Precarious Love - May 5, 2005
Why do I fall apart when he stays away for days and days? More importantly, why does he stay away from me, why does he leave me … alone … wondering … writing…
“I sit alone here in my dark, silent room, writing to you by candlelight and staring out the window at the falling snow; each little snowflake living its brief moment in the light of the street lamp, lingering or hastened through this loving limelight at the whim of the wind, and passing thus away, back into the dark space of night, becoming again invisible, forgotten.
Here I wait for you. I’ve waited for you all day. You said you would come. You did not come. I ask myself in my solitude ‘Did he forget me?’ I ask myself ‘Why does everyone forget me?’ - like a small girl left waiting alone outside in the cold after her school has closed for the day and all her classmates have long since been picked up and taken back home to the warm embrace of a family. The small girl stands alone, shivering in the cold, unclaimed, abandoned, orphaned…scared. Nobody wants her, nobody remembers her - not even her own parents.
As I stare into the night, white with falling snow, deep inside me I feel this pain - my brief time in the light of your love is done.
I ask myself, ‘How many days will he desert me for this time? How many weeks?’
I ask myself, ‘Why did they forget me? Why did they leave me alone, waiting?’
Time after time, I only find one explanation - I am not worthy.”
…and people who have heard me complain tell me I get what I deserve, and so it is.
_______________________________
The notion that I was bringing about my own misery had been presented to me occasionally in the past, albeit invariably in an unkind way, usually by someone who was annoyed at me, had no understanding of me or no concept of what it was like to suffer and no patience for people less fortunate than themselves. There was never any wisdom or impetus to help me, in fact, there was no implication at all that I could even free myself from my own allegedly self-induced suffering. Instead, I was just hurt more by their unwarranted and unprovoked hostility, which I identified as their sole goal for telling me this.
When someone tells you in this way that you are making your own suffering, they are implying that you deserve what you are getting. Logically, you then conclude that you are a really, really bad person, which I had believed to some extent about myself all my life – and the way people treated me usually confirmed that belief.
My life had consisted of an endless string of what I had come to call “bad miracles.” I gave them this name, because they were truly miracles, as impossible as miracles, but cripplingly negative and utterly devastating.
This past fall, the mother of all bad miracles happened to me, as I learned that I was losing the person I loved most in my life, and the one person who loved me as well, and I found out that I was losing him in a most traumatic, diabolical way. I had crystal clear vision of how my emotions and my behavior, clinging to my past, had precipitated the incident and the change of life course, for both of us, which necessarily ensued. The moment of shock and devastation lasted for weeks and in that eternal moment, I had a life-altering epiphany – I realized that I loved this person more than I “loved” my misery and my suffering, and my love for him was greater than my desire to see justice done to all those from my past who had wronged me.
I didn’t want to know who I was anymore, I didn’t want myself as I knew me. I hated my past, I hated that it was me. I was fed up with my suffering and clinging to all the bad. I was fed up with my endless writings, how I mentally recorded every bad deed done to me, so that I could defend myself, record it on paper and some day publish a book to get back at those people who had broken my heart and mind. In my stocks of writings, I had no less than 26 hand-written diaries, from age 10 to 38 (2006). I had letters that had been written to me, letters I had written but never sent, I had written punishments that my father had imposed on me, I had emails that I had written to him which he had returned to me, I had poem books, thought books, notes about books and articles I had intended to write – all on paper. I was clinging to 28 years of writings and misery!
I suddenly hated every word and wanted to rid myself of the lot and of anything else that bore any trace of my past suffering. I wanted to throw it all away for my love, to help him, to undo the bad miracle and to empty my heart and mind of all that was rotten, so that there would only be space for this love, which was the most precious thing ever to come into my life and into my heart.
How did this manifest tangibly? I burned every last written thing. It all went up in the flames of a great fire of freedom. The ashes of my entire past, with its sordid miseries and bad people, lay strewn randomly across the vast Finnish countryside (well, most of it is probably still just in the snow-covered ash pile in the field behind a friend’s house, but it will soon just be dirt : ).
This all led me in a rather unremarkable way (Google), in early January, to “intention-manifestation” (abbr. I-M), a.k.a. the Law of Attraction, which told me that I could control what occurred in my life and that, as I had already observed to some extent, I had been unwittingly responsible for having brought about what had happened to me thus far.
Since January, I have been devoting all my energy to using I-M to consciously undo the “bad” in the bad miracle that I had unconsciously brought about. I have thus begun a new life.
- Lucia
pr toi omri
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom
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