cul de sac

WAKINYAN

Thunderbeings

Energy 

Wakinyan is the force of truth;

He strikes down anyone who lies.

Sun 8.30.20

      Love is really a room, and it’s not in your heart.  It’s a place that you stumble upon, a magic room that you cannot find on your own, that you can’t wish into existence.  It’s filled with the sweet state of a wide-open heart.  One is returned to the innocent self of youth where the earth is but a bubble of pleasure.  Sad to say, there are a number of rooms people find much more to their interest than love.  Jealousy, resentment, conflict, fury, covetousness for sex, money, power, self-pity, depression are more comforting, more stable.  One tends to stay around for a long, long time in those rooms.

      Loving someone or something is perilous.  We’ve all experienced the after-taste of having fallen in love with someone who, 3 years later, you can’t imagine how you couldn’t see the impossibility of such a relationship.  Your loved one could die and you hit the jackpot for the number 1 life stressor on the PTSD scale of traumatic events.  You’re not getting out of that room anytime soon, if ever; ask any mother who’s lost a child.

      My father was a child, totally unable to mature.  I never saw him exhibit strong emotions, or quite frankly, to take responsibility for anything, but he was capable of love, but not loving, which requires maturity.  He was a social man, belonged to a club which he went to every day, had buddies; liked music, dancing, everybody liked him.  I could say my father was an alcoholic, but that was before his days; he was a drunk.  One tries to find explanations, oh, it’s because his wife died, but there are no explanations.  It is. 

      My father spotted in me this spirit and boldness of which he was proud.  When I was a kid I adored him.  He was Humphrey Bogart, looked like him, liked being cool.  As a teenager I now could see the weakness, the shirking of responsibility, the inability to cope.  I tried to communicate with him, attempt some link, not possible.  He did love me, I know that.  And I love my father and try to honor his memory.  Father is not someone that one can easily brush off.  He is the Man, the Leader in one’s family life, especially in my culture where they are allowed release from responsibility, which is the domain of women, but men get the perks.  Had he been a true father . . . but he was not. 

That’s one of the rooms one goes to, a cul de sac on the way to the love room.  Need I say it?  It’s a room one remains in for a long, long time.

The favorite essay this month has again been,The Karpman Drama Triangle