On Truth, Love, and Obedience

Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love.
Kahlil Gibran

I was raised to be a good person, a good daughter, a good wife, and more. It was impressed on me as I was growing up, the holy duty to respect my elders under all circumstances, and I have tried with more or less success to do that throughout my life. I was always a good girl, and it seems only a few months ago when my father lay dying on his bed that he would ask me over and over again, "Sweetie, why are you so good to me?" For weeks and months and years, he repeated that refrain, "Why are you so good to me?" Finally, a week or so before he died, I felt inspired to answer, "Because that is what you taught me with your example." "You gave me my first bath when I came home from the hospital, you taught me how to cook, how to draw, to respect other people's dignity, how to appreciate music, how to think, how to dance. You even bathed my mom's mother when she was old and ill. You taught me with your example that one does the right thing simply because it is right, without expecting anything in return." "Oh…" he responded, and never asked the question again.

I took care of my dad for many years after my mother died, the last year and a half in my own home. It was a bittersweet experience, full of emotional highs and lows and I am grateful that I had the privilege to do that. He was a sweetie, after all, and tried hard not to be a burden to me or my family. He was a few days in his grave, when my in-laws spent a month or so with us while she seeked medical advice for a condition similar to my dad's. A year later they were back, for several months this time, so she could have life-saving surgery and recover as well as possible. I took care of her so lovingly that the ICU nurses couldn't believe that she wasn't my own mother. In return, I had the devastating surprise to find uncontestable evidence of how she had betrayed my trust and love. I knew she was still frail and I did not want to make things worse for her, so I did not confront her directly at the time, but when my husband found out what had happened he intervened. She swore she had no idea what he was talking about, was extremely offended, and insisted she had no idea why I would come up with such a story. She said she would call me, but never did. Then she said she would write to me and sent a thank you note for having taken care of her during her illness, but never mentioned the problem we were having. Instead, she told her family what an ingrate I was and how I had defamed and insulted her and mistreated her all my life. I tried to protect her from herself by not confronting her with the evidence in front of my husband and hers right away, and now I wonder if that was not a mistake.

I can't say I was the perfect daughter-in-law. In fact, there were two incidents in forty years in which I was rude an offensive to them. Both times they had tried to control my life in ways that I considered extremely harmful to my daughter and I felt I had to fight for her health and safety. Most of the time, though, I was humble and respectful, and tried to love them even when they clearly had no use for me. When my mom died I was already middle aged, but I still was hoping beyond hope that I could be a good daughter to my mother-in-law and she a loving mother to me. It was not to be.

This situation has not been good at all for my marriage or for my children. I begged my husband not to take sides, but to recognize my grievances, which he tried to do to the best of his abilities. I can only imagine how tough it has been for him to see how unfairly I've been treated, especially when my parents adored him and always took his side whenever we had an argument. I tried to do the same with my children, minimizing my hurts and frustrations and insisting that they needed to have a relationship with their grandparents that was personal and loving. My in-laws, however, have not minced words when telling their siblings and sons what a terrible, terrible person I am. They have hinted at it to my children.

Today I am grieving deeply the loss of what could have been a beautiful relationship, and the erosion of my marriage that it has caused. Yet I do not feel guilty for having decided that I will not put myself in harm's way ever again by continuing to relate to them. I have been hurt too deeply and do not want to grow old bitter and despondent. I don't ever want to be rude or aggressive to them again. If I ran into them tomorrow, I would still treat them with respect, but I would be much more careful to stand up for myself and to protect myself from further injury. I know must not be a martyr. I must "kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love."

My apologies

Unfortunately, I've been sick since my last post and am just beginning to get my senses back. Hope to post again soon.

On Passionless Reason and Irrational Passion

Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas.

Kahlil Gibran

I am at a standstill. I have struck a sandbar and don't know how to extricate myself. I wouldn't say I've reached a low point. It's more like I am frustrated to the point of paralysis. Even writing, which is usually a source of joy and healing has become a source of anxiety and something to be avoided, as you may have noticed already. I feel like a boat adrift on a cloudy night, with no sense of direction. I just want to abandon myself to the comforting rocking of the waves.

It must be time to reevaluate the relationship between my reason and my passion. No rudder and no sails will quickly get me nowhere…

There! My reason led me to write this much. Hopefully my passion will energize me to do more tomorrow.

On Friendship, Needs, and Thanksgiving

Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

Kahlil Gibran

Last night I had a brief but heartbreaking conversation with someone I love very much, someone who has been my friend for many, many years. He used to be my best friend and we used to share our joys and sorrows and support each other through thick and thin, but as the years went by he became more and more preoccupied with his own problems and had less and less time for me. For a time this was very confusing to me and I was convinced that I had to be loving, supportive, and helpful until his circumstances improved. The years went by and I began to notice how often I was there for him and how rarely I could depend on him as a friend. Last night, when we talked, I realized that most probably we will never be best friends again. He has other priorities in his life. The insight brought me to tears.

Not five minutes after I hung up a new friend called to see how I was doing and to invite me to breakfast. The timing was impeccable, as if she had heard my sobs. This morning she came to my place bearing the most delicate and delicious cheese and mushroom omelets, grapefruit, and breads. I set the tiny little table in my balcony, served us some orange juice, and pulled out some pretty plates to show off her handiwork. It was a beautiful and sunny morning and a soft cool breeze was blowing, making even more precious our time together.

We chatted happily for over an hour about our struggles and our joys, her life and mine. My friend's eyes sparkled as she quietly listened to my stories and softly asserted her point of view. I did my best to reciprocate, asking about her health and things that bring her joy. She looked happy and at peace. My heart started to heal, and my hunger for spiritual food was assuaged as my tummy filled up with the delicious treats. I was so very grateful to have her in my life! I was hungry and she brought me peace.

So I suppose I have to learn that life flows and ebbs like the seasons, and so do friendships. Very few friendships last a lifetime, especially when they were quite fragile and unhealthy to begin with. It is hard to let these friendships go, or at least to accept them for what they really are and not what I would like them to be. I hope I can learn to do that lovingly and gracefully as time goes by. Meanwhile, I am grateful for my lovely new friend, the answer to my needs, the one I've sown with love and hope to reap in thanksgiving for many more years to come.