Facing The Monster


Accusers and accused. There are many of these both in the news lately. Whose stories are true? What side do we choose to believe? And why do the stories seem to play out the same way each time?

At least that how it seems to me, but could we change the ending somehow? A woman comes forward to accuse a man of some kind of sexual assault from their past. The man is a high-profile figure so the story hits the news, but we all know that these stories have struck a chord because so many women have had similar experiences in their lives (including me).

Once the man stands accused, he usually claims he didn’t do it–in a very loud voice–until it turns out that we learn he did because other women come forward, or investigation into his past concludes it was true. So why then do these men say they didn’t do it?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, especially with the most recent allegations which are particularly disturbing to me, and I came up with this conclusion.

Many of us hold parts of our past we would rather forget (me included); ones that when we dare look back on them produce feelings of shame and regret. So rather than look at them, we compartmentalize them or even pretend they didn’t happen. We may actually believe they didn’t. Some folks are particularly good at this skill and humans are quite resilient and can learn to adapt to their dirty deeds and go on quite well.

What happens, though, when someone comes along and opens the door to the shame that has been hidden away and it shows its nasty head. The obvious reaction would be to say: no, no–of course I didn’t do that thing! It wasn’t me. That beast has been hiding so long it has become unfamiliar, a part of ourselves we have chosen to forget.

But, as this creature stands before us a while, I feel it should begin to take shape and start to become more visible. Letting it out of the box to stand out in the open and taking a good look at it instead of denying it, can actually help defuse its power. Because ultimately it is a part of us, no matter how bad it was, it was something we did. The first part of letting go is admitting to something.

At this point, if the accused could then face the accuser and simply say: yes, I did it, it was bad and I’m sorry I hurt you–how would that change the story? Would we all feel differently? Could then the accuser introduce forgiveness into the equation? Maybe. Hopefully.

And then maybe the healing could really begin: for everyone.

 

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Poem: Ocular


Golden light behind eyes

seeking spiritual specks in moments

The flickering passage of brilliant scenes

floating by the blinking window

Catching paintings passing by

and piles them in corners

stacked for recall

where memories reside

They mix so thickly

in the depth of night

with seeping dreams

And as the bright of morn

lays across the open orb

together now they’re

wed

Poem: I Survived Kindergarten


Today I was a sub

and lived to tell the tale

Teaching little kiddies

Some were happy, some sad

and some who simply wailed

Since they are only five or six

new are they to this game

Some are quiet as a mouse

but some simply have no shame

Their fingers end up places

where they really shouldn’t be

sadly in holes in faces

plugging noses running free

For their tiny little sizes

their voices are quite big

And they never just stand still

instead they do a jig

Whenever asked to get in line

please don’t ask them to chill!

But the hugs they give are priceless

I couldn’t ask for more

It’s a joy to go to work

because it’s not a chore

Even though I’m sixty-two

it’s like I’m back in time

thanks to my classroom

I feel like I’m in my prime!!

 

 

 

 

Poem: The Speech


Common ground

must abound

for this country

to unite

and to set

founding notions right

Not you

against me

She vs. he

White is better

than Black

or pretend

global warming

is not a fact

Walls must fall

while we help

all who call

No matter tint

of skin

where preference

is no mortal sin

And believing

means freedom

the wisdom of truth

found in our

words

Not blurred

by hatred or fear

but once again

self-evident

we the people

are equal