God, I surrender my black and white thinking,
Good guys and bad guys gaming,
Us and them theology blaming,
Believers and unbelievers shaming.
You are the judge
and get to say what's good
Your voice is love
You are all that is good.
My seat of judgement,
I surrender it to you,
Judge and King, merciful and true.
And tomorrow, I'll do it again, too.
When I judge, I go up and high above.
I look down on my selfish, frustrated self, jealous and keeled over in pain, so messy and honest and wrong. Discouraged, mosquito-bitten and panting in the heat.
Instead of compassion, I feel disgust. "She's BAD." What a pitiful creature! So pathetic. Ha, I gorwl with contempt.
It's easy, I learned it early. And it even feels so righteous and justified to criticize, it feels right, even while in that pattern I die again and again.
I gain power, I get to be the first one to criticize... then no one else's words and rejection can be as powerful.
I lose so much; this self-rejection that decays my soul, the deep shame that leads only to more pain, a purgatory of torment with little escape.
What a road system, leading to a tunnel with no light. Will I chose to keep entering, beating up myself? Or will I turn around and take flight?
Learn a new language, sounds that will be foreign on my tongue, unpronounceable (at first) until those sounds assemble and create new meaning, new pathways, new patterns of feeling, new ways of dealing?
Will I learn this way of self-love?
D e b r i e f i n g - being invited to process, understand, sort, and discover meaning.
Taking time to feel and think through these questions is work. It takes energy to process. Yet the clarity and vulnerability you enter into will be worth it. Holding space for yourself and your thoughts and emotions is worth it. The story you tell yourself about this relationship matters, and it is crucial to weave together truth and compassion. May these questions bring new insight and clarity in your journey.
G u i d a n c e
-Don't rush. You can do this in bit size chunks.
-Do this in a safe space so you can freely express yourself through screams, sobs, and silence.
-Give permission. Speak out loud to your body: "body, I give you permission to release the emotions you've stored inside" This can help release the stored stress and tension in your muscles
-Feel your emotions in your body. Be aware.
-Respond with compassion. (Validate, acknowledge... "it makes so much sense I feel...")
-Speak the truth ("the truth is....I tried my best...I am worthy....I am loved...")
-Rest. (Seriously, try and give yourself permission to nap, go to bed early, and give yourself time).
-Repeat.
-This is not a one-size fits all instruction, it is a starting point for processing. Take it where you need to go.
-This is not a one-time exercise (check that box and I'm done, woo! I wish), and you don't have to put a timeline on when you're "over it." There are no right timelines. It will take the time it takes. (Yes, that can suck).
-If you find yourself "shoulding"- judging, condemning, ridiculing, or criticizng, just pause. There is likely some shameful lie that is taking over. Return to breathing and seek out the truth- "what does unconditional love say to this?"
Q u e s t i o n s
What are 1-2 things I learned about myself through this relationship?
How was I invited to grow and change in this relationship?
What did I gain in this relationship? (i.e. new perspectives, appreciation, companionship.)
What did I give up in this relationship? (i.e. sacrifices, things minimized)
What does the future look like- and what might God be saying about it?
Bisa Butler inspired
The Empty Cage
The future, will it be okay?
The bird
Will it escape to sing outside?
The bars and the tears
The lament and the fears
I do believe
She will break out
Her song will rise
The Princess
She has a pillar inside her
A strength to hold her a loft
Across oceans, languages, cultures,
A rhythm that will sustain her
Defiant and brave
The princess
Does not fear
the future, she rises
She will make her own way.
Your body
This is us
your covering
We surround you
This ordeal, rite of passage
This blood, like your mother
Like all women whose bodies are torn
Tears ripped away
Tearing away, the unclean
Scarring away, the unseen
Glory
The dignity
The glory of blackness encompassing
No white gaze interpreting,
Interrupting
Telling the story that needs to be told
The beauty, the boldness, the brilliance
Sewn into fabrics, patterns of distinction.
Tell this, tell this story
Tell of the rising
And One more
Monet
300 water lilies
100 Londonscapes
20 Haystacks
And thousands of palettes
A carefully controlled image;
Marketing-impressionistic-white-male-privilege
Exchanging Interchangeable women
For an esteemed reputation; erudite, master
Beauty undermined by a heart so callous
The Lavender buzzes and breathes its scent to the trees and passersby catch the breeze, sunrise glows worries flee
For this moment 'I can breathe', beauty frees
To pause, reflect, enjoy, and deflect the heavy stench of death
In my city, blood crying out from the ground louder than any sound
He was denied his breath and it feels ludicrous I can freely take in this scene
It's a roundabout grief, it catches up with you standing in a roundabout and choosing to remain affectable
To suffering; to sunlight and the beauty and life, entering the dance of lavender and bees pollinating
Entertaining the tension of pain and hope,
Mercy and justice,
Rest and action.
Lavender waits all winter, it's roots dormant, until the ground thaws and warmth renews and the purple florets burst forth, extending stalks and petals, alive and reaching.
Growth slow at first.
A quilt made of days
With stitches of pain
Acknowledging the ways we've hid underneath,
Waiting, assuming, observing, and concluding
You just wanted love, I just wanted to please
And that's only different by a number of degrees
We picked out the fabrics, the perfect color scheme
Now let me ask you a question, or maybe two or three
Being curious without judging, affirming without coddling
Aware of my own triggers and need
This is the healing, it's mending the torn places
It's enfolding love, a quilt of comfort worth the wait
I wake;
I sleep.
I lament and rejoice.
I don't arrive.
What should I do?
What am I called to?
I write,
I pray.
I can show you the Scriptures
(In it my very life).
What can I do?
What am I called to do?
What more can I do?
What more am I called to do?
To see
And to seek beauty;
The end of all things is at hand
Be sober and watch unto prayer.
What do we do?
What are we called to do?
We plan,
We login.
We lift our hands and our efforts end;
Baruch HaShem .ברוך השם