Sabattical Part Three

Just looked at my FB account, and virtually all my friends have been deleted, bar a handful.

Not sure if everyone deleted me at the same time, or whether someone/something else intervened, but I will press on anyway.

Not sure who is left, so let's continue with the story.

The big day.

The "Walk Against Youth Suicide."

We expected about 80 people, but ended up with 240 participants, more volunteers than we knew what to do with, and by the end of the day, the event was a success, and we raised 20 thousand dollars for the cause.

I achieved something.

Something that was personally fulfilling, and was of some benefit to others.

I got a little criticism, but mainly a lot of credit for the success of my endeavour. The community pulled together to rally behind the cause, which I felt worthy of attention, and a large group of dedicated citizens felt similarly, and helped the event to be the great success that it was.

This should have been my saving grace.

But again I am sorry to say that it was not; not by any means.

As I reviewed my past, I realised something interesting about myself. I really did want to help, which was encouraging.

As I pondered the material to date, I admired the fact that my spirit wanted to do the work I was put on the planet to do, but somehow I would not allow myself to progress.

There were a number of reasons, my past being one of them.

But then, I knew I could not fall into the trap of blaming anything, for fear of upsetting the progress I was making now, with the new blog.

I had to be so careful to focus on the positive aspects of my past, rather than the negative for fear of remaining stagnated.

I could easily blame the past, as I had done, but there is no way of knowing whether I would have had the same problems in life had I not had a bad upbringing.

There simply was no way of knowing.

I knew that this story was not about anyone else, or anything else but me. And the choices I made, according to the inclinations within my own breast, within my own soul.

And it was this that astounded me the most.

So why was I not happy then?

Happy with my efforts to help my community?

I was a confused person, but my intentions were good. But as they say, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions"; and in my frail and fragile emotional state I wanted salvation, and I was prepared to try anything to find it.

But I was not happy with my work.

Still it was not good enough for me. I did not consider myself worthy of the attention the exercise brought me. I became impatient, and rather than congratulating myself and moving on to other things, I wondered why doors did not fly open, and rescue me from the job I still hated, but had proven I could shape to my own demands.

I was still unwilling to accept that I had done something extraordinary; I had persuaded a conservative organization to back my efforts to make a difference to the young people in the community at a time when it was still largely an untested field.

When I proposed the walk, it had not been done before; I had to approach "Walk Against Want" to tell me how to organize a charity walk.

There were no events quite like the one I was proposing.

Now they are many.

And yet, no matter how unique or groundbreaking my work might have seemed even based on an independent estimation, I still felt as though I had fallen short.

I was trapped in a job I hated, and failed to understand that I had shaped the job to my specifications, rather than the other way around.

I refused to acknowledge what I had done, and I went back to my old ways; being miserable, and regretting the life I led, and the job I was in. I became dejected. I felt betrayed that the world did not fall at my feet. I felt resentful that my one little exercise in the direction of philanthropy did not cause doors to be thrown open, with offers of other similar work in other fields.

I either did not realize, or refused to acknowledge, that one needs to persist with these things.

I cannot let that happen again.

And this is important in the way I conduct myself now.

The irony was that the big day- the "Walk Against Youth Suicide"- was a success; but all I could think about was the small things that went wrong.

One of the bands turned out to be quite angry, and the music offended many of the families who had turned up for the day, and we lost a good portion of the crowd before the event was finished.
And I found my one failure impossible to ignore, despite the overall success of the day.

This proved to be a key flaw in my personality, and a stumbling block in the path of my own spiritual growth and personal development; the inability to congratulate myself for the things I had done right, and put aside the things I had done wrong.

Which accounts for why I am so sensitive to criticism. The kind of criticism DG had for me.

I felt like she was father again, the voice in my head, telling me I was still not good enough, despite all my efforts to the contrary.

Dad was always critical of me.

I can be of myself, and that can be aimed at others.

Like religion. I thought of my recent tirade against fundamentalist religion.

Did I need to be that critical?

Or was I simply voicing my own anger, and my own frustration?

I have a problem with Christianity.

But there is one lady in particular, Jami, who pops up to say Hi from time to time.

She is lovely. She has never judged me, and always encourages me.

She is a Christian, and yet she does not force it down my throat.

I like seeing her.

She believes in God.

I guess I would have to say, so do I. I don't know yet what 'God' is- I suspect it is a force, and energy, rather than a person, but there is no denying the presence of a divine force.

Or my feverish desire to get to know that force, and get in touch with it.

I simply don’t believe in fundamentalist religion.

I think it is essentially hateful.

But I have no right to eliminate people from my friends, because they believe in it.

That makes me worse than I perceive them to be.

I have no right to criticise them so vehemently. How do I know they are not right?

What makes me think I have all the answers? And is punishing them for their beliefs, their journey, not in a way, punishing myself??

It is a catch 22 situation. A cycle of hate and distrust. I hate myself, I hate fundamentalists, then I perceive that they hate me, and on and on...

Locked in the grip of an insane battle.

I don’t know God; yet. I doubt he is bearded guy, dishing out punishment.

I like Eliot’s take. And I like Jami, very much. I know her heart, and it is a good one. How can I take it out on such a good soul, simply because I was molested by priests?

The Christians might be right, I might be right; but when we hate, we are all wrong.

And anyway, what of we are all aiming for the same God- love- and heading for the same destination in different ways?

For we are all different people.

What’s the point of making everyone like me?

That’s no fun!

I like that people are all different.

I need to stop being hard on them, and on me.

Sabattical Part Two.

Why am I on FB in the first place?

Have I really, truly explored the real reasons??

I wrote about it; I wrote, into what remained of the night, and into the early morning.

Is it really to get people to feel sorry for me??

Hell.

That is an awful thing to do, if it is true.

Why would DG make it up, if that were what she sees?

She knows me better than anybody here; I have to take the criticism seriously, and see if there is any substance to it.

So, I rested, and meditated, and mourned, and meditated and rested some more…

All the while taking notes, about my conduct for the blog.

I owed it to myself, and to my friends, to check that this was not all a giant ego massage.

I had a very restless, feverish night, thinking on it.

Dreaming strange snatches of dreams, an hour here, an hour there, about family, friends, lost loved ones, failed commitments…

Outright failures…

DG’s claims really made me take a good at myself, and as I did so, I went into my past.

I have always been introspective; an agoniser.

You have heard of the “The Terminator”?? “The Exterminator”?? “The Punisher”??

My father was like the “Punisher”, but he didn’t have a cool logo and a great costume, or his own comic. And nor do I; and yet, I am still “The Agoniser”.

I seem to agonise- some call it ruminate- all the time.

You can probably see it in my writing.

I remember in my younger days, I wrestled with my fears, my doubts, my anxieties, my depression, my lack of direction and focus, I would walk.

When I was a policeman, I went through many such days as the ones I go through now.

I remember at one point in my life- over ten years ago, when I was stationed in the country- I was in a particularly dark place.

I was lost in the desert, desolate and alone.

And I would walk, looking for answers.

I walked, and I walked. For miles and miles, through the deserts of my loneliness. I would walk through the sand dunes, looking. Looking for the answers.

The more I walked, the more lost I seemed to get. I would walk, kilometre after kilometre, until I had no idea where I was, nor what I was looking for.

I walked until I could walk no more, and then I would walk some more. I tramped and I tramped the desolate wasteland that was my soul.

Then, one day, I had an epiphany. I came up with an idea.

I was pondering the concept of suicide; possibly fortuitously. And rather than dwell on my own state of depression, I thought of a young man we had found in the forest, not long out of high school, who had blown his brains out with a shotgun in despair.

I thought of that boy, and I sensed I felt some of his pain.

But rather than take a similar way out, I saw a possible way of turning the situation around; making a positive out of a negative, and in this way, making a positive out of my own perceived desolation.

At the time, in the country town where I was serving as a Police Officer, youth suicide was an issue of growing concern to the community.

I saw much evidence of suicide and self destruction in my Police career, and in my own life, and was bothered by the phenomena.

I understood the feeling of disconnection, and certainly felt similar self destructive urges, but I had never acted upon them. I always felt that life had something of value to offer all people, no matter how depressed they might be, if only they reached out for it.

And, I could scarcely believe that there were actually individuals out there- some of them well respected doctors- who believed that speaking out about the issue was in fact not only not advisable, but might in fact worsen the situation.

I felt that the issue needed some attention.

I have always been open. I have always felt it preferable to speak openly about emotions, rather than hide them.

Many suicides do not feel they can speak freely. For whatever reason, they are unable to reach out, and in their desolation, they resort to drastic, unnecessary measures.

The young fellow in question who shot himself had given no indication of his depressive state. He must have been desperate, and had no way to reach out.

I always felt instinctively the value of reaching out.

I felt the self destructive urge was a bane on our existence- I understood reticence and had hammered into me by my father the creed ‘keep it to yourself’- but I never saw any evidence that it was a beneficial stratagem.

I felt that the truth needed to come out about this curious and worrying state of affairs, and that we needed to start paying attention to our young, and listen to their concerns, in the hope that we might go some part of the way to addressing them, and circumvent the premature curtailing of their valuable lives.

I felt so strongly about it, that I came upon an idea as I walked along the rocky cliff face, looking out over the crashing waves searching for an answer; the answer to my own problems, might in fact be the same answer as the one for the young people in the community who felt lost and confused.

I felt their loss and confusion, and I understood it. And the idea popped into my head; "Walk Against Youth Suicide".

"WAYS"

It had a ring to it.

And I decided to act, instead of just thinking; focus, instead of searching aimlessly.

I would coordinate a charity walk in order to raise money for young people in the community.

The very next day, I went into the local newspaper, had my photograph taken, and declared that I was going to hold a "Walk Against Youth Suicide", in order to raise money for youth in the community, and to get the topic out into the open.

I had little experience doing what I was doing, and yet I felt as though I was on the right track. I did not have time to wonder, and to worry, or to fret or fuss over whether I was doing the right thing or not; I just did it.

I declared a meeting, got the OK from the officer in charge of the Police station, and I went ahead and did it.

I had my first meeting. Only a handful of people turned up. We discussed the concept in general terms, and resolved our commitment to the project.

Over time, we gradually noticed more members of the group turning up to throw their weight behind the effort, and to help the cause along. As the days, weeks and months went by, I became adept at every aspect of event management.

A combination of research, communication, liaison, community cooperation and blind luck, every aspect of the "Walk" came together, on schedule. We had the day picked. We had the route mapped out. We had the flyer's printed up, the T- shirts organized, marshals employed, insurance in place, the bands organized for entertainment- everything right down to the sausages for sale to toilet rolls in the toilet.

Everything went according to plan.

Sabattical...

Damn!

It is one strange night tonight, people…

A windy, very windy, kind of unsettling- but not dread unsettling- night.

One of those nights where…

Well, let me pull back just a bit.

I thought in light of what my friend DG said- about the fact that I was only here to garner sympathy- I thought I should take stock.

Given how much what she said hurt, and how deeply it resonated for me, connecting with my deepest darkest fears about being a fraud, a fake and a phoney, I thought I should take some time out during this tricky period- after losing a very good friend and all- to take a look at myself. I don’t mind shedding the bastard skin, but I never expected to shed old friends.

And I don’t mind telling you it was painful.

A time of pain and loss is a time for introspection.

There have been big changes lately, and if someone believes I am being fraudulent, or manipulative, then I have to investigate the charge; for this is my deepest fear for myself, that I am indeed not being authentic, and am merely looking for sympathy.

So I thought I would take the time- while my friends were telling ‘it like it is’- to accept any and all truths.

It was all actually an accident. I never meant it to happen.

I like to fiddle with things. Ideas. Words. Hence my comment about ‘Coalition of the Willey’ as a twist on that ridiculous coalition of the willing. Absurd. But it was helping me with the pain of a lost relationship. (Male or female, who cares. Some think it was a woman. Can I not mourn the loss of a friendship, rather than a partnership? Maybe not then, I can now- the new me can.)

Then, as I was reading other people’s posts, by complete accident I saw someone else’s request for ‘one single word you think best describes me’- that stock standard thing people post when they are feeling low, and need an ego boost.

I find these things a little sad and needy, a little comical, so instead of insulting the person, or making fun of their frailty while I was feeling fragile, (as is a common strategy for dealing with my pain) I left a single word comment on their thread- ‘intriguing’, I believe- and then thought about how silly, self indulgent and narcissistic I find that particular exercise, and said to myself…

‘Why don’t I fiddle with it?’

Turn it around.

I cut and pasted the request, and wrote, asking for the negative. Why? Because I am getting a sense of the positive- people tell me often enough, and to pig out on the positive would be greedy, and greed is a sin; so I asked for the negative, as a change.

It fit in with the second of my two purposes here, as a process of self refinement (alchemy is you will- turning base matters into gold); to weigh up my positives as well as my negatives, in order that I might get the full picture, in order to fulfil my second purpose- that of being here for others.

But it backfired on me.

I wrote it out, and as I was typing it, I was not having fun with it.

I meant for it to be satirical, a light hearted, sporting critique of a practice which I feel is narcissistic and indulgent (I might be wrong, some people need to hear some positive feedback), and even a though I tried to turn it on it’s ear…

I was exploring my own fears about myself, and people did not see it as a joke.

I had inadvertently set our to make a whimsy, and in the process, without even knowing it, I was inviting people to expose my faults and flaws in this frail time.

But as much as my intent was to deflect this practice, and satirise it, people in their candour and willingness to help me, responded in sincerity.

Many could not find a negative to assign to me.

But even in my attempt to lampoon some of the needy practices on FB, and to turn the exercise on its head and try to attract negative criticism toward myself…hoping for words like ‘Prick’, or ‘Bastard’, or ‘MF’…

In a somewhat self flagellatory punishment style mode for my alleged ‘sins’…

It was STILL about me.

Good or bad, negative or positive, it was still about me.

Where did that come from??

Was it merely a place of grief, or was it something deeper?

DG’s comments challenged me with my own worst fears.

That I am a fraud, and a fake, and a phoney; pretty much what my recently lost friend said; pretty much what my Dad always said.

And what DG said, about me doing this for attention.

So there was my own uncertainty, as DG’s comments. I had to take a break, and look at myself again, and realign myself with my soul intentions.

Why I am here in the first place.

Maybe she was right. I trust her, I trust what she says; she is my oldest regular FB friend. I like her, and value her opinion. She is very persuasive to me.

Perhaps it was my deepest fear made real, and I am full of shit, and this is for my ego, and I am only here to get people to feel sorry for me. God, that hurt.

But I know her, and trust her. I asked for ONE word- I know she is not a dullard, I know she understands- but she gave me more than anyone else. She must have had something she needed to say to me.

And she would not have, if it were not true.

I never saw it in myself, but I feared it.

It is my Achilles heel- to actually be a giant fake.

I have been accused of it before- not often, but it has happened- and it hurts me, very deeply. And DG’s truth hurt me very deeply; because there was the chance she might be right, and I was not even aware of it.

Hell, my suspicision about the exercise would go a long way to supporting it.

I had to log off, and ‘check myself’.

So I have been on a short retreat, meditating, and looking at my inner self, my intentions, my inclinations, and my ego.

I have slept, and meditated, and taken notes, and slept sand meditated and written…

Turning it over.

I was in bed, slept for a few hours, and turned things over in my mind. I had to write it down. I was so tired, I slid out of bed to write what was in my mind, what had to be assessed and evaluated, wrote a line or two, and could not go any further.

I was in the house, and I wandered from room to room.

And none of the lights worked.

And I wandered, and went from room to room, trying to find a light that worked, and I could not get past the first couple of lines.

And I was not happy with those lines.

I was not even happy with the first letter.
I used white out to correct the first letter, and I could not correct it.

I have not used white out in a decade.

It was a capital ‘C’ I was trying to correct.

So I went into my mother’s room, and she was still awake watching TV, and I wanted to watch with her.

But I had to do my work.

And I went into my brother’s room, and woke him. And I asked if he had a light that worked.

And then I stopped.

I don’t live with my mother or brother.

This was my old family home.

I woke up, and found that I had fallen asleep in the process of getting out of bed!

I was fully clothed, and one leg was on the ground- shoes still on- and the rest of me in bed!

I had fallen asleep even halfway through getting out of bed!

I have never done that!!

And I was wet.

I had been feverish.

It was a fevered dream.

And here I am, writing the results of my ponderings, and my inquisition.

What are my true intentions?

At my very core…why am I here?

Is it for the right reasons?

I had to know.

I truly had to know.

It mattered to me, and it mattered my intentions were honourable.

I had to ask myself, why am I here, on FB?

BASTARD NO MORE!!

The 'Bastard' has left the building.

I don't really feel like a bastard any more, and I have had this feeling for quite some time. The title doesn't suit me any longer... indeed, it may have held me back.

No more.

I am moving on. I HAVE moved on. And you helped me do it.

I'm am what I was always intended to be; an 'Evolving Soul'.

It might be as simple as saying the words, and stating my intention.

I am now free- free to grow, and evolve- as was always intended for me.

Free now, to join the other evolving souls, just like me.

I know you can live without me, but I need you.

I need you.

I need love, and you are love.

Would you honour me with your company, as we proceed onward, and upward to transcendence?

Thank you, all my friends.

You KNOW I would not have made it this far without you...

Love and Peace,

JWA