How do you break a pattern that is so ingrained that the threads of connection still hold their torque even when unravelled.
How too, do you overcome the formula of attraction to those patterns, and not spoon up to the next familiar warm spot.
I am ready to unravel.
I am so ready to move from this space to unspiral from the infliction of adaption over the last 12 years.
To accept anything less would be to deny the reality that has.... driven the point home, and then made its point again and again. Knot after knot. Knot after knot he has pulled the looseness of my string and taught me what is his hold on my reigns.
Conditioning by the alpha one. Conditioning to my desperate need to keep him. To be needed. To provide a platform that makes up for all my insufficiencies that he is oh so happy to point out.
There is no place where we meet where the land is flat. There is always a canyon between the way we understand. From my point of view and reality and truth of his conclusions. Different landscapes, different responsibilities. I a mother, he a painter. I a woman he genius with gifts that should not be denied. Our priorities are the creation of a world that is condusive to his every poetic need.
Mine are not new conclusions. These have been moments that touchdown every now and again. Actually more than now and again. So often over the last 12 years that it is now an island in my mind that I am so used to spending time in.
Four years ago, at another troubling hurdle in our relationship, when , once again, my problems and my issues were driving him crazy I was close to leaving it all and walking away. During an afternoon when we were arguing a young man from the valley stopped by the studio. I welcomed him in, but the painter was hostile and angry and said 'not now, go, this is not a good time' So he left.
A week later he returned. I was in the studio alone, and once again welcomed him. I apologised for the last encounter not being ideal and that I was glad that he came back, he paced, and obviously had something on his mind, so I tried to stay quiet. He then started talking. Talking and pacing, preaching as he had a natural gift of doing; not in an obnoxious way. In a way that made you stop and pay attention. How could you not when epic words are being offered by a respected source.
I knew this man was from a sound family. Religious, living their lives by the word. I knew his wife from years back, and my son mingled with their kids at school. So his audience was a token out of the blue and to be respected. But the intimacy of his dreams I respect even further. The fact that my husband the painter was the subject of his dreams and his words with god, where not even in the realm of expectations that I had.
This man had a sparkle and brilliance to his nature that radiated a charge of the sorts that lights up hearts around it. Up to that point my mind was set and I was leaving. But his words that day held my focus silent and translated to my mind a new way of thinking. That this man had a gift, but it was more than a gift, and that what God was saying to him was that this is a marked man, but more than that even. This man was Touched.
I wished now that i had broken my stunned silence to add that he was also a mean, angry ,selfish, unaffectionate husband.
I was truly incapacitated,I couldn't utter a word. As if god might thunderbolt if I even try and discuss or complain, because, didnt I hear the word, this man is touched.
I summerised the message from God, via the prophet, was to accept this 'Touched' man and make allowances, great allowances for the fact that this 'Marked' man was not fully capable of being in the world. Or even be conscious of those around him and the efforts they made to support his dream.
Four years later I am actually glad I didn't leave then. For I was in a different place then, and our son has many happy memories of us all together.
It is a different journey now, a new river of time to travel on. The canyon ahead is too narrow for me to really feel the freedom of the enclosed dark passage I am going through. But I appreciate the rapids in life are what shapes the marble of our substance.
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