I walked a strange path yesterday evening. I met face to face with childhood memories and as strange as it may sound, I found myself in them. In the past, I have always viewed such pain as happening to someone else, not me. It was easier that way. But last night the lines blurred and I began to see my face on that small child.
She was dirty, battered, bloodied, bruised and broken. She had no eyes because she did not want to see. She did not want to see the horror bearing down on us. Neither did I. But I have eyes and I saw last night. Pushed to the forefront, I had no choice but to see her pain. And feel. I saw him too.
He climbed on top of her and I could smell his musky smell. I stepped aside and began to walk away. I heard her call out for our mother and that stopped me dead in my tracks. She sounded just like my daughter when she calls for me. I went back and he saw me. He stopped; and as scared as I was, I saw more fear on his face than I felt on my own.
In an instant he was gone and I was left alone with that little girl. She was still dirty, battered, bloodied, bruised and broken. I looked at my own self and so was I. Shame overcame me as I found myself in such a vulnerable place. I have been humiliated so much in my life that I cling to what dignity I have so that I can present myself to the world as a perfect and put together person. But there I was, alone with her, and in the exact same state as her. I hurt where she hurt and I could feel what she was feeling. She felt shame like me. But in looking at her, I saw nothing about her that was shameful. She was innocent.
I picked her up and held her like I hold my own daughter after she has a bad dream. I took her and cleaned her up, gave her clothes to wear, and combed her matted hair. She smiled as she looked up at me and in her eyes that I could see now, was love. An overwhelming calm washed over me and for the first time in a long time, we rested. She was especially exhausted as she was the one laying in bed awake, night after night, waiting for him.
Today, I am still tired but it is a good kind of tired; the kind that you feel after exercising. After a hard workout you might be tired, drained and even a little sore. However, you know that your workout was healthy, will make you stronger, and even motivate you to press on. That is where I am today... tired and sore but motivated to press on and find another piece of myself.
“Shall I Crucify Your King?” #UNITE Linky
22 hours ago