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From My Perspective- This is not a Family History Part 12

From My Perspective- This is not a Family History Part 12

Parents & Government

The suffering existing because of my mother and father continues to resurface. The cause is the guilt of my own doing. In so much as I can claim, when I look for answers when confusion rises the conversation inevitably sparks resentment.
I was listening to Aboriginal radio this morning. The two men were speaking of horrific events 135 years ago when the U.S.A. government massacred 200 indigenous men, women, and children. They talked about revolution and reattaining what is rightfully theirs. They spoke of 90 million acres of reserve land stolen from their protection. Their words were of war, not of civil discourse. I thought of the suffering with my parents. A microscopic comparison, but I noticed the same resentment. I do want retribution.

I want retribution for all minorities afflicted by ignorance. The native men talked of the general who ran the massacre, and how the general’s accomplishments were exalted even celebrated by the Obama administration. Do the aboriginals of North/South America, Australia, New Zealand deserve resolution?

With my parents, the causation of their actions were detrimental to my upbringing. The present moves swiftly forth documenting the victims of history without a consequence. Prison, revenge, re-establishing land ownership will not reconcile the awful path of history made. The retribution is in how we effect the present moment. A part of me wants to have the love and focus I desire. My situation in the lower middle-class is a norm. There is a sickness in the house-hold, in politics, which allows parents and governments to make terrible decisions. Their choices are affecting the well-being of those they look to protect; the children of the home, and the citizens of our countries.

Their decisions ill affecting the lowest castes of society, will always occur. The weakest will become the strongest, and the strongest will damage the weakest. The issue is in the suicide rates. Aboriginal suicide rates are high, suicide rates of men in the double standard system in which feminism has gone too far is high, the suicide rate of teenagers too young adulthood because of child abuse is high. When I faced suicide and couldn’t commit, I knew I would find a way to live inside the social injustice, but I vowed to work to change what I could. I have only changed myself a few degrees. With 177 degrees to go the world looks great, the world looks awful, neutrality is of realism with each decision.

Inspiration & Purpose

From 2012 on I was focused predominantly on finding money to support Owen, myself, and my passions. His presence cannot be down-played. If there isn’t Owen there isn’t work ethic for construction, with him there is a great purpose to work. When two purposes intersect blindly there is an inner conflict sustained in tunnel vision. The purpose I predestined was the vision of creative creation, and then there was the down to earth necessity to carefully protect my son. For him I have a love as deep and as rare as the oceanic life of the pacific basin. We can only see this love in passion, in parenting of any kind.

Owen’s life is the only force to ever awaken my desire for worldly possession, so I may provide as parents have done for all of history. This drive is built on the foundation of fear! I am afraid he will not love me, or he will not become the best version of himself. For the last half decade the heart which awoke out of a stupor, a depression, a suicide, wasn’t forgotten.

Compassion isn’t only for others but for ourselves. 2018 started with the same fear. I am going to lose my creative drive (as happened in 2012 with Owen).

When people talk about their children as the only purpose for living, and give up on taking care of themselves, they hurt their children, their partners, their friends. Over emotion is abuse. Over happy, sad, angry, neglectful, entitled, aggression, are all examples. I can relate this to my parents. They were over zealous, over the mountains evangelical, neglectful to each other until the neglect sprinkled in the distance between us and them. Over happy when we were neutral, or over sad. The thoughts of our inner minds are the source of the emotional overages. Humans are not balanced. We are both predator and prey simultaneously. It is our allegorical goal to balance our minds and our societies.

My goal is no different. With the drive to achieve I struggle with time and family and friends demand for time balancing a reaction reflecting my personal goals to achieve with their demand for time and demand for a neutral ( sometimes positive) reaction to their replica of a lifestyle.

How Do I Balance This?

The Buddha provides an eight-fold path to balancing the mind, with the aim of dissolution of a monk. I do not think this path is realistic for a ‘doing’ being. I am a being which believes art, literature, dance, and comedy are essential assets to a society. The Suttras are guides for monks, much like Various Positions by Leonard Cohen is a guide for artists. Various Positions isn’t a step by step guide, but the books artistry awoke an undeniable urge to create. The Suttras do the same for a person who wishes to sacrifice their own worldly passions for a righteous deterministic goal of dissolution.

In the process of meeting the half-half version of myself, who can ‘do’ but not ‘harm’ I’ve discovered will not happen. To offer sentient beings their right to peace I must ‘let go’ of the world. The only approach then is to accept my imperfections, the ignorance of doing harm regardless of its negative affect on sentient beings, and understand the harm of action ripples out into the selfish sea of creation.

How Can I live In Awareness Of My Ignorance?

A person who chooses to ‘do’ chooses to harm. Living in awareness of harming others is pathological and limited. Although a person has chosen to live in awareness of harming others, the awareness will eventually cause the individual to choose awareness of attachment as an influence over ignorance of action, bringing one to ‘let go’ of worldly attachments. Much like the attachments of the desire senses guide people to extremes of perversion, so will the awareness of all things influence the self to more awareness and deeper insight.

I may say letting go of the harm I cause will let me live creatively, but I will eventually let go of my attachment to creativity. The reason I believe this is that even though a persons pathology may be strong it will always be self observed by the lens of awareness. It takes trauma or the observation of trauma to heighten awareness. With the seeds of awareness planted and inevitable trauma coming, deeper insight being the sprout of the seed, the plant being the path, a person cannot escape the oxygen of plants, and to kill the plant would be to kill the self. Awareness is an essential inherent seed of all minds. All that needs to be done is to crack the shell and the plant will grow from within. After that a person has a limited time before they begin to see things as they are. So create while you can creative people, but avoid watering the plant and ignorance will be your friend, art will be filled with egoism, and truth will be lost.

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From My Perspective- This is not a Family History Part 11

From My Perspective- This is not a Family History Part 11

Awoken in me is a demon. Because of unpredictability of an awry upbringing, good will became misfortune. As noted in earlier chapters I do not want the causation bestowed upon my parents backs. It is my burden.

Inside that burden is a child looking desperately for an identity. I was brought up with french Quebec relatives and a King James bible on the kitchen table. Mediation between myself and the demon-like characteristics I developed was and is my responsibility. Three to five years post psychotic episode I cried out to the Lord for love. I asked for someone to console me and guide me to self-worth as my mother had done. Someone to share lustful thought, touch, and time unlike how my mother had done.

She was not in Brampton, for all I could attrat there was long lost liars and demonic triggered women who i would never trust. When my sister and Dave brought music back to me and care took to teach me the chords on a guitar I decided to go to Waterloo.

There the second Catherine had appeared. A student of Wilfred Laurier in religious studies. Our affair was periodic, and never fully felt on my end. I believe she could love me but I was too shallow to love her. A truly wonderful person, she critiqued my writing and set me forth as a professor would towards simplifying my sentences. As many pretentious asshole self absorbed artists do I scoffed at her, and said she didn’t get it. But now I thank her for her criticism. Although I still finish sentences with ‘of’.

Some women are not worth mentioning because of their minor affect on my future. Pure rejection of my homeless style-less corduroy fashion which was inspired by an earlier epoch. I must smell, reeking of instability, and to some seem unpresentable.

On the side of Childebeast my amateur soft rock band of obsessive involvement I dreamed of the quaint, artistic, strong female I believed would repair me. I moved home to Orangeville after I visited a friend circle from high-school. An old friend Jesse brought her cousin Christina to the party that night. For the first time in a while a pretty face with a decent sense of humor looked at me in the right way. Our relationship became, and I was ready to be repaired.

Instantly little betrayals triggered my insecurities. Pictures of an ex-boyfriend, she had more than a few male friends (some ex-crushes), her curiosity to look up at her ex-boyfriends apartment window were instances causing anger. Jealousy was my new protector against this girl who I thought would fix my problems. The relationship lasted a year, and in it was terrible communication toxic jealous and distrust on my part, and a lack of love again to relish. Christina appears to be in a much more stable relationship now with a better man for her. I moved on also a week after our break up to Hope. A Zellers coworker who has a great sense of humor and an artistic upside which attracted me.

I was entranced by her movements. The way she moved was unlike any one. She was a youth trained dancer and her dancing career failed nuclear family, much like mine. We saws some thing in each other which we could see in ourselves. We were children of the same nature. Neglect, art, and the revival there of. We moved to my mothers, and I began to mold her into my fantasy of a woman. “Be more artistic, more quaint, you have it in you”, “stop looking at him” I would demand again jealousy was aroused, anger too. Trust wasn’t there but we fervently tried to love each other. She said “I dont think I can get pregnant, I’m worried”. I was into the idea of conceiving. We did. two years into an unstable relationship compact with rage, neglect, jealousy, and moments of undeniable affection Owen was born. On the midwifery bed in Waterloo I saw the most alien thing occurred, an earth alien birthed before my eyes. I couldn’t believe this child was mine.

Post birth Hopes love for me dwindled to nothing, and the energy that was once spared for me went to Owen. She seemed to have what she wanted and she began talking to another man. I was jealous of my own son, and I pleaded with her for intercourse. Maybe I wanted sex, but more importantly I wanted the love she gave to Owen as my mother once gave to me.

I didn’t have the unconditional impossibility I craved, and after she and I tried to have sex one last time a month after birth, I reopened wounds, and our love was lost forever. An incident in which my jealous rage over comments about the man she was texting told me she liked him, and I jumped on the bed and wrapped my arms around her and she began crying. She thought I was going to hit her. I was hugging her. I messaged her mother, and told her she was unhappy.

Before the birth, during the first three trimesters I was reading Emotional Alchemy, and books on trust. Ever fully engaged in my pathway to strengthening my emotional stability. It was too late. I was alone in our, now my Waterloo apartment. She brought Owen to her mothers. An hour away from me I traveled to see Owen with a pick-up truck for the first year of his life.

She left either because of my rage or because of a lack of love or both. This was not like Christina or Catherine, this involved my first born son, and has become in my mind a journey to a balanced to the acts of hate upon my being. She had a child with me full well knowing what I was like. I promised her I would work on my mental disorder. Owen is my sole reason to exist. My love for him is endless. I miss him. His presence has lessened. School and distance has brought me into a funk. When a man and woman conceive there genetic lineage are united. Our connection will never divide. Our pretentious love led to a creation of magnificence. I meditated for a year, working, meditating, writing, composing, and visiting Owen. I demanded it was in Owens best interest to see me half-time until he started school. Reluctantly she complied. After a year of meditation, work, and self-reflection I met Tanya.

Immediately she was light. A blossom in the winter. She was artistic, strong, intelligent, gorgeous, and interested in me. The first six months were perfect. I wasn’t insecure. I didn’t mind her plethora of male friends. At a point in the relationship when I felt her commitment (maybe to me or maybe to Owen), for the strangest reason jealousy was lit again. All my work the past year seemed like prattling. Triggers were happening everywhere. Distrust was a snow storm covering my poor vision. Again I was not being given the essential unconditional impossibility I once received from my mother. Was this my abandonment schema?

Tanya fell in love with Owen as people do when someone is lovable, and this love for him was a consistent reminder that if I created someone as beautiful as him, then I too was beautiful. Owen it appears to me was the reason to stay while my jealousy surged, and anger erupted. She endured two and a half years of it and finally put up the strong women boundary that all women can learn from. “Either you get help or I’m gone!”

With mental disorders meditation while living a life as a westerner does is insufficient to change habits. I went to a councilor for the second time in consecutive relationships trying to heal. The first councilor guided me to indulge in self-help material. The second brought me to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I obsessively uprooted jealousy and insecurity over the next year with CBT charts. Jealousy dropped from 95% highs to 35%, and lows of 4% which is a healthy normal level of rationalizing ones feelings about ones partners activities. CBT was the repair, but so was the will to find the woman strong enough to put up the boundary to her love, which is what my mother did when I was bad. In my mothers case it was a short time in my room, but with a partner its a love lost forever as was with Christina, and Hope. At least with Hope I have Owen. With Christina she brought me to awaken the demon. Hope brought me to search to exorcise it, and Tanya forced me to dig in and love it, and myself. A woman did repair me, or did they all contribute inadvertently?

To all the women and men in my life I am sorry for what I put you through, and I thank you for tolerating me as long as you did, you have all taught me how to work with mental illness a little better, but Tanya has significantly changed my life forever.