Reconcilable Differences: I should hate you, but I don’t

Unscripted thoughts on a dream, writer’s block, a friend who held the key, and where we’re going.

Reconcilable Differences

Forgiveness is paramount. As far as I’m concerned forgiveness may very well be the cornerstone of human empathy. And of course, empathy is what makes all this work, right?

There are many opinions on the matter, but I do not personally believe all things are forgivable. I just know forgiveness is as important as trust, empathy, and frankly oxygen when it comes to human life.

You see the thing is I’ve been, or I should say my thoughts and ideas have been, in a manner of speaking frozen, paralyzed for lack of a better word.

Held captive.

Running on a loop.

It’s been like this for days until just now. Literally right this moment.

It’s amazing how something or someone can help us find our way back in an instant. I tried the things that normally set me right or at least ameliorate my discomfort. I tried them to no avail.

Listening to music was no help.

Playing music was no help.

Writing, which makes my life livable, was impossible despite the need to initiate a cathartic release instead of simply continuing to ignore the rising water.

Rising water!

I had a dream the night before last. All alone, I stood in a large room with a vaulted ceiling made of dark wood, perhaps cherry wood. The room was adorned with fancy carpeting, gentle lighting by way of several unique lamps, and a chandelier that was basic but beautiful. The room smelled like pipe tobacco and old books and as I stood alone, I got the feeling that I had been summoned to this place and was waiting to meet with whoever had called for me.

It felt like I was in the middle of this enormous space, but I wasn’t sure I had looked behind me, so I slowly moved my feet and my body in a counterclockwise circle.

I realized I wasn’t wearing shoes nor socks and the sensation of the rug between my toes sent a wave of warmth through me that started from my toes and by the time it reached my head I had come full circle to see a small table before me which I was certain hadn’t been there before.

Upon this table, also make from cherrywood, was a breathtakingly beautiful silver bowl. The engravings were hand chased but I cannot recall what they were, only that they were beautiful and inside the bowl was a small card. It was a plain white card with my first name in the center, in gold print. It looked like a wedding invitation from the dollar store.

I picked the card up and just like that the table and bowl were gone. They didn’t turn to dust or something interesting like that. They were just gone. As if they were placed there only to hold the card. And once I did, the presence of the table and the beautiful bowl with its hand chased engravings were no longer required.

I opened the card and it said, “listen as your cup overflows, and in the meantime turn the pages.”

Perplexed I looked up from the card, which was suddenly not in my right hand. I don’t know if I had pockets, or if I checked them but I looked ahead and saw a wall of books and a ladder.

Turn the pages. I thought to myself the message must mean reading the books. I approached the ladder to climb to the highest shelf when I saw a copy of one of my favorite books of all time.

There it was framed by the two rungs on the ladder and the sides, directly in front of me, Look Homeward, Angel. It was at that moment that I heard the clicking and turned around to see the doors. Double doors they were, and they appeared grand in size and scale as well as in strength. Maybe they were wooden, I’m uncertain. I do know they were lined with brass studs.

The card. I recollect thinking of the card.

Overflowing.

Turning pages.

What did it mean? Why wasn’t I scared?

The doors began to moan. My heart was in my throat. I felt an impulse to turn to my left and when I did, I saw grandfather’s old desk. What the fuck was this?

I looked at the desk. I wanted to touch the desk until the noise reminded me there was something changing.

I looked at the doors. They appeared to be getting farther away from me, from where I stood, even though I wasn’t moving.

Yet somehow, I could see them bending and bowing under a pressure that was invisible, but a pressure I could feel.

In my chest, as it tightened.

In my gut as it churned.

I felt the water between my toes and then there were five, perhaps six sharp pops. In a memory inside the dream, I imagined the old cap guns we played with as kids and the popping sounds, they made.

Then I suppose that’s when I realized it was the doors!

There was water on the other side of the doors, and they were holding the rising water at bay. It had to be.

It was then that I heard him. It couldn’t be. So inauspicious an occasion for such a reunion. Yet no other voice in the world could sound like his.

He was opening mail at his desk. Sitting in his chair with the red velvet cushion. “Sit son, sit down,” he insisted. His thick New York accent coupled with the phlegm from decades of smoking.

“Poppy,” I reached for him, but he didn’t lookup. He just kept opening his mail with that golden letter opener. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t by your side when you died poppy I was so, I dunno I was selfish just a selfish college kid.”

“I brought you here to remind you how to swim.”

I was taken aback. Then he looked up and said, “now remember that when it’s time and it’ll be time soon you can swim and keep your head above water and don’t forget the books, don’t forget to pray either.”

“I won’t pop I promise.”

“And Seany remember that turning the pages doesn’t mean being well-read.”

He looked at me through his thick glasses.

“huh?”

Then I was awake.

I should hate you, but I don’t

There are a million places I would love to lay blame for all the things that aren't the way I imagined they would be at this point in my life. I have some legitimate claims to setbacks if I wanted to make excuses. Some might even say that these aren't excuses at all but legitimate reasons why I haven't gone the distance.

I can make no such allowances for myself. And I refuse to make such allowances for myself.

I can give no forgiveness to those two shadowy figures in the night who terrorized me beyond all explanation 30 years ago. Despite my recognition that one of the hallmarks of being a decent human is the ability to forgive, as I said earlier forgiveness is not ubiquitous. Many may disagree with me, but I do believe there are circumstances where forgiveness is not an option.

But you...my kin, my sister, you created a unique type of hell that would shape my view of the world well into adulthood. You did so unknowingly, but not unintentionally. I guess that's my way of saying you did what you did unaware of the harm that it would cause and of course not knowing the horror that I had been through, but you were acutely aware of your actions, and you took them purposefully, repetitiously, strategically, and most abhorrent is that you took them without any hesitation.

You did so despite the protests of your friends, as well as many of your boyfriends throughout our preteen and adolescent years. The frequent objections and protests of your friends and boyfriends made it that much more horrifying. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate their calls for kindness on some level. It’s just that in the final analysis the position I was in, the power differential, made me just as helpless and rendered me equally as subjugated as I was when I was face down on a mattress with a 21-year-old orderly on top of me.

I should hate you for exploiting my vulnerability when I was no more than seven years old. But I don't.

I should hate you for locking me in the bathroom in the dark for hours on end even though I screamed and cried because of the monsters you knew nothing about. I should hate you because the fact that you were unaware of my abuse almost makes it worse. You Had to have known that something was different and that you ought to dial it back. And yet you didn't. On the contrary, you reveled in my misery and turned up the heat. I should hate you for that, but I don't.

I should hate you for crippling my self-esteem at pivotal moments during my journey back to stability.

I should hate you for beating me when you were supposed to be babysitting me.

I should hate you for lying to our parents about my behavior whenever they would return even though I know all these years later that they suspected you had acted in a manner unbecoming.

I should hate you for making me rely on you and your approval in our small little town and in our smaller little home.

I should hate you for all the times you locked me out of the house when it was freezing cold, and mom and dad weren't home.

I should hate you for the countless summer days you took the opportunity to humiliate me and sideline me in front of our peers in the neighborhood when you could have taken me under your wing.

I should especially hate you for doubling down on your efforts when it became clear in my mid-teens that I was turning corners, clearing hurdles, and I was becoming beyond your reach to abuse, humiliate and scapegoat.

I should hate you for the fact that you couldn't even acknowledge in an email that you were sorry when we decided in 2002 to proceed with our relationship as adults and leave our childhood behind. I should hate you because at the absolute minimum you owed me the sincerest of apologies and you should have taken the opportunity to make amends. I should hate you for the fact that you did neither of those things.

But I don't.

Turning pages

I've spent my life coming to terms with what happened to me. It was impossible for years to recognize the reality in my own thoughts never mind writing down the words on paper or saying them out loud to a trusted friend. How do you tell somebody to turn the page on something so demonic? I ask sincerely in case somebody knows the answer.

I think it's possible that some pages are not meant to be turned. That's not to say we need to reread them and relive them again and again. But there are lessons that can be learned if a balance can be struck.

You are no cog in the machine. You are not disposable. You are my sister, but you'll never be my sister. Through all the hell I went through I developed a profound belief in God which is paradoxical for some people but to me, it makes perfect sense. After all, God gave me a sister to defend me, and intuitively understand me when I needed it most. You knew her then and you know her now. She, like her mother, was and is formidable and held the monsters at bay. And during those deep nights when the monsters came out God gave me a friend who experienced what I was experiencing, and we were like a knot that could not be undone in our support for one another during that time.

At this pivotal moment in the human odyssey, I believe hate has its place, but it cannot be misplaced, and misplacing hate is far too easy to do. I should hate you, but I don't. You have your demons, but in so far as I can tell you pretend, they do not exist. If only we could partner as friends and I could tell you of all the things you do not know and you could acknowledge all the things, the terrible things you did to me over the years. Perhaps in doing so I might realize that your heart is breaking just a little bit. Just as mine is breaking just a little bit. Maybe I'm just dreaming a ridiculous dream but perhaps we could come clean and lean on each other, and let our hearts break together.

You see in doing so we might just catch a glimpse of divinity, of the truth. And it is then, it is at that moment that we can direct all our love where it needs to be concentrated and all our hatred where it needs to be directed. Demons, monsters, are all bad people. Monstrous people.

Isn't it time that we elevate the beautiful things about being human? Music, dance, love, excitement and exhilaration, friendship and laughter, discovery and learning and so much more.

And if it's time that we elevate those things it’s also time that we turn the page on predation, exploitation, dominance, and greed.

I am not naive nor am I a pacifist. I just have eyes to see and ears to hear and it is abundantly clear to me human beings have a divine purpose and that we are not here for the sake of being here. I am a devout person but I also I'm a person who believes that the human journey does not end in fire and brimstone. The human journey does not conclude with God selecting one group of people over another. Make no mistake I do believe it to be true that there will be those who will not ascend to the heavenly chambers because of their actions during their time on earth. But humanity has potential unparalleled to anything we can imagine and I'm not talking about the visions presented to us by our so-called leaders.

I'm talking about something bigger and more beautiful.

I'm talking about something I can't describe.

What I'm talking about can only be discovered when we decide to change our ways and turn the page before the doors burst open and we drown in the flood having ignored our reconcilable differences.