
Image: Geo Sans
~
imperfect
god created man
in his image
~
childhood trauma
my primary source
of guilt and pain
my family and church
our innocence lost
~
righteous rage
he was a jealous god
insecure, uncertain
fear trumped love
anger overruled compassion
~
reconciliation
forgive me father
I forgive you god
for all our sins
we’re only human
_ _ _
B L O O D L I N E S
Purging an old covenant. First memories of my dad. Small prairie church in the 1970s. Our family fills an entire front row.
My father is 38 (anxious). He has 5 children under eight years old and his wife is carrying their sixth child. He is trying to sell the family farm.
Squeaming, screaming. Church feels unbearably long for children and parents (there’s no peace on earth).
~
W O N D E R
I’m three years old and staring at a church bulletin. A line drawing of an adult Jesus. For the first time, I notice a nose isn’t the smudged dot from my drawings. My eyes trace and memorize this new shape.
~
T H U N D E R
When home, my dad yells, snarls. We weren’t still and quiet enough. His belt swings hard against our bare flesh. We all taste the burning sting and shame of fear, anger, pain.
I close my eyes unable to block my older brother’s terror. His anguishing bone chilling howls of horror. I still see your purple watery face. You are only six.
Instilling a fear of god. Subconsciously, I start hating going to church (anxiety) — and I grew up resenting my father’s authoritative power. We did not understand each other. We lived and spoke different languages. I ended up focusing on what my dad wasn’t.
~
C O N T R A D I C T I O N S
Identifying, processing. This trauma was extremely difficult for me. My dad wasn’t a violent man. He was soft-spoken. He always cared for us, was always there. He was hardworking and sombre. And I can vividly remember each and every rare time he genuinely smiled — or lost his temper. Both very rare.
~
I N N O C E N C E
It’s been 10 years since our family’s last Christmas with our father. Even though he never said it, I know he loved me. It was difficult for us to give and receive. We both had trouble with emotions.
Different views, perspectives. Time has helped with understanding. Maybe it wasn’t fair to judge my father. Maybe meaningful relationships can eclipse one traumatic moment.
Today, I open my heart to you dad. I apologize for the walls I built. And I forgive you for your old trespasses. I’m ready to live and love you freely. Peace to you — and peace to me.
+ + +
L I N K S:
this photo
from a critique years ago
elicited
lively debate
~
is it staged?
is there a preconceived message?
~
“I was documenting
abandoned farm houses
and discovered a crucifix
at the entrance“
~
our class became divided
sharing / evaluating their
positive / negative experiences
Thank you for sharing so deeply. May your writing help release the pain and may you know the beauty of your soul.
writing is a difficult
but necessary way
to be with my confusion
and heal
~
over the past 10 years
it has helped
immensely
I know and still feel this existence, decades later. I hope you can continue to find peace and love where it was once void.
maybe the voids
were the ones
I unconsciously created?
~
once I stopped placing
+should have’s+
instead of
+what is+
my life has found
lush, harmonious
+colour+
I am warmed to learn of what you have found.
Oh my gosh, I’ve been going on about childhood trauma as well. So beautiful and of course poetic, your post!
I felt a synchronicity
with your posts
when reading
~
thank you
for sharing
reading
and connecting
And I with yours, thank you as well.
it is so tricky coming to the point of forgiving an original sin: so much of ‘you’ is involved in the absolvement
so true
~
there’s a commitment
to the transformation
now it’s all letting go
and forgiveness,
agonizingly difficult,
perhaps
impossible…
your sharing touches deep…
breathing out
heavily
~
slow progress
being made …
Forgiveness … sometimes it is easy to forgive. Other times: even a lifetime isn’t long enough to completely forgive. I wonder if we can ever completely forgive, or if it becomes an acceptance of the past, an acknowledgement of the pain, a glimpse of understanding — our understanding changes our feeling, the anger may dissipate, but the scars are always there. I’m still wrestling with the idea of forgiveness, and if one can ever truly let it all go … (by “one”, I mean “me”).
acknowledging
and being aware
is so vital to healing
~
we can’t heal
what
we can’t identify
we are an endless result of our past, always morphing
we cannot choose to remember or not to remember
the endless radio within chooses that song for us
gestalt
~
our mind
wants to create patterns
from random marks
I can relate to a lot of what you say Geo. I had a religious family home too, and lots of physical correction taught by the church my parents were part of. They actively encouraged parents in physical correction. It was never done in anger though, which in some ways was good, but I used to think it was weird they could do that so calmly. And the saddest thing of all was our parents had to carry what they had done for the rest of their life. They changed beliefs in later years and wished everything had been different. At least we were able to talk about it many years later. I hold no grudges, they did what they believed they needed to do.
The memories you have though…they can hurt a lot. You wish those images were different.
authoritative
indoctrination often leads
to fear & resentment
~
this creates
a disjointed path
towards
trusting, loving
relationships
~
sadly
too many are lost
along that
dark route