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Taking a break from my DVD/TV veg fest, to do a bit of writing. Actually it wasn't that much of a fest, I watched two films, fell asleep during the first one, ate dinner during the second. This morning was devoted to Xmas shopping for Dad, and groceries (no food). Dad got two books: Karen Armstrong's The History of God, and the new biography of Magellan's Circumnavigation of the Globe. While there, I saw a book that I lusted after but could not afford yet - "The Annotated Grimm's Fairy Tales". Oh it's just lovely and so cool. Now, I've seen the Annotated Alice, Wizard of Oz, and Sherlock Holmes, and none of them grabbed me, but this baby? OOOOH Shiny. I want it. Badly. It not only the old tales, but it captures the sections of the old tales that were deleted over time as being unsuitable for children. Complete with mythological and psychoanalytical references. For anyone who has ever studied/analyzed fairy tales or folklore - this is a must have. But, alas, too expensive. So I bought, somewhat guiltily, The Princess Bride by William Goldman and
George RR Martin's A Game of Thorns, which has been recommended to me by three people on my flist. Now, I have not read an epic fantasy in ages, so we'll see if I like it. And it may be a while until I get to it - have to read The Dogs of Babel first for my tiny book club. It has shrunk to three women now.
Watched JL Unlimited, Wake the Dead. Interesting episode. ( Wake the dead spoilers )
At any rate, I have a question for anyone reading this to ponder. How would you react if you found out that someone who had hurt you, really hurt you, was in fact mentally unbalanced at the time and struggling with mental illness? That they had no control. Would this change your feelings towards them? What if you had no way of knowing they were ill at the time? What would you do? Does it make me a bad person that I can't feel sympathy for my own personal Solomon Grundy?
The Grimm's Fairy Tales talk about witches and curses. In the Disneyfied version, there's a handsome prince, the curse comes undone, all's well in the end. In the original, darker version - it's not so black and white. The curse doesn't just break. And the heroine comes out of the briar patch scarred and bloody, but still alive. We kill the witch in the fairy tale as a way of dealing with that inner demon, yet in the older versions, she doesn't die so easily or the way she is portrayed is far less in the favor of the heroine.
I think we all have personal demons. Some of us have names for them. Some of us don't. And everything we do for good or ill affects everyone else in the universe. In our journals, it's all about me. My pain. My ills. My issues.
My art. My creativity. My likes. My strengths. My friends. And I wonder if in all the me-ness and the us-ness we don't inadvertently exclude or circumnavigate around those who don't quite click with us on first glance?
I admit to having a bit of social anxiety. Fear of awkward silences. Which leads to word vomit. There are times, like today, that I fear people. Their judgements, their thoughts, their scorn. While other times, like maybe yesterday, that I don't. I envy those that I perceive don't have these fears, yet I wonder, perhaps they do?
A year ago I vaguely remember having a somewhat emotional and rather heated discussion about forgiveness. At the time I told the person that forgiving was beneficial for the soul, that you do it for yourself not the other person, or some such silly platitude. Now, over a year later, I wonder if it's so easy?
Yes we forget the pains and traumas we go through, but our body doesn't. It
wears them like scars. Sort of like the character Illyria in ATS holds the memories of Fred, like scars on her cortex - shimmering glimmers of light, touch, sense memory that she can't quite understand. I wonder if an emotional scar is not unlike a physical one? The pain is gone. But the nerves remember?
I have a deep scar on my left arm where a biospy was once done ages ago,
it still aches at times. No reason why it should but it does. So yes we move on. The pain fades. We rise above it. Yet, inside...there's still that whisper of remembered pain.
I wonder if the pain is there to remind us not to hurt others? Not to lash out at them. Just because we are incensed or in pain, to somehow pull back, retreat from the world until we are much better. But is that good?
Isn't it better to be with people who can help? Perhaps the way is honesty and responsbility? I'm sorry should count for something. Yet it doesn't anymore.
No one seems to take those words seriously. I say them quite a bit. So much that anom gave me a button to tell me to quit apologizing. It's almost my mantra now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Because if I say it enough maybe somehow it will resonate. Somehow I can forgive myself for not being strong enough to forgive those who hurt me once upon a time in ways small and large, though oddly the small petty rejections bugged me more. To forgive myself for not being a good enough friend. To forgive myself for not being smart enough
or wise enough to communicate how I feel without bite.
As I continue to push my way through this year, each day getting easier.
I wonder, am I a better person than before? Or just a different one? And where is this road I've stumbled upon leading to? What choices should I make?
And how do those choices affect what leads next? It is a bit like a Grimm's Fairy tale - our lives, I think, we are in the forest, meeting all sorts of fairy tale creatures. Witches that turn into enchanted princesses. Charmed frogs. And little old ladies who eat little children for breakfast. Yet we are also in the glade and the village, each choice twisting and turning us out onto a new and different path. Who we meet on the path and how we relate to them may have a lot to do with who we are at that point on the path in their perspective and who they are in theirs. Are we the witch? The enchanted princess? The cursed bear? The stumbling dwarf? The souled vampire? The chipped vampire? The scarecrow? The pumpkin head? Dorothy? or all of the above?
By the way, in the muppet version of the Wizard of Oz, Miss Piggy is playing all the witches - a stroke of genious, I think, since in reality they are all just facets on the same one. I'm wondering if that's it. Depending on who we are with, we are the Witch of the North, the Witch of the West, the Witch of the East, and the Witch of the South. Wicked. Good. Not so Wicked. Not so Good.
Complicated.
Okay, I hope that made sense. Unedited ramble from my brain.
George RR Martin's A Game of Thorns, which has been recommended to me by three people on my flist. Now, I have not read an epic fantasy in ages, so we'll see if I like it. And it may be a while until I get to it - have to read The Dogs of Babel first for my tiny book club. It has shrunk to three women now.
Watched JL Unlimited, Wake the Dead. Interesting episode. ( Wake the dead spoilers )
At any rate, I have a question for anyone reading this to ponder. How would you react if you found out that someone who had hurt you, really hurt you, was in fact mentally unbalanced at the time and struggling with mental illness? That they had no control. Would this change your feelings towards them? What if you had no way of knowing they were ill at the time? What would you do? Does it make me a bad person that I can't feel sympathy for my own personal Solomon Grundy?
The Grimm's Fairy Tales talk about witches and curses. In the Disneyfied version, there's a handsome prince, the curse comes undone, all's well in the end. In the original, darker version - it's not so black and white. The curse doesn't just break. And the heroine comes out of the briar patch scarred and bloody, but still alive. We kill the witch in the fairy tale as a way of dealing with that inner demon, yet in the older versions, she doesn't die so easily or the way she is portrayed is far less in the favor of the heroine.
I think we all have personal demons. Some of us have names for them. Some of us don't. And everything we do for good or ill affects everyone else in the universe. In our journals, it's all about me. My pain. My ills. My issues.
My art. My creativity. My likes. My strengths. My friends. And I wonder if in all the me-ness and the us-ness we don't inadvertently exclude or circumnavigate around those who don't quite click with us on first glance?
I admit to having a bit of social anxiety. Fear of awkward silences. Which leads to word vomit. There are times, like today, that I fear people. Their judgements, their thoughts, their scorn. While other times, like maybe yesterday, that I don't. I envy those that I perceive don't have these fears, yet I wonder, perhaps they do?
A year ago I vaguely remember having a somewhat emotional and rather heated discussion about forgiveness. At the time I told the person that forgiving was beneficial for the soul, that you do it for yourself not the other person, or some such silly platitude. Now, over a year later, I wonder if it's so easy?
Yes we forget the pains and traumas we go through, but our body doesn't. It
wears them like scars. Sort of like the character Illyria in ATS holds the memories of Fred, like scars on her cortex - shimmering glimmers of light, touch, sense memory that she can't quite understand. I wonder if an emotional scar is not unlike a physical one? The pain is gone. But the nerves remember?
I have a deep scar on my left arm where a biospy was once done ages ago,
it still aches at times. No reason why it should but it does. So yes we move on. The pain fades. We rise above it. Yet, inside...there's still that whisper of remembered pain.
I wonder if the pain is there to remind us not to hurt others? Not to lash out at them. Just because we are incensed or in pain, to somehow pull back, retreat from the world until we are much better. But is that good?
Isn't it better to be with people who can help? Perhaps the way is honesty and responsbility? I'm sorry should count for something. Yet it doesn't anymore.
No one seems to take those words seriously. I say them quite a bit. So much that anom gave me a button to tell me to quit apologizing. It's almost my mantra now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Because if I say it enough maybe somehow it will resonate. Somehow I can forgive myself for not being strong enough to forgive those who hurt me once upon a time in ways small and large, though oddly the small petty rejections bugged me more. To forgive myself for not being a good enough friend. To forgive myself for not being smart enough
or wise enough to communicate how I feel without bite.
As I continue to push my way through this year, each day getting easier.
I wonder, am I a better person than before? Or just a different one? And where is this road I've stumbled upon leading to? What choices should I make?
And how do those choices affect what leads next? It is a bit like a Grimm's Fairy tale - our lives, I think, we are in the forest, meeting all sorts of fairy tale creatures. Witches that turn into enchanted princesses. Charmed frogs. And little old ladies who eat little children for breakfast. Yet we are also in the glade and the village, each choice twisting and turning us out onto a new and different path. Who we meet on the path and how we relate to them may have a lot to do with who we are at that point on the path in their perspective and who they are in theirs. Are we the witch? The enchanted princess? The cursed bear? The stumbling dwarf? The souled vampire? The chipped vampire? The scarecrow? The pumpkin head? Dorothy? or all of the above?
By the way, in the muppet version of the Wizard of Oz, Miss Piggy is playing all the witches - a stroke of genious, I think, since in reality they are all just facets on the same one. I'm wondering if that's it. Depending on who we are with, we are the Witch of the North, the Witch of the West, the Witch of the East, and the Witch of the South. Wicked. Good. Not so Wicked. Not so Good.
Complicated.
Okay, I hope that made sense. Unedited ramble from my brain.