Scattered thoughts...

The wound is the place where the Light enters you.       -Rumi

This is the quote of the day.  It stopped me and...just stopped me. I am still playing with the images.  Just thought I'd share, and confound you a bit.

I like contra.  I would like to take other dance classes.  I have never felt like a dancer, but I have always wanted to be a dancer.  My youngest and I took belly dance for a few years.  Another peer and I held down the back of the room, and neither of us danced in public, but we had fun.  And I liked the way it felt - to be supple.  Some opportunities to organize a few more dances have opened.  Maybe this is part of my process.

My youngest doesn't want to recognize the abuse in the family.  She knows it is there, lurking off to the side.  But she does not want to know what happened.  She wants it to stay under the covers.  It seems we can handle abuse in other families, but in our own - is it too painful?  too embarrassing?  She also made a comment about phobic fear of fat, and how it's affecting her feelings about being pregnant.

Lots to think about today.

I have been thinking about our book.  I have been wondering what it is we need to say.  How do we get to Me, too?  I think I am going to review some of the books that have affected me...Alice Miller's For Their Own Good comes to mind.  I want to think about the way the information was presented and developed.  I have been thinking that maybe we don't tell our own stories outright, or maybe not in detail.  We tell other people's stories, giving us a chance to stand back and be compassionate and objective.  Our own stories will be interwoven in our reaction, part of the Me, too.

Jealousy from one generation to another...I remember walking down the street with my oldest when she was in her late teens.  For the first time, I saw men to look at her.,  I was suddenly invisible.  I remember thinking, "And so it begins."  There was a level of jealousy combined irrationally with pride.

Thinking about my youngest again.  She and her friends have been sharing stories of violent boyfriends.  They think it is good to expose the relationship patterns and their own reactions.  But that is within their own generation. And sometimes I wonder if the stories have a bit of braggadocio, of cultural cool.  I know that adopting an attitude would be a great coping mechanism.  And they are on the right track by coming together and being open about what happens, about reaching out for each other.  I wonder if hearing stories of the older generation is what is bothering my daughter.

So, I'm still on yellow tiles.  Tiles are unbending, tough.  Yellow is the color of cowardice.  It is the color of the will-chakra, the place where we are rigid and unbending, mistrustful of the flow.

I still dream of bursting out of myself...

Feeling scattered.  Maybe I'll be a little more cohesive tomorrow.

Love you!!

Clare