Hi Love,
I arrived safely yesterday afternoon and spent the afternoon meeting our newest member of the family, and spending time with a little boy who has grown so much since I have seen him. That is part of the pain of living so far away. We all continue to grow and change whether we are together or not, and we lose bits of each other along the way when we are not...the new parts are foreign, and then we are cordial strangers with shared genes. It explains our siblings relationships well. I hate to see it happening with my kids, with this next generation.
I spent more than three days on the bus. I wanted to experience traveling, not just see it from above, staring out of the windows of the plane. I took a notebook - to write, to record impressions - and Women Who Run With the Wolves - for inspiration. I didn't read much of the book, instead I spent hours staring out the window watching the Earth, and so it will become bedtime reading while I am here. I have a lot of reactions to share, but I think they will come slowly. I also have stories of the trip, which will also come slowly. I see the damage in our family everywhere now. We are not alone.
Just to comment a bit on your last few posts. I wonder where home is sometimes. You said "There's no place like home." It was always there right inside, waiting for us. I also thought, "Home is where the heart is." I believe we can be home, as long as we have a safe place on this planet, and we have each other. But some places seem homier. But home inside of us makes everywhere home. I will think on this...
Deconstruction/reconstruction. I am reminded the new will be different, and we have no idea what it will look like. I still find that both frightening and exciting.
One last thought that sort of leaped out at me is that we were/are orphans, but the messages of our family culture, streaming mostly out of Dad's mouth, stuck. I think that's because we don't want to be orphans. We don't want to be alone or without family. And if we want to stay, we must willingly accept the family dose of medicine. Not opening your mouth and swallowing is what made you an orphan.
I want to share one story from the trip, and then, because it is the middle of the night here, maybe - sleep! I heard some very childish bickering from the back of the bus. Some of the dialog was concerned with whether someone had their finger in their nose before they touched someone else's pillow. Not kidding. It was like traveling with children! The arguing would ebb and flow, until it started getting out of control and the bus driver pulled off and things got out of control. The identified instigator was removed from the bus, especially after threatening a few others. As he walked away, and we waited from the police, we could see him stumbling and everyone knew he was drunk, and had probably taken something more.
I suddenly saw the child, the child who desperately wanted to play with the other kids, but who was treated so violently that he didn't know how. I saw a human so led by his accumulated pain that he had to numb himself to this degree in public. I saw several men get off the bus and stand in front of the door, feeling safetry in numbers. The drunk man tried to face them, then walked away giving us all the one finger salute. Then he stumbled and people laughed. I felt more pain, more humiliation, knew this was just making the shame and guilt and pain inside more intense. It had to almost define him, and probably felt like his whole life was summed up in this moment.
Police came, over-reacted, treated the man with more force than necessary. People cheered - the bad guy was subdued. Those who cheered were bullies. They cackled like roosters, retelling their stories for quite sometime. They had it - there was a bad guy and they were the good guys. No one stopped to wonder why the obnoxious guy was so sick he couldn't even function.
I had so much compassion for them all. Then I suddenly wondered if this is the change we are waiting for. Is being able to see all with compassion the way to change? The man sitting next to me, and I, noticed that when the star of the show had tripped, he had lost his bag. The man sitting next to me went out to make sure the police knew so they could take it with them - one act of kindness for the identified enemy. Healing has begun.
I never knew there were hidden images under the bridges of Paris. So cool. You gotta see them!!!
I missed you...Love, C.
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