"The hardest thing about writing is telling the truth," says Sue Monk Kidd in her book The Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman's Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine. (HarperSanFranscisco, 1996)
In my life I find that even harder than writing the truth (yet a necessary precursor to writing the truth) the hardest thing about living is recognizing, identifying, knowing the truth.
I recognize that I hide, even from myself. The layers of self, the onion that we occasionally work to peel back layer by layer, that onion grew in the rich soil of the family and society into which I was born. That's how we all grew, in the environment we had.
I once thought (was taught) that I could square my shoulders and put on a brave face and cope with making a living and making a life in the wide world. The world granted me some success, dealt me some failures, and my methods of coping brought me to my knees. As I seek a new path, a path to wellness through wholeness and balance, I recognize that I am full of fear, paralyzing fear, and fear is primary to what stopped me in my tracks.
In the various wisdom writings I read I often find fear defined as the opposite of love. Not love vs. hate, but love vs. fear. An idea to contemplate.
Do we hate snakes (if we do) because we fear them? Do we hate physical discomfort because at some level we're afraid it damages and shortens our life span? Do we hate "terrorists" because first we're afraid? Choose your enemy and consider: do you find fear underneath hatred?
I'm posting for Elissa McCarthy, who emailed me this:
ReplyDeleteI tried to post a comment on your blog, but I don't think it worked. Anyway, here it is:
Yes. I have been awed by the privilege of bearing and raising my children. It is wondrous to me to witness how on one hand they come bearing their own selves and yet also how everything, absolutely everything, is taught. I have often thought of Stockholm syndrome when it comes to kids, what are our children but little hostages who must accept and parrot what we tell them as we control their sources of food, shelter, clothing, and love? And they come to us without fear. Often I found myself instilling fear for my benefit, not theirs. "Don't run into the street, or you'll be smashed flat!" It was really to protect my investment in them (heck just those 9 months is a lot!), and to protect myself from separation from them should the consequences be fatal. Because I often thought, in truth, they would probably find meeting a car headon interesting. Children don't fear death...we teach that, just as we were taught it.
What an interesting observation you make, Elissa. And you're right, everything is innate and everything is taught. A paradox. I wonder when we learn fear, and how early? And how do we separate nature/nurture/accumulated choice, their separated affects on our lives? There seems to be some basic, animal, instinctual fear that is elemental to survival. Newborn infants startle and will often cry if startled. Inadvertent studies in German orphanages showed that infants who are only fed and kept clean have a high death rate, there seems to be some innate need for love, or at least touch and cuddling...
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