I just watched "August: Osage County".  I guess there are worse things than having your mother leave town forever when you are 19.

The cycle of abuse, the endless legacy passed from generation to generation, where, when and how does it end?

She left because she wanted to spare us the pain of her pain, the pain of her presence.

Shall I despise her for her weakness? In that case I shall also despise myself, for I am also weak.

Shall I despise her for her indifference? In that case I shall also despise myself, for I am also indifferent.

Shall I despise her for her judgment? In that case I shall also despise myself, for I too judge.

How can I ever be less than her? How can I ever be more than her? How can I forgive her with a forgiveness that will last for more than a minute, an hour, a day?   Is there a forgiveness that transcends the time it takes to rise from my knees in prayer and to turn and face the reality of my brokenness (and that of my siblings) each day?

Did she (or does she) feel the guilt of not being able to be positive enough to wish the past completely away, so that it blows away on the Oklahoma wind never to return?  I do, I feel it for us all.  There are times, for minutes, for hours, for days, even months; I know that I have done it!  I have finally captured joy and released the past! Who needs forgiveness!? I am clasping gratitude, love, and joy to my heart! Then one day I open my eyes: forgiveness and understanding fled in the night, dragging joy and lightness of being with it. Despair sits knowingly on the edge of the bed, grinning at me. I know then I am a fool, a blithe, happy-go-lucky damn fool. Everyone else must know it too. It is then I want to run, to go and go and go until there is nothing or no one who could ever be hurt by me.

She has 8 grandchildren she has never seen, the carriers of our ugly legacy. They are beautiful, bright shiny hopeful things full of potential.  They all weigh on my heart. Their beauty is so fine, so fleeting, I want to polish them all, to rub away all that we have weighed them down with. I look at them and hope without hope. Part of me whispers to let go, so that they all go their ways, struggling through the dark into the sun, dragging along their burdens just like me and my siblings did.  Another part of me desperately wishes I were a true hero, who could save them from themselves and from us, by sheer strength, intelligence, courage and fineness of spirit.  I am not a hero, I am my mother’s daughter.  I am flotsam on the river of life: summoning energy to move against the current of abuse mostly seems beyond me.

She left because she wanted to spare us the pain of her pain, the pain of her presence.  I chose (and am still choosing) to stay every day, and live with the pain of my presence, the pain of my pain. Over and over again I choose the joy of their presence. Over and over again, for fleeting bits of time, I grab on to forgiveness, understanding, love and I hold the sweetness of their being, my family. I pray that my pain will never be a burden to them, and that by some miracle, that maybe hoping without hope is enough.

“In the Holy Relationship, it's understood that we all have unhealed places, and that healing is the purpose of our being with another person. We don't hide our weaknesses, but rather we understand that the relationship is a context for healing through mutual forgiveness.”
― Marianne Williamson

 I am doing a lot of reading and soul searching about love these days.  I have glimpsed this before at different times in my life. I am currently comparing the difference between giving all you have in codependency.....hoping to heal or improve another because of a belief in the other's inadequacy (which oftentimes mirrors an unseen inadequacy of one's own self), or giving all you have because you know that all you have is boundless, unconditional,  and ultimately, enough, because you find your own self to be enough. In unconditional love the boundless love, once found in self, would echo and bounce back from every other being until self was no more and only love remained.  At least I think it would be that way: a perfect paradox. I am not anywhere close to this: mostly confused and far from where I wish to be.  Therein, I think lies the rub......I will never be enough until I am enough, and so others will never be enough until I am enough.

If I can forgive myself, then I will be forgiven by myself and I will free the others I hold in the bondage of judgement.  So be it.

Tonight a fine, fresh mist blanketed Norman and when I arrived home from work, the breeze stroked my cheek and the mist kissed my lips.  A restless longing stirred within me. I dressed warmly and went into the dusk. I ended up at the Norman Mardi Gras Parade.

As twilight became dark, the wind became insistent, pinching my cheeks and biting my lips. I didn’t care. A wild energy filled me with a sense of expectancy.

I stood to watch the parade alone. I made no effort to gather candy or necklaces.  I simply observed.

Then the space around me was filled by a group of young revelers. A young man in a plastic fire hat saw I had no necklaces and placed some around my neck as he breathed beer into my face.   After that, I belonged.  We gathered necklaces and candy and bestowed them on one another. We sang “We all live in a Yellow Submarine……” at the top of our lungs. We danced to the rhythm of the Jazz in June Jazz Band.  We twisted to “Let’s Twist Again” blasting from the Octopus Float. The man with the fireman’s hat turned and hugged me. “Bye!” he yelled. They left as suddenly as they'd arrived.

On the way back to my car, I gave all my necklaces to a woman with a little girl.  “You don’t want them?” she said, obviously puzzled.

“No, I’m going home.” I smiled.  So I did, strangely comforted.

Well after forever and a day, here I am back for more. Those life lessons just keep coming. Just as soon as I think I have some handle on life, here I go again, off on another adventure. The last four years have been a hard lesson in relationships. I still don't seem to be doing too well in that arena.

I read somewhere about life being a laboratory, a testing ground for the soul.  If that's the case I'd like to apply for a sterile lab, so I can test out theories before I need to use them in life.  It seems that sometimes I am the lab rat in someone else's experiment, other times to my great chagrin, I end up using others for my own growing.

I could say in theory that I would rather slit my wrists than hurt another person, with so much conviction that I marvel at my own sincerity.  Then comes a real-life situation and I find myself doing or saying things that are not congruent with my own philosophy at all.  I am improving with age, but not nearly fast enough to keep the ones I love and care so much for safe.