BROKEN but not beyond FORGIVEN


You are my author.

Yes You!

You tell me how to feel.

If nice to me, I feel grateful.

I feel loved.

If you are upset with me.

I am under threat.

I am scared.

Or mad.

Or oh so worried.

I depend on how you are

to me.

And that is?

Self Sacrifice.

This brings this consideration to; What is the most spiritual thing I can do in a moment to become the most authentic I, one not solely dependent on my circumstances?

I think that most spiritual thing is to challenge my own wounds, my own fear loving hidden places; Those persistent evidences of my own misgivings. The who, what and where to why I am visited time and time and time again, by familiar defeats, a sense of being wronged, a weight that aways returns to burden.

These locations and characters from the past are not going away. Just proposing to “get over it” and such instant gratification like ignoring of ones history, do not always work for some, nor address the actual source of the disturbance in being me. They must then be addressed in the here and now by a newly empowered spirit, or a conscious effort to disengage those old judgements over my current situation.

In the Restorative Justice program I volunteer for, uncertainty over authorship of ones own feelings is the primary cause of many family problems. The ensuing, blame the other person for owning the cause, indicates this empty identity searching for substance to fill it. Unfortunately for our worlds; If I do not own my feelings, I am saying you all do. The initial shame to myself from a perceived wrong can become externalized into a blame another for the experience of me. A core identity of authorship is rejected, while a new paradigm of others determining my emotional state is instated. This new way of seeing me from the outside world in does make me the victim of my circumstances.

Well. a kind of miracle, or anti miracle has happened then. I have no acknowledged power or causal authority, yet seemingly, most magically and escapistly convenient, everyone and everything else does. The question should be; What the hell ever happened to the real me? I am nothing and all else everything. Something patently incongruous about that. And so the journey has a sign which reads; Location: Where am I? When all else is here being the decider? This is why this question of authorship is inherently a spiritual quest.

Old narratives can seem like security blankets of a sorts, like trustworthy friends or at least acquaintances. Ah. I knew that would happen, just like always. I can medicate myself in a manner of speaking, with my sense of defeat or its seemingly trustworthy nature, but what else could have happened? What other me might there be if I decide to change the narrative? Let’s say from friendly defeat, to a challenging wake up call to a new lesson? Same thing happened, but what I made of it is another mater. There is the beginnings of the difference between being a bystander in ones own life dishonestly insisting on innocence betrayed, or being grateful for the stubbed toe, for the shoe left right in the way, or that seeming way you know who just dismissed me.
Guess who is really the author of my life, of yours. There s a point where I can perceive I can change me. I can write how and who I really am. I can seek accuracy and accountability to me. I can decide to be the power in charge of my feelings. I can be empowered.

I grew up in my mid teens with a guardian who pretty much controlled my whole life. I did what I was told or else. I gave all my earnings over or else. I finally left with my life being threatened. A large mark had been left in my life from my situation. A year or so later, I decided to get my power back. How this happened was what left its own influence.

I figured out that the guardian was just like me. Lived a life in reaction like me. This person was someone, not to resent and be angry about, but to feel sorry for, even compassion and empathy toward, for their lost and missing true life. This act was the acceptance of a rational universe. We do things for reasons, and are trapped by those reasons unless we challenge them one way or another. I can try to get rid of all “bad” people, or understand why they are being bad. It is about being; What is in charge of ones being.

When I accepted this sensible universe, many things made much more sense. Why we all do things for reasons. It is those reasons which must be addressed. Addressing them puts the keyboard of my life right back under my own fingers. Well that was a revelation. It seemed in a kind of synchronicity with the most wise of religious and philosophical teachings. Instead of a mad world with inexplicable acts carried out by incomprehensible characters, where I inexplicably am victim recipient to all, we all are playing our roles to a T. The question is then, Who is writing the real me?

I don’t now about you, but I like the idea that when I face a usual reactive event, I can stop for an instant and put up a stop sight to whomevers signature was just going to write my experience. Instead, well now, I am free. I can pivot to what is best. I can decide; Should we get to the bottom of this right now? I can just ignore someone else’s own misgoverned role and speak instead to what I know is best in them. Suddenly, a stressful situation can have a whole new horizon. Why living is miraculously a dance where I can exert truth and reason over shadowy characters with their false mustaches, beards and odd to comprehend accents.

This is the difference between what is indeed broken, but what can as well be forgiven. There is a whole reasonable world out there just waiting for me to see the light. There are new connections to be made. There is even a kind of new and improved me to get to know. The; I am, me. My heart can become more in harmony with my mind. Emotions can change from all I have known, all the defeats can emerge out of the shadows as blessings, as kindling for the heartfire of my new life.

Whomever accepts this solid stance on reason instead of rationalization, they begin to appear confident in a new way. Those waves crashing upon their shores, as frightening and riveting to attention as they were, become something to safely wade out in, because I am now a wave walker! The fires of anger and shame no longer burn me to death, because I can now walk through fire calmly, with my attention on what is important; where the fuel is coming from.

Whatever the metaphor, may I sign my name with honor.







Being involved with family violence control puts me in an odd situation.

I have avoided physical fighting my whole life. Childhood became the most significant influence on this. My father had told me, and I took it as holy law, that you as a guy, do not strike women. I cannot say that my older sisters and I did not have shoving matches, but for me that would have been self defense. Our family dynamics was heavy on the mental sparing which can seem actually more devastating.

The physical violence in our house was later done, after my mothers death, by a step mother-guardian. She would not hesitate to hit, throw objects and threaten with knives. She sent my father to the hospital with a big gash across his forehead. I slept with the largest kitchen knife under my pillow as a self defense plan for a knife attack while I was asleep. She had hit me in the face while I was asleep, then locked me out in the snow in my pajamas. My father committed suicide not long after that.

Earlier I had incidences when someone seemed to be threatening my life as a freshman high school. I was literally about 100 lbs. and someone morbidly obese around 500 lbs, held me under water to near drowning during pool time in a crowded pool. He had done this more than once. It became so serious to me (swallowing-inhaling watter) that I thought I would have to take matters into my own hands. One more time, and I was going to put him in a headlock with my legs around his neck and hold him under until it meant something. I was a totally inhibited kid and did not trust authority to do anything but blame the victim. So I had to weigh in my mind, possibly causing someones death and being called and treated as a murderer.

As it turned out, he never did that again. But I was sure it would have been me to blame and I would have felt I had no options in my own self defense. No one seemed to notice him doing this during the pool commotion, so I believed no one would accept my story. It just never came through to experience. In physical confrontations during boyhood, I found I had to keep the potential for rage out of me, especially since I had no doubt that I would take down someone twice my size. It took someone quite a bit larger and older to overcome me. I was afraid of my rage and how if unleashed it would seem out of my control.

(As evidence that I am not just delusional about this strength proclamation. When it rained a lot during physical education, outdoor activities were called off and we were put into the gym, we freshmen and the sophomores, to have a thing called “bombardment”. This is where there are two sides chosen, a line across the middle of the gym, where the two sides throw rubber balls a little smaller than a soccer ball at each other. Out of about 150 students divided in two, little me was one of the last picked, last or second to last.

Well the first game I discovered that being in the lower 10% in size had me a bit afraid, so I hung back as many did. All it took was the guy next to you ducking and a ball out of nowhere taking you out, while leaving a big red mark somewhere. I decided to risk all and take it to the line next game.

You could see most of what was being thrown up front. I found out I could catch any-ones ball thrown at me, but no-one could hold onto mine. I was also very accurate. I won that game. The last guy standing. I was picked second of all players next game. The team first picking, picked his seeming best friend first, so I was first on the other team picked. The next game was the last. It oddly ended up being me the last standing on my team, and a very out of shape guy hiding and dodging in the corner on the other side when the period ran out. I could no longer throw fast enough to eliminate time for him to move. That is how little old me was as a skinny five feet two.)


What I just said I cannot say to someone involved in family violence. As far as physical violence goes, I do not hit women. I have told ones who gave me any actual physical provocation that, “If you do that again, we are over!” I do not tolerate fighting, especially in the home relationships. I try to avoid physical confrontations with anyone. Now that I am a “senior citizen” I find you are not seen as a threat overall, or there is a kind of automatic respect. Most of that sense of being on guard is much diminished now. I take peace as my way and it path is most often open.

I have found that emotional abuse has prove a bit more difficult to not take part in, compared to a sense of law that one just never does such a thing. I grew up that way, making fun of someones mistake or being ridiculed. It is then a model of behavior I have had to contain and reverse. To do that requires a will and an understanding of the Golden Rule or Categorical Imperative. I need to establish the sense that not only does “what goes around comes around.”, but it is already damaging my life. Abusing others in any way is profoundly self abuse.

I need to see (learn to recognize) when I am treating another like I would not wish to be treated, and immediately review what my self respect or control problem really is. We are often given the information from another that we are on some kind of attack and they becoming defensive, or initiating their own retaliations.

Still, when expressing guidance to someone, it will often fall flat if it is preached or describes as something I am so above, and can’t understand how someone could do such a thing. That fits as a key with very few dysfunctional programs. I have to speak out of and through my own life, the love in your heart has to be in it, to be a gift expected to have a chance at being received.


In some ways I have described political tactics and ways of manipulation. All manipulation is in some way an abuse of the truth. Its vibrational disturbance will not go unnoticed, except perhaps, by like minded dysfunction. The same situations and rationalizations that come to effect home life are used in the greater life of our world. Even if everyone does it, doesn’t make it right.

We will find manipulative arguments covered if various guises meant to hide their intention, and instead, be represented as your own interest. Fear and insecurity are great hiding places for manipulative interest. Optimistic vision can also be used as a trick to catch someones interest, then later prove to have been a ruse. We need to be both critically minded on the one hand, and have our heart held out open in the other. True adults can do this.

The upcoming election seems to be being based on fear and insecurity vs. hope and optimism, both of these being held as paramount in differing ways by the candidates. I am not saying that we are not justified in having these inclinations. What I am encouraging is the “true believers” and the doubtful to have their wits about them. As citizens and voters, it is up to us to determine the fact from fiction, the hidden agendas from the promises of safety and security. For power will seek to inject its corruptions into all areas of life if let be.

We each are freedom, love, and truths best and last hopes. Better to stand with understanding under their tall light, than the ignorance that festers in the shadows of misunderstanding.