Friday, November 20, 2009

in the silence ~

Isn't it amazing how much differently a house can feel when one of its occupants is absent? I'd never really noticed it before coming to live here. I'd lived 'alone' (with my critters, of course, but not with other humans) for so long, I'd become accustomed to the silence of my home. Not just the silence. The energy in those places I lived. It was energy of my own making. Well, mine and the critters. A calm and peaceful harmony, ever present, almost 'tangible'. So when I moved into a house with another human, it took a good while before I could settle in. The noises and the energy were extremely intrusive. Not always good energy either. His own internal struggles and anger were thick enough to cut with a knife. His constant barrage of slurs against women in general were a source of great irritation for me. Even though he attempted for those slurs to be 'funny', it was more than obvious he was speaking from some deep-seeded place; a place that went far beyond even his own awareness.

But I could feel it. I could feel his loathing, even when he tried to hide it. I could also feel the shifting of his moods, particularly when he kept silent. The more quiet he'd be, the more I could feel it. One of the 'down-sides' of being so intuitive. For months and months I tried to offer kindness and whispers of support. I thought it might help...both of us. I thought it was only proper I share what I knew about holding such feelings for so long.

I was dead wrong.

The more I tried to help, the more resentful he became. To the point where I began to wonder if he might be capable of violent reactions. It was at that moment I realized that it was NOT my job to help him. It was, in fact, none of my business. I am not his wife, mother, lover, sister, or even friend. He doesn't want me as a friend. He wants to be where he is and left alone.

And so, I changed my methods. I made the conscious and deliberate choice to just keep my nose out of his life. Entirely. I stopped asking how he was or how his day went or any other 'personal' inquiries. I simply detached myself from him. Not an easy thing for such a 'people pleaser' to do, but I did it.

The miracle of that was within days of my detaching, the energy in the house changed. Dramatically. It went from tense to a kind of bland void. As if he weren't here at all. As if it were just me and my critters, living in our own little protective dome. The harmony of my home returned. The feelings he emitted were still present, but not affecting. I had managed to tune out the sounds and the vibes without losing my own sense of peace. Miraculous indeed.

Now, some 12 months later, I can see just how much my own silence contributed to his sense of calm. He's much more amiable when things are superficial. When there is no hint of personal 'invasion'. He simply cannot accept any sort of caring from anyone (except his Mama). And so it is.

Does this mean I don't care? Does this mean that I have changed who I am in order to live here? No and yes. I do care. And I have changed. I've changed that part of me that thinks she can 'fix' everyone. I've learned about boundaries and space. I've come to understand that in the silence there is music. Music that sings to me to keep the love growing, but not to force it on others. I can love without intrusion. I never knew that. It was a huge surprise to me, when I realized it. A good surprise.

Now I can see just how perfect my coming to live here is for my own expansion. Learning to live with someone else, especially when they are in no way 'connected' to you, is an enormous lesson. Understanding that we are all vastly different, in the way we live and love and interact, are things I'd never have learned living alone. It is through our relationships we are most able to grow ourselves. It is in the give and take, the stepping back, the observing without ego...that we see those things about ourselves that can be honed, or released, or nurtured. It is a kind of magick that may not be as fun as turning a frog into a prince, but is just as satisfying when we are able to see where we are...from whence we came.

Climbing the mountain happens one step at a time. It isn't until you've reached the top that you can see just how far you've come.

Ain't life grand?

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