Loved by many, anathema to a few. Musician, artist, writer, parent, grandmother, wife, crone. Don't answer my phone much. Love all things mystical. Now that I am in my sixties, it's time to tell the truth.
How do I handle this being hot as coals on my head angry? I feel kicked to the curb. I have been used. I have been made promises that were never intended to be kept – misled — probably laughed at. Now my pain is being used against me. It tastes bitter. I invested self-consuming love and trust. Now I am cast aside.
From Truer Self:
Remember. It isn’t like I went in sightless. Is it wrong to choose to love someone? Is it dishonorable to give, even to someone who is giving little back? I knew. I chose to love based on examples of those who suffer for others and give, give, give. So, there are false promises that were believed at the time they were given. Big deal. No denying this person is delightful company. My joy is real. Even if someone else’s joy is not. That is punishment – for them to never feel genuine joy. I was sincere. No one can rob me of that. I built another’s new life for them. Their choice of dishonesty carries its own punishment. For me, no fear. No authentic loss. Maybe disappointment that turns into a lesson learned.
From the Divine Witness:
This has no importance. The True Source of You is present in, with, before and behind it all. Your serene power is forever protected. Deceit gains nothing. It cost you nothing essential. You are not harmed, but helped. You are not weakened, but strengthened. Your love has grown more fruitful. You have not become more imprisoned, but more free. Rest. I protect you from “being taken” – there is no such thing. I give you freedom to love. No hate can poison Me/You. It is all harmless.
She: “Honey, this is a heavy philosophical question to ask while you are eating your breakfast sweet roll. But what do you live for? In this world system, it seems to me the only thing that drives it, is sex and money. [He shakes his head.] What is there when you take sex and money out of the equation? Think about it and tell me when you feel like it. What do you live for?”
[He finishes his roll and drinks his coffee. She sits beside him, holds a mirror, and applies minimal cosmetics from a small handmade basket she carries from the bathroom. Companionable silence continues. He sets down his coffee mug.]
He: “Now to answer your question — what do I live for? You. I enjoy anything we do together. And I get to see you prance around the house every day. [Slight smile.] You.”
[She gasps out a throaty laugh, stands, bends over and kisses the side and back of his neck.] “How I love you . . . . ”