My heart chakra center began to open up as I lay there on my comfortable green air mattress.
I struggle for moments of peace, which cannot be had here when mom is present in a room. Not only for talking to herself.
I'm distracted enough already anyway.
My peace is shattered easily by her, even her clunking footsteps.
And why do I muddy up my energies, my chakras... Why drink wine at night, but some attempt to find peace away from the trauma and the remembered traumas of the past. Mom yelling at my dad, unable to restrain herself, in the car on drives back from Massachusetts. I turn to the back passenger's side door and try to hide from it. Childhood.
I'm not enough of a wise man at Buddhist peace to be able to for it not to get to me.
So hard, so exhausting to keep the peace. And our American culture is so largely ignorant, ignorant of Yogic philosophy, Tantra, the five elements....
I tune into the peace.
An idiot peaceful man has no chance in this world, unless he turns to yoga.
Prophets can never have peace in their own homes.
All I've tried to do my whole life is to find the peace, the peace of love, serenity, and the outside attempts never work, too much pain, too much unnecessary distractions, lack of focus, barely reading anymore. And with the wine comes depression, from not finding the right kind of peace, but only a reprieve.
When my father was removed, my mom's doing, there was no more source of grounding and peace in the family. Aggressive. In your face. Controlling through emotions.
No comments:
Post a Comment