The following words hold difficult truths; some overt, others not so much. The overall subject might inspire solidarity and nods of agreement, for we’ve all been hurt by someone who was supposed to love us. It was a painful post to write. It’s not positive nor negative… I lived what I’m about to describe, so I can say that even after feeling all the evidence on flesh and in soul, there is always a bit of hope that one might be wrong and that the person might change. However, that kind of optimism seems to vanish after one acknowledges the truth by saying the words aloud… or by sharing them with the world.
This is not a happy post, my Wicked Luvs, so don’t read it until your heart is up to it.
4:13 am, Thursday, Aug 9th
I’m noting the time and date of the conversation because Pagan Culture has become some kind of public journal for me; also, because the 13th has always been significant in my life; a lucky number; one that exists in-between; a marker of crossroads; a sign of change…
“You don’t come to visit me; you don’t give me another chance because you don’t trust yourself around me. You know that if you look at me again, you’ll honor me like The Word says you must. We shared too much; you loved me too much for all that to mean nothing now.”
Self-delusion can be the most powerful of dogmas… That was the thought going through my mind as I heard the words above. That, plus an intense need for coffee; when someone calls me before the sun has stretched its rays over the land, most of what they say is clouded a little voice in my head, saying, “Um… I know you need to listen to this, but you don’t need your hands to listen, you know? Why not make some delicious French vanilla coffee and talk between blissful sips?” So I listened to the voice, and brewed something sweet, dark and yummy, as I shook my head at the caller’s nerve.
I can’t understand how anyone who shared any amount of time with me—who lived with me!—got to know me so little that they can cheat themselves into believing that they can manipulate my thinking by invoking blood, religious philosophy, or their sick understanding of love.
I don’t think this person will ever get me or my ways, but I’ll still take the time to explain why I stay away from this individual. Nope; it’s not because I care about this being, but because the issue allows me to quote a powerful piece of writing. So here it goes:
Not So Dearest Self-Deluded Parasite,
It is not lack of self-trust that keeps me from you, but the understanding of how ruthless I can be when nice is not an option. I’ve lived enough to have learned that certain actions lead to a kind of damage that can’t be fixed… not completely, anyway. You broke things that can’t be mended. You shattered Nice and left only Mean behind. Like Merry Gentry says in A Stroke of Midnight, someone whose wisdom I respect “taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them.”
You heard the same wisdom from the same person, but you laughed at it. You followed your path, and I chose mine. Your decision made you the thing you are now; a mindless common thing; someone to be pitied by anyone who doesn’t know that the bones that hold your flesh were rotten long before you embraced the shroud under which you try to mask your stench. It’s not working, by the way.
I am a Witch… instinct… thought… I know better. I am of the Earth. Like a wild plant, I was born; I am growing; and although like with all energy, one day my flesh and essence will go back to the Nature that birthed me, I am also sentient and mobile. So unlike the flower that can’t do much about trampling feet, I can move away and leave mean behind. For destruction is not only about devastation and ruin… I won’t soil my hands or soul with you. My mode of destruction involves banishment. I was nice to you for a long, long, long and painful time… even when I was almost sure that my efforts were useless. When nice stopped working, I tried numb and that was inadequate, too. So I walked away. I expelled you from my heart, and let you decay in the lonely wretched juices of your miserable life.
My niceness failed, and your meanness succeeded in destroying what you once meant to me. So no, it is not lack of self-trust. What keeps me from you, is something below pity; something that doesn’t care for nice. So please, just let me be. Don’t inspire me to be mean. We would both dislike the outcome.
Like I said at the beginning, my Wicked Darlings, this is not a pretty post. Yet, in a balanced world there are times when nasty has to show its ugly head and glare. Then, life goes on and so do we ;-)
|It sounds a lot like madness, does it not?|