Fighting Da Bombs

I am a very visual person. Clean lines, smooth surfaces sing to me. The beauty of a single flower on the edge of the bush thrills me. As much as I love chocolate, I love a bouquet of Gerbera Daisies more. God often gets through to me through images. Yesterday, during my session with Father Charlie I was trying to put into words how I was feeling. This, after telling him not only did I not want to figure out how I felt, but I didn't want to feel at all. It was safer not too.

I said I felt like I was being bombed. Then I remembered an image that had come to me some time ago. Satan was standing on top of a high rise building bombing me with stuff that looked like black ink spots when they hit the ground. Every time he threw one it hit me. I was a red ink spot splattered and he was a black one. His fit over me perfectly. In between us was always a gold layer of light. No matter where I ran I got hit. No matter how smashed up I was, there was always a thin layer of gold between us.

As I talked, I told Father Charlie that I would rather be alone and hiding than out in the open getting hit by Satan and protected by God. In my head - in the picture I had been given - there were no hiding places. Even though the high rise was there, the front of it was simply a facade. There were no doors or windows that would open. It was a level playing field....smooth ground, no hills, no caves, just an endless surface.

I kept frantically running around and getting bombed, looking for a non-existent hiding place. Eventually he asked me why I kept running, that my response to the bombs was mine to choose. Could I fight? Oh God, the pain of that thought. Tears rose up in my body immediately and had I been able to let myself go, I would have sobbed uncontrollably. In an instant my spoons were used up. I felt exhausted. I looked at him and said that it took too much energy to fight. He asked about the energy it was taking to keep looking for hiding places.

I told him when I came to see him I always felt like bringing a blanket and curling up in the chair, wishing it was a rocking chair and wishing I could swirl it around and face away from him when my emotions rose too close to the surface. As I was reflecting on this I saw that little girl stand up out of the chair. I didn't have to remain the little girl curled up in a ball forever. In my mind she was still there but the girl who was standing up would protect her for as long as she needed so that she could experience what it was to truly be a little girl. This new girl would stand guard as she learned to play, cry, and simply be so that she could become one with the girl who stood up.

Wow, I thought I would be the girl curled up in a fetal position forever. I never knew there were any other options. We talked about what kind of nurturing that curled up tight in a ball little girl needed, how to nurture her so she could stretch and stand up.

I felt hopeful. I felt I could fight. I could use my energy in a positive way so that I could stop feeling like I was being bombed every time I turned around. I could stop feeling guilty for hanging on to the coping mechanisms that have been my hiding places. I could stop hiding.

We talked about masks. I laughed because last year, when I first starting seeing Father Charlie for counseling, he asked me about masks and I smugly told him I had none. Ha. We talked about masks being the way we protect the little child within.

The masks continue to crumble. The bombs continue to fall. The Light continues to protect me. I continue to grow. Up.