This inter-generational trauma;
Mother Mary, Father Joseph, you know, all parents do their best with varying degrees of drama.
Help me, Holy Spirit, I surrender.
Show me how to myself be tender.
Regression; like a child, but not my child.
A grown man with tantrums wild.
He was supposed to be the one playing father in family scenes,
but our roles collide and I'm throwing away shitty jeans.
His addiction, it's pain relief.
I bring down the gavel in judgment and condescending belief.
He just wants solace.
Even if it comes broken and lawless.
If he's good,
I can be understood.
How's that co-depency going?
It's suffocating, she says, sowing
Thorns of self-contempt, strangling the seed.
How do we go from tormented humanity to being freed?
HT: Gabor Mate, in the Realm of Hungry Ghosts.
