Category Archives: human behavior

relationships; society; sociology

The Merely Un-Enlightened.

 

*Originally posted November 15, 2014 – Rescheduled for reposting on March 29, 2016.

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August, 2014

I adored the boy. Adored everything about his sensitive, electrifying personality, and the sight of him, all healthy and alive and real, not destitute in the gutter. But, he, distinct from my image of him… that reality was jarring, and jostled my senses. I would learn to find that he carried within him a fundamental lack of acceptance of the As I Am, and probably, across those past many and joyful days, had really come to me only as a respite from an atmosphere he’d described as intolerable.

As such, I’d fulfilled my role, for him; however, his actually giving me anything that might have brought what I needed may, also, have been pre-destined to be short-lived – just like the three lovely weeks those 30 years ago that had meant so much to me and, now to be realized, so little to him.

In plain English, when I lay in bed that night, I’d said to myself: “Given his repeated references to my ‘thinking out loud’; being ‘caught in the mind’; and, his most unflattering characterization of my swift, reactive personality….. his pontificating need to endlessly laud the virtues of Mindlessness and Disinterest ( hours at a time, over a period of days, toward which I applied my mind’s full capacities to grasp), I am left to [yes] think: “You know, if you extract my unlimited Internet access, my enticing electric Clavinova with the multiple presets and delay features, the guitars, and all my food, plus my willing reimbursement for household work (in which I duly shared, lest you think I sat by merely watching and barking orders)….would he have any desire to ride his bike to my house just to be with……well…me..….? ”

I concluded that the answer was: “No.”

Because, by his Master Teacher’s definition, “I” did not exist.

Only the god in all of us exists, he’d said. The god in him, with all his specific needs so expressed (and, defended)….but, the god in me, those needs either un-acknowledged or labeled “nasty”, perhaps petty?, all ultimately dismissible. And, he would persist to exist, in the fullest expression of god, but not so me – because I was merely Self, the product of my own, limited mind.

My adored’s needs very definitely did exist – his need to extract himself from all perceived negative forces; his need to identify flaws in the allegedly un-enlightened’s behaviors; all of that…..but, as soon as my needs attempted audience in the discussion, I was reminded that “I”, as a self distinct, did not exist.

Yes; my darling of 30 years ago had morphed into an Ego in minutes, accusing me of many things, among them being frustrated with my desire to “handle and touch” him.

Though I’d simply said: “Sex aside, don’t you ever just want physical contact for affection’s sake? “,  I was not to be heard. “You might receive a hug.” He would hear only the voice of fear in his own head, which declared: “She wants to have my body, and she shall not.”

Everything had pretty much exploded at the moment when I decided to define my parameters for the sharing of provided goods. These were met with the litany of each of my flaws, in succession.

He’d railed against me, from all directions, pronouncing me crazed and spiraling (how does one “spiral into mania” in print, exactly?), declaring that “we never would have made it all those years ago, either.” Because I was a split personality – half Christian, half sinner.

To which, now, I can only respond:  If a human alive exists without duality in his or her nature, let him step forward and speak; If, as the embodiment of the god in all, there exists one, pure person  – without need, without ego, and irreproachable – let him stand in judgment of another, as Christ was so characterized. In the meantime, I will wait, in my fatefully split state, and in every further facet of my multiplicities, in the silence of my own, equally-real illumination.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo

8/2014.  all rights reserved. Thank you.

littlebarefeetblog.com

The Indictment.

 

In little over an hour from now, “The Bachelor/The Women Tell All” will air on ABC. This is the point, in the grande process toward “The Final Rose”, when all the jilted bachelorettes get to descend upon their alleged suitor with every grievance and moment of humiliation he’d brought to bear on their public life in a rush of female vilification that approaches the attack of a flock of buzzards. I, for one, on a night like this one cannot wait to be a mere spectator.

My online counselor and I had just completed our session. I’d asked him to let me read aloud to him from one of my blog posts, “Pedigree”,  because I wanted him to know about something that had “happened to me.” To my mind, the incident about which I had written had happened to me, not because of me.

When I finished the read, I looked up at him. His face was contorted. He looked down, and shook his head. Then, he said that he felt like acid had been thrown at him.  He called me snotty. He said I sounded, no; he actually looked right at me, and said it: “You’re a mean bitch!”

” It’s no wonder”, he added, “that you have so few friends!”

He also kept rubbing his forehead. It could very well be that he’d had a headache even before I signed on. If so, I am certain that it was made worse by my session, a fact that I would give him by way of compassionate concession. But, I realized that now I would be spending the evening processing that somebody who got paid to counsel individuals in the realm of human behavior had just called me a snotty, mean bitch.

Perception sometimes informs the agony of life.

I repeat: I’d asked him to let me read the blog post aloud to him, because I wanted him to know about what had “happened to me.” ; the incident about which I had written had happened to me, not because of me. He, on the other hand, insisted that I had behaved very passive-aggressively by starting the conversation, and aggressively by writing the follow up piece.

The community of psychologists and their corollaries’ consensus goes that, deep within the tangled mess we often see when we go inside, a fragile, tender child resides. We are told to fully see that child, to embrace that child, and to accept that child. That child is innocent.

At that moment, I felt like somebody just tore the skin on that child and inserted a poisonous penetrant. Psychic pain is not lost on me; in fact, in my trek through the jungle toward self-realization, I have become quite familiar with the sensation.

Where does one go, and what does one do, when one is told that others see, in the self we are trying to accept, only a snotty, mean bitch?

My first impulse is to shut down. In moments of extreme trauma, rather than act out emotionally as is my characteristic wont I simply go unresponsive. I sit very still. The muscles of my face cease any movement. I hide in plain sight, hoping that any and all external influences will retreat from their threat to my well-being.

But, being a seasoned, post-menopausal woman, I do have other options. I could take a hot shower. I could eat something that contains heavy creme and organic unprocessed cane sugar. I could meditate on those whom I love, or those who, over time, have offered the sincerest form of love.

Indeed. Even a trained counselor can have moments of lapses in humanity. Even those whose livelihood depends on the trust of the precariously healthy can make missteps. Forgiveness is the most magnanimous of traits. Time to employ it, with fervor.

Denial is only a temporary comfort. There is no place to really live in denial. Defiantly insisting, particularly at the top of my voice, that I am NOT a snotty, mean person serves nothing and nobody.

Having recently confessed, also in print, my total failure as a loving human, I’m hoping for further illumination. Perhaps the belief that we bring our own misfortune, that we invite our own misery, is worthy of contemplation tonight. I’d thought that opening the counseling session with a preamble about never having been trained in the social arts would carry some credence; apparently, when one asserts oneself in print, all bets are off.

Here’s hoping that the study in sociology presented at 8:00pm will purge me of any and all notions of superiority over others that my writing implies. After all, if one stable, otherwise healthy guy from a loving, supportive family can handle the challenge and condemnation coming at him from 25 angry females, an aging, single woman who struggles to remain relevant among her peers can certainly survive the perception of one man.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo   3/7/16   All rights those of the snotty, mean bitch who wrote the piece. Back off, minions.

(there. I hope he’s happy.) (!)