The Broken Buddah
It was laying there in the floor of my basement, broken. The Buddha Statue, I jokingly referenced would bring luck to my house, maybe my life. Instead it was laying in pieces on the floor.
Things had been so off keel lately, everything falling apart, doors opened that I had closed, a crazy man I'd been dating who turned my life upside down and shook it up, and last but not least the ghosts of the past trying to get back in, when I so irreverently locked them out.
They weren’t friendly ghosts, kind of scary, like my friend. I loved him so much and at the same time realized he was lethal.
These are not my words but words used very articulately by others," we try to go back home" to recreate what we had growing up. Home can be a magnificent, nurturing place, or home can be like mine and a bit scary. I didn’t even know it was different, because it felt like home.
Sometimes we meet these people, like my friend, (a word that now doesn’t resemble, what that experience should be at all). Friendship is about caring, sharing, and being there. My experience with my friend was quite the opposite. When I needed him most, he was nowhere to be found. (Home again.) He cared about only his looks, (and believe me, he was beautiful, like a chiseled Greek statue).
So much of what he told me were lies, but the blame was always realigned, to point out some flaw in my personality or character. The remarks were meant to make me feel, deficient in some way. In essence it is a a way of controlling what your victim sees, or what you are allowed to conclude. It is a way to deem you subordinate. It was his way of keeping me where he wanted me.
The sad fact of the matter is, I knew this all along. I had studied psychology, and lived the experience previously. Why I allowed this to happen is beyond me. I could conclude it, was his looks, (more likely he instilled that lingering cozy feeling of being at home). A feeling I now know, should horrify me, or at least have prompted me to flee.
Why or how the The Buddah got broken is still a mystery. So I am picking up the pieces of Buddah and in essense picking up the pieces of my life to make it whole again. It will of course take a different type of glue, but it can be done. I can create a new home and form it the way I want, and so can you. Today is the day I start. I have some molding to do.
Julzzz R
