered, though, that I feel guilty for stealing.


I grow daffodils in my own yard, but they are pale cream in color and bland. I don't want my own daffodils. I want my neighbor's.
I'm now pissed off that I feel guilty over something so stupid as picking a few daffodils. It's a few dumb flowers, what on earth does it hurt? It hurts absolutely nothing, and I'm being ridiculous.
If it's no big deal, then, why do I so carefully stay on the sidewalk when the neighbor is home? I don't want to be caught stealing, that's why.
So is it okay to steal when no one is there to catch you at it?

Why am I having a moral crisis over picking my neighbor's daffodils? The truth is I've been sitting in judgment of another member of Alcoholics Anonymous. She stirred up some controversy, and I think I'm better than she is. I've been crabby for two days about this. I'm righteously angry, and I would like to stay that way. Oh, I love feeling superior!

I'm not a paragon of moral perfection. From small, insignificant thefts, to the full-blown seven deadly sins, I'm guilty of bad behavior. I make the situation worse when I blame someone else for committing a wrongful deed that I'm guilty of myself. Shame on me.

I guess I am going to have to stop picking daffodils at the neighbor's place. Somewhere it says we should concern ourselves with the plank in our own eye rather than the mote in someone's elses. Go figure.