Angels and (personal) demons.
This week’s topic is therapy but before we continue, we need to issue a warning. If you are not accepting of Jungian, hippy, out of body, experiential , subconscious-talking kind of shit or if you are one of our fundamentalist readers who believe that God is a perennial grouch who giveth and taketh in direct proportion to our blind obedience then you might want to stop reading now and check back in tomorrow. We’ll write something funny on Saturday.
Paul says: Now that I know that our dear readers are safe, that no one’s sense of reality is going to be crushed, I can continue. Well, this weekend I found out that I was an angel. With eyes closed, encircled by friends, I tapped in to that conversation with God that I had that infinitesimally long moment before conception. I saw, in Biblical vernacular, leagues of angels standing before me and, as I asked for understanding, they said in one soft voice, ‘you are one of us’.
Before you worry that I am going to don a robe and go strolling through the streets announcing that I am the herald of the Lord, rest assured that that is not going to happen. This is my divinity that I was able to tap into, a divinity that we all have. So I am, paradoxically, singularly special and totally common.
I am not going to bore you with every nuance of my experience. Realize it was an hour and a half of oscillatory laughing and crying that, at some times, cycled so quickly that they became one emotional outburst. My daughter calls it craughing (Crying/Laughing). This process came at the end of two days (or a lifetime, depending on how you look at it) of me preparing and searching for a remembrance of that defining conversance.
But I’ll give you one of the big pieces. The therapist asked me what my agreement with God was. I said that I was to bring safety and, of course, I began to cry; overwhelmed. ‘Wow,’ the therapist said, all loving, ‘that’s a lot of responsibility’. This brought about a renewed wave of weeping. Understand that, in the therapeutic milieu, divinely inspired, grandiose responsibilities are generally frowned upon. Being charged by God is usually not good on the psyche. But that was my message so I went back to The Source for explanation.
Here is the climatic reveal: I misunderstood. I was not to bring safety but to be safety. I know it seems like I’m splitting hairs but in the world of divine messages this is a huge difference. Bringing safety is a lot of work. There are a lot of unsafe people out there and being the Santa Clause of security, without even the benefit of elves, is kind of overwhelming. But, being safety just means that I sit my ass down, trust that God’s got my back, and simply be. Easy, peasy. (Honestly, one of the reasons that I am in therapy and had the experience that I did was because I have problems trusting God…but I’m working on it.)
Since I was the demonstration, I had the opportunity of sitting back and watching as everyone else in the group did the same process and I was struck with some clarity of the human condition. As one person danced to the music of grief filled sobbing, her eyes closed as she danced herself into the person she wants to be, I saw us as the same. As the group lent lyrics to the music, words like ‘thank you’, ‘I hate you’, and ‘why did you abandon me’, it became clear to me that we all wanted one thing, to be lifted from the pain of a lifelong birth and be placed in the awaiting arms of love.
And that embrace is waiting for you. Trust me, I’m an angel.
Lee says: I recently wrote that therapy is like finding your lost luggage and realizing you didn’t really need it. In the case of my wonderful husband, it was remembering that he was loved. He knows I love him; that is never in question. But its kind of messed up when you feel that your Father didn’t love you. Not his parents, but his Father (wink, wink- get it). Now that that is handled, I wonder if Mr. Angel will continue to take out the trash.