Monday, May 25, 2009

what poem?

i did it -- i finally posted something on another blog i thought i would try to start a while ago ... it's not what i thought it might be when i started but it's something ...
and it was easier to put something there having nothing really to do with me than to post here what is wanting to be loosed ...
maybe later.
If nothing else i did something today that i had not done before.

I am reading James Alison's "faith beyond resentment" -- excellent if difficult -- and this song comes to mind; rather than trying to be literate about what is waiting for me to catch up, this song does well enough for hope I think.

Saturday, May 23, 2009


“Like those birds that lay their eggs only in other species’ nests, memory produces in a place that does not belong to it… Memory comes from somewhere else, it is outside of itself, it moves things about.”
Michel de Certeau The Practice of Everyday Life, pp. 86-87

And what of faith?
Faith in the truth of memory, faith in the goodness of man, faith in a loving and welcoming god -- where does faith come from?

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

moving along ... but to where?

so here i am with twenty years of formal education, not enough, ready to run as fast as i can (i think) from the 20-year trial lawyer i have become into something, almost anything else. I finally (maybe) ordered transcripts and i did (for sure) fill out my alternate teacher certification application (EC-4) and i paid my application fee ... but i still don't know.

What makes me think i can teach elementary school?
nothing --- it's more what i can't so ... math and science are the ones they want and since i flunked pre-algebra in HS and flunked pre-calculus in college and now they teach college calculus in HS i figured maybe i could pass whatever test they require for grade school math ... and in keeping with NCLB once you get certified in anything they don't care what's on your transcript. You just take and pass a test for another certification. So maybe eventually i could test into middle school to teach remedial math, and maybe some sort of english class where there are no diagrammed sentences ... i don't think i ever learned how to do that, and i don't see the point to it anyway ...
no one seems to think i'm capable of teaching HS ... M says (and she has good insight at times) i am not emotionally able to handle HS bc as she says they have to pass kids and they don't really expect kids to work or try or do anything; the purpose of HS is to graduate them to (remedial) college classes. M says i will be too easily frustrated and to hell with them... I think there is some truth to this --i am not and never want to be in management for much the same reasons -- it's not a prison so if you don't want to be there or take care of your business just leave. I may be unhappy in my job but i do it really well. If you're not doing the work you said you would do and that you asked for when you asked for the job you oughta be fired.
A judge friend who's known me for a while agrees HS is not for me, for many of the same reasons, but i don't understand what makes her think i can teach little kids ... to her it makes sense and is a wise choice but for me it's a fallback position.
So class starts June 3 and theoretically i guess i could be certified to teach by spring if I do clinical teaching for 12 weeks for free... but that's not when the school year starts. Or I could do class this summer and student teach one year starting the fall and get paid as a first year teacher and then after a year get certified.

But what if I hate it? What if I suck? What if I throw away a horrible nasty micromanaging job peopled with jerks and assholes who delight in being nasty and making life difficult ... but with a decent paycheck, to take a job paying half as much that has nicer people -- how could they be worse? -- but i hate it? And i'm really not sure i can teach ... M was bilingual at the end of 2d grade but couldn't read a word of english and i couldn't teach her. I couldn't teach her to ride a bike. Somehow we eventually got through tying shoelaces but there was a lot of daycare help with that. I think i could teach college or law school but there don't seem to be any jobs, except adjuncts, which pay nothing and lead nowhere and tend to have bad hours ...
but i did order transcripts (i think that happened), and i know i filled out the application and paid my bucks, so ... at least i did something, even if it's not the right thing, not well-reaoned ...

It sure would be nice to just know what i'm supposed to be doing, but no one's telling

Tuesday, May 19, 2009


All in new jeans
dark stiff denim two men
one a son of the other
leaving to china to live in the jungle
on an island
just to be.

These I don't know but familiar.
I never met a man in new stiff jeans.
Some with tags still on
proclaiming how thick, how thin, how tall, how short.
Stickers unseen
like no body's business.

All here exude nervous nonchalance.

I am here to learn
how to
what is

One cursory look in my bag for drugs
fearing forfeiture of this place in tatters
with an armchair for the father,
who sits on the steps
the rest divided into plots,
string strung between dead sticks of trees.

Some growing, others empty
maybe planted but sterile
either way
nothing there

On the wall a painting
i know it well as though i painted
but i never saw it til now.
A cezanne, a monet, or maybe starry night
"Peter sold this house"
I know this picture well
the house as blue as starry night
but windowless admits none of this.

I know someone here but
I don't know who
only nervous scared to be found out
One to China, another for drugs
no one else speaks.
We, none, have mouths and they, no eyes

On the wall by stairs
where one father sits steps
the picture unframed.

I learned something but I lost it.

Painting writing
growing things are important
but i don't know if they're prayer.
No one told me anything about prayer
maybe it's that I never asked
but why i am here?

I play with red-striped soda straws, nervous.
They don't like me playing
I quit the sraws, they're gone.
The noise cuts deep and through, bloodless.

I want to ask
I want to know.
I never do.
Not yet.

I think we may meet again
maybe then I will be
to ask.
Maybe then.

spiritual amusements

Faith is academic once we're dead
enmeshed in the brain
loosed of earthly moorings
speaking in hallucinogenic tongues
liuke all good pentecostal evangelsits

down in the church basement
tuesday last
my asymmetry alone

is this a better place
to purge my sins, veil the toxins and
serve up pious seconds -- for clarity
not euphoria

After life
being to not
forking this way and that
to paradise, damnation,
the final liberation from this wide open place

A smaller case of larger reality
of the perpetually sober schizophrenics
in China digging in their heels.
At least they have a name for it

Singing in public no more,
in the shower
of a married man.


Even at home the voices
the people
the noises outside
There is no way to fall from
this jiggly life.
It's time to jump.

We have done this, met before,
matter the denials.


Is it true
in most christian religions
to be ordained
you must prove god spoke to you?

no idea

Metric fantasies.
Punjabi dance.
One lone swan on the winter's river
followed by his hollow vee, nothing more.

Germs of craziness
inciting to revolutions
the disaggretative individualism
of modern theology,
passing therefor,
of me
i am we are
the center
but only until you are gone again
your perversity, questions, disallowed.

It's the gorgeous tiny chicken machine show
joost and hulu
facebook myspace
me me me me me me me
and the select few i allow as "friends"
and the hundred they know
and they know two hundred and they know two hundred and they know two huundred
and we know none of you
friendless hiding in the numbers.

Strangers with candy
brain aneurysms waiting to pop
like so many cerebral zits
whose pus the ignorance our survival thrives
We think.

a few questions

why must we play games, even when we don't know what takes us in are games and given a conscious choice would decline to play?
Who decided these games were so important to our ordered civilization that we had to engage or perish?
Why is it that if we can't or won't play we become further removed from ourselves and our brothers?
Who wrote the rules, where are they written and when will I learn them?
Maybe I will never learn the rules -- then what?

If I am gone will you know?
Who will look to see if I still am anywhere?
If I cannot be found how long can I be gone before anyone wonders, if they do?
What will they say when I'm gone and it's real, when we cannot talk or touch or ask anymore?

When I'm gone and here no more where will I be?
... will I be?
How will I recognize this self in another place if I don't know now -- whether through denial or otherwise, this self so well?
Does it matter that we know the selves that make us up?

If there are selves elsewhere not here will we know of them, will they know us?
Will we know ourselves better when we leave here?
How do you know if you're whole?
Does it matter if you get whole or not -- and why?
What does it matter to be splinters or whole, to know the difference ... it is just self centered ignorance, right?

Sacrifice is wrong ... is it idolatry? An insult to god? Ignorance ...
Suicide is wrong ... but exactly why ... really?
If there I meet 18 strangers will any of them be such as I have met before?

If I want to be right with god must I be right with others first? With whom must I be right to be right with god? and what if god says "fuck you?" It would't be the first time ... but if god never said that then who was it?
Once he was here I am sure but why did he leave? What did I do?
What did I say? I didn't mean it ... maybe I did but only when he'd already left me there alone

If Christianity says ... what DOES Christianity say? I don't even like the word "Christianity" -- here especially it can have so many negative connotations.

Must I go to church, a church, some church, any church ... to be right with god?
Must I go to church that says I cannot belong and cannot participate fully and cannot be part of the communion of the church because ... there are plenty of "becauses" which perhaps are beside the point. Or no?

May I go to a church that says I cannot belong and fully participate if i think they are wrong? Or is that an oxymoron waiting to happen -- is it even possible to do such a thing?

Most churches -- all? -- require confession of sin ... what is it really? I know my actions, or most of them, and of some I know more and of others little ... denial and self-inflicted wilful ignorance probably, but what makes an act or participation or presence into sin?

What do you know when you know nothing at all?
What do you do when you know nothing at all?

And where does faith come from?
Why do you have faith and I do not though once I did, at least I think I did.
Was it taken or did I set it aside?
Where did it go, and where is it now?
What did I ever do to have faith that now I am not and have not for so long?
I have been told i need only to want, to desire, to be open ...
as deeply as i want, so much as a desire and need ... there is nothing.

What to do?

Sunday, May 10, 2009

nothing said

i am many
others not
others were
but no
longer while here
i am
i remain as
nothing else -

words fail
ideas inadequate expressions
as want
is to be

see mona
every detail
through crackled layers
then go

paint her

if one to you
felling protests without violence
let the words
as if
to say
to do the same
using only words
in my place

we are lost more
than had we never spoken

Saturday, May 9, 2009

psyche invaders

an unforgettable night
we had
their digital youth
on every corner
in every smoky basement
not ready to leave
why should they?

the blue of night
pillowed by clouds
waiting to catch us
should we happen to fall

rooms filled
as many belong
as thinking not
if not here
then when?
if not us,
then why?

field lillies
lines in the sand
falls from grace

you can have everything
except what you want

here we
are you
and i so
differently alike
whoever comes through
might never know 'less told

not deciding anything to do
trusting what you say is true
they laugh with me, i talk to you
concerts on the lawn
beachball wafting
fragrant evening air

pleasure of a summer evening
who said
it had to be

if only
this was all
to rule the world
nothing then
left to explain

no space exists
filled with empty
one big (w)hole of absence

thanks for coming

past transgressions
waiting not to be judged
not the worst wrong
but just to be

deep in our heads --
nothing to question
deep in our hearts --
no space exists
filled with empty
one big (w)hole of absence

other areas

Blow yourself up the
middle of your enemies
suddenly, your right

Hear the firing
run as fast as possible
carnage everywhere

Open defiance
We obey the sadness of bombs
of deep eyed faces

After school
boys play cricket
in the dust,
for girls
death is the blessing

(only with permission from the father)

children are tools,
they satisfy god's will and die

No safe haven, they
justify suicide as
father land runs red

No matter the peace
despite it we instigate
to spite you we are

shot in the stomach
one eye missing, vacant hole
who hears anything?

The only way free
to destroy peaceful valleys
cradling mountains rendered impotent

Love's temple chorus
dogs wailing, mothers lost, tears
no more, emptiness

we are not welcome
they warned us, we will be killed
men, the only chosen

Deliverance coming soon
making fantasies for you
God makes us fools of ourselves.

what to do ... modified

so ... what to do.
1. ...
2. ...
2. quit my job - but ... first
3. learn how to do something else...
4. learn how to do something, not so ...
5. learn to do something people ...
5. change my ... no one's demographic ... (outwardly appearing) .... (what appears to an outsider with no clue as to the cost of...) ... (under circumstances of which they know nothing) ....(needing) to make a change. How do they decide ... (not a realistic or valid concern as the word is commonly understood) what they really mean is... whatever ... just because ... different
5. work i've applied for ... so ...
5. ...
6. just figure out one thing that i need to figure out ... whatever that may be
7. get real... You can't win unless you play.

When I grow up, if I grow up, I want to ... it really doesn't matter so much and there's lots of people who'd be happy to have a chance to deal with ... so I deleted everything ...
how 'bout that?
Does it really matter?
Breathe in, breathe out, "in time," and all that ...

names not poem

what's in a name ...
a rose by any other name and all that sort of thing
i can write whatever it is that comes out
when the pen opens and flows
though of course there are no pens
only digital
series of numbers, of gibberish
all things reduced to ones and nothings
the same stick lines
in anther posture
as words

numbers as words
is that why i can't write ...
because my numbers suck
and i can barely add even with a machine?

it is what is is
but how to know what it is that is...
that it is this one and not another
or that is has any name
but if so, how did it get there?
the letters in this order
a word and in another
the same
nothing at all

how to name anything written
what makes that series something called poem
besides loosely used is the word
an this series not?

what makes sin
other than white collars saying so?
if an act is a sin
it is like the words used
maybe yes, maybe not
but who is the arbiter?
what makes this event
sin to confess --
is at always no matter
place and time
or rather absolute?
some eternal others not
but how, why the line?
how to confess
when you confuse what is sin
or just never knew ...
everything wrong is sin we do
everything is sin
nothing wrong is sin they do
nothing is wrong

define sin
name wrongs we did not sins
tell me wrongs not sins
tell me who decides
what to confess, who absolves
sin or not but only wrong
if such a thing

then tell me
to write a poem.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


stupid things people say
think nothing of them

he seemed like a nice person
overheard at the table
about the flavor of the day
troubled life
running loose in the city

Take me into your arms one more time
I will kick your ass

A crate of bibles packed full of
good intention
just like the morons at the table
refusing to believe
anyone they knew would ever do such things
deciding instead it’s another’s fault
Or none atall.

Only when the praying quit could we sleep.
God protects as many of his children as he cares too.
To hell with the rest.
Walking along a dusty road
a most unusual thing --
cow tracheae with bells and crystal beads hung
sighing in the wind,
moaning and clinking.

Trials of terrors.

Back in the kitchen, fat sitting puddles.
Roaches scatter ‘cross dirt crusted plates
but everyone’s happy
believing their want,
refusing the truths.


the grim weirdness
of nostalgia
feeding on the carrion
of life unmoved
and forgotten

Some of us were not at home
when you came in
that day
Who was it
you met that day?

None of us remember
anything more than
sullen moon tremors
through slats of lashes
against eyes squeezed tight.

It was no one you met
there are none of us you know
nor we
As if
anything seen could be said
would be heard
it may as well not have been
You do not know us
You would not recognize us
if we stood
in front of your speeding car,
not in time to stop.

Some they never are
others come undone
but without wings this is home.

hear in my mouth
clenched tight
held close
like the others
the ones you never met
only to be flattened
by your intentions
smashed flat
like the rest of us.


for night
in the city
neon knows
no bounds

I have been that book
our reports
so simple as
free play time

The gusset plates
too thin
for all the traffic
human weighed down to gray
trundling past
eyes looking past
it all.

we swallow their dust
and ours.
The dust is old
the buoyancy

Another memory whispers
to correct
authority on the other side
more terrifying
we wager then
when the covers will drop
all we hide,
banking on the quiet ones
to make us invisible
to all but
we know
we can never
They will see the nakedness
they forced on us
and say we asked for it
and we will believe them
for they are bigger
and they are right
and we must always
The Bible tells us so.

Deceit now
out of control
til random inspiration
The things of this world
they do not
what of memory?

How much better
were we then
before getting wrapped
in the power of another
Wrapped like a larva
I s'pose
we'll be freed
when it's time, but
til then ...

Day for night
the neon never rests
like the many we hear
in the empty crowd
the details
will be
worked out

a limited mind

the effort of a limited mind
to know a truth
to express itself
net zero
like a lobotomy

i never said anything,
did i ...
no reason to say anything
when none can hear
and these thin lines
formed to shape what we call words?

words bound in dictionary,
meaning lost to the vacuos mind
convey nothing
when born to a vacuous mind

but i didn't say anything,
did i...
if none read this
or even you
still i've had nothing to say
fear, yes but to keep calm
your gentle mind
one can't imagine, will not believe

and if none should ever read this
did i yet say anything?
But you are reading, tell me why ...
unless like the rest you cannot say anything
But you are reading and so cannot answer
even though
unknowing what was said
when this was read
unsaid when writ.

The efforts of a limited mind
to exress itself.
Even the day i swung from the fixture
no one had a thing to say.

Sunday, May 3, 2009


let it sleep a litle longer
is too young
that was too long ago
far away
They were good enough then
so as today
no change for nought.
They never thought it would happen
in their world
yet forty years later
clear as the night it
happened the woman sits
with us at her kitchen table
asking whatever happened,
talking about police
doctors, examiners of sorts
the blood
the baby
blood everywhere
the baby is not

they said asleep upstairs
loudly downstairs
the blood on the walls downstairs

Who cleaned it up?

Mostly she talked about the blood
and so did he
and so did she
and so the notes
at the examiner's office
illegible words
spaced but on the same line
spinal fluid
bloody spinal fluid
bloody sunday
off to church less one

was he even ever?

sudden death
like a football game
someone fouled out
on the walls, on the slats, on him
in him the wrong places
dangerous places
on those hands, those nails
in dangerous places

Two days shy of two years
remembers nothing
but look,
see that house
huddling close to the ground
in the moss covered trees
coloring dark
the space
with the house
with the blood

We know.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

ambivalent dejection 101

not much has changed since last entry-- i have been purposefully absent both from this space and to an extent, from the self -- since i see no reason to follow the same path with no new direction or insight. It was suggested by one whom I consider a very good friend that sometimes the wanting, waiting, trying is too much but better off we are to just let go and wait in attentive silence -- that's what I understood him to mean. But I only want connection and relationship -- I'm not what I DO that gets in the way -- i only want a relationship like i experienced at least once before -- or at least I had a glimpse of before. All that now seems beyond reach and there are some who offer explanations why it's out of reach (boiling down to i screwed up too bad too many times and just don't measure up). Yes, in my head I know such judgments likely say more about those people than me, but just try to not believe of it. I was raised (like many others to be sure) to believe that priests are infallible, that parents are almost as infallible, that we are responsible for everything we did or had any part in -- in other words, a religious person who tells me it is my sins and shortcomings, and that these sins are further amplified by not accepting total responsibility for everything in my life that has distanced me from god, including me being on the receiving end of my parents' behaviors -- there is still that young, scared and weak part of me that believes him. After all, did I not protest or make it stop? Did I not ask for help? Did I not run away? I did try once but my sister told and my mother first cried that if I left she couldn't handle my dad and when I still tried to leave beat me -- I guess that's her self-preervation. I recall that quite clearly - I was in 2d grade and somehow -- the power of magincal thinking -- thought my teacher Ms. Hall could somehow help me. Did I not try to fight them off and away? -- no I did not, not really that I can recall. The only time I recall actually fighting and trying to hurt him it happened that Fr Bill, principal when I was in 4th grade, was invited to dinner, took me aside and reminded me of the comandment to honor my mother and my father, assuring me that they loved me and wanted only the best for me, and we all liked Fr Bill so much ... how could he be wrong? He's an adult AND a priest so I guess we assumed he knew everything and of course he was right. Did I never do anything to try to make it stop? Did I not ask god to kill them, to let me die, to escape? Well, yes, but asking god to kill one's parent's has to be a sin. Did I not try to kill myself? Did I not take as many substances as possible, whatever I could get my hands on? Was this just to avoid the feelings, to avoid acting on other worse behaviors, an attempt to kill myself (no, not all the time, after just so many efforts you give up and focus on numbness). Did I not hurt myself in any number of ways whenthe drugs weren't enough, to numb the pain and while, ironically, reassure myself that I was able to feel? Why I would want to be able to feel the asme time I tried so ahrd to be numb is a paradox beyond me. All this I see can be -- is? -- sinful in thought and deed, perhaps barriers to god relationship -- yet mostly all of this stuff ended long ago. "Long ago" being relative I can say most these behaviors are far behind; if nad when they present themselves now it's a good reason, they do the job, and that's that. Just survival tools -- don't we all have them? -- like old friends who make sure things don't go too far.
My friend says God has pretty low standards -- but there are standards nonetheless. I prefer to believe my friends who are religious/spiritual persons though not priests, who know of some of my badness or whatever it is and don't judge me, who tell me all things are possible with god; that the priests who say in so many words or not that I'm not welcome are wrong. But what if these priests are correct and the empty, alone silence is god showing his agreement and like judgmnet?

I'm starting to think perhaps this is one reason the Catholic church fails to hold its members. I was a young child, involved in activities I didn't understand, had no volitional role in, no power to change. Intellectually I know I'm still that stupid little girl in many ways when it comes to those things; that I wasn't wrong for wishing them dead; for thinking of ways to kill them; for self-harming (actually not so sure about that last one). Socially I know nothing of the sort. If one's mother takes a child for an abortion and the child has no idea what's going on or what the "problem" is has that girl sinned and worse? I learned a lot in 13 years of catholic school, including mass every Friday in grade school -- all of it hard to refute on an emotional, feeling, "knowing" level. How did I ever feel a god relationship with all this stuff? Maybe it's ignorance, denial, of things now I know, dividing me from self and god. Maybe I should leave well enough alone, but is it realy well enough? I want and feel a need to to go to church and this is the single one thing that makes it (what is "it?") harder, leaves me feeling more isolated, alone, like a leper might feel. I can't go to "their" church or participate in "their" mass because I might contaminate some other. "Theirs" because it is invitation only.
Confession -- why have it if it's not heard? I grew up with that group (maybe we all did) forced to confession not really knowing what sin was so we made stuff up and lied in confession -- ironic so many years later, needing to speak the truth as we know it, we learn our whole life is sin.
And I don't understand how or what to do different -- I'm here waiting, listening, asking, just being -- do I ask too much? DO I want too much? Should I quit talking or asking for help figuring all this out? Should I just shut up and pretend there's nothing amiss, maybe give up on participation in mass, settling for lurking, a bystander in the church?
I know i can be -- perhaps just am - a pain in the ass, and people -- god even -- maybe just had enough. Am I whiny? I don't think so, but maybe. If I'm whiny tell me so I can quit. If I'm dense, tell me and I will talk less and study more. If I'm not up to god's low standards, tell me and I will try to bring myself up to standard -- assuming that's an option. If I want what I cannot have, what I don't deserve, tell me so I can try some other way to peace and meaning.
"Want" wasn't in my vocabulary or ability for a long time -- "want" is a four letter word inviting violence, shame, etc. should the wrong person be aware of want. Want suggests a lack and doesn't fit the the perfect life we grew up pretending, as though our lives depended on it. I guess it didn't depend, but we thought it did. Better safe than sorry so we had no room for want. I guess we did pretty well with our story -- no one ever knew, even we had split off to protect some selves so not all of us knew either.
I return to the very real sense that with the internal divisions there is not one of me who has a good grasp of what we're about as a single person, where we came from, what we did and didn't do; trying to sort out my religious education as opposed to real life and what I believe as opposed to what I think I know is made harder by the fact we're kind of scattered mentally and emotionally. I have done the other - I denied it all and that didn't work in the long run, nor did it help with any sense of relationship or sense of connection between me, others, god, the world.

So I have digressed at length.

I can't help but feel there is a real barrier between me and god and everyone else but i don't know what's the barrier, what it's made of, how i erected it (who but me could have done it?), why it's there or how to get rid of, around or over it.
It's not so particuarly church or god so much as it is community and connection with god and with others -- really, who can live alone?

A friend says "sin gets in the way of a felt connection with God ... but I think trying too hard does too. Trying too hard to reproduce a certain satisfying feeling that we associate with "being close to God."
I've always had trouble figuring out what is my sin and what part belongs others but that I'm part of -- if that makes sense -- clearly my actions of my own volition are all mine. Where I get confused -- and the priests don't help -- are actions of others' volition and to which I was dragged -- but no, I wasn't screaming and kicking -- is my sin in not fighting? And what can I do about it now, almost 30 years later?

A friend referred me to this passage (mostly above my head): in St John’s Gospel: a realisation that what Jesus was doing was actually revealing the mendacious principle of the world. The way human structure is kept going is by us killing each other, convincing ourselves of our right and duty to do it, and therefore building ourselves up over and against our victims. What Jesus understands himself as doing in St John’s Gospel is revealing the way that mechanism works. And by revealing it, depriving it of all power by making it clear that it is a lie: “your father was a liar and a murderer from the beginning”. That is how the “prince” – or principle – of this world works.
I can't pretend to understand this but i have a sense that it does make sense --
So what we get in St John’s Gospel is a clear understanding that the undoing of victimage is not simply a liturgical matter, it’s not simply a liturgical fulfilment. Jesus is substituting himself at the centre of what the liturgical tradition was both remembering and covering up, namely human sacrifice, therefore making it possible for us to begin to live without sacrifice. And that includes not just liturgical sacrifice, but more importantly the human mechanism of sacrificing other people so that we can keep ourselves going. In other words, what Jesus was beginning to make possible was for us to begin to live as if death were not, and therefore for us not to have to protect ourselves over against it by making sure we tread on other people.

James Alison, An Atonement Update
So what does this mean?
Simplisticaly I think it may mean we have to be willing and open to others forgiving us, but does that mean we have to forgive ourselves? I have not a clue on how one goes about doing that ...
Forgiveness ... I think I know generally what that means. Are all things forgivable? I suppose the answer must be yes. If one feels one is unavailable to forgive all, how to deal with that? Can you make or will forgiveness? Can you act as though you forgive and so realize forgiveness through those actions, whatever they may be? AT this point I think not -- this I have tried and all it does is restore and strengthen denial and bring out those tools of self-preservation that interfere with any connection and relationship -- whether with self, others or god. If there is a division internally and some are or seem able to forgive intellectually, others emotionally, and others not at all, then what? Is it all just a bunch of crap that there could even be such divisions? No matter how crazy sounding it is, I believe we are differing parts who experienced different things at different times -- either we split up to survive (I really think so) or we're just nuts (likely the prevalent belief for all others). I really don't care which it is, or do I? If all it allows me is to be physically alive then what's the point? If it allows for a spiritual life, perhaps it has some merit. But is a spiritual life based on less than full truth of one's life a valid or worthwhile spiritual life? And if there is no spiritual life --or one that is only invalid and incomplete, founded on lies, half truths and denials -- then why bother with any of it? What is the point, where is the value, where is the god relationship if we cannot be honest for either the shame of honesty or the inability to recall, reinforced by ours years of just surviving, those things the priests would say are our sins if we talked to them again?

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