Yesterday I Died

Yesterday I died, and only now, as I look back, do I see how – with every tiny domestic decision – I was determining the destiny of my eternal soul.

Only now, gazing back through the veil, do I see the significance of every tiny response I made, or didn’t make – of whether I said ‘no thank you’ to that cup of tea because my body truly didn’t want it, or because I was feeling rejected, and wanted to reject, and would’ve said ‘no’ to any drink, or to anything at all, that SHE’D offered me.

Only now, from here, do I see how much it mattered whether I offered her that hug from a tender seeing of her, an extending, a gentle reaching of my being towards hers – or as one more small move in a vast network of interlinking strategies – to get sex.

Yesterday (Monday) morning, on my last morning, I got up spaced-out and grumpy, (grumpy was our shorthand for passive-aggressive). God knows what I’d been dreaming! And Carly, my wife, my ex, I guess, annoyed at having me in this state, began instructing me in the psychological and emotional adjustments I needed to make – in order, as she put it, ‘not to be such a grumpy git’. She was in a hurry, she had to get to work. Her instructions were to the point, and sharp.

I wasn’t aware I’d woken up stuffed with silent anger, or that I was shuffling around the house in my dressing gown leaving a fog of resentment and disapproval in the bedroom, in the bathroom, in the living room, in the kitchen… I was too spaced-out to notice. And now, on top of it, I was smiling through my teeth, over-understandingly, at her instructing…

She was angry I was not receiving her anger. How could I oppose her anger in this way – I who had sworn to welcome her feminine mirror of my moods, I who had promised to behold myself in her reflection?

My suffocating anger began to swell my whole body, pumping its way into my mind, where it burst – in clever words. I politely attacked/defended my right to not be instructed, not first thing in the morning, not just as I was waking up. And I had a point – I knew it!

Now she was getting angrier and angrier – making me smugly righter and righter, up on my now-not-quite-so-passive aggressive moral high ground.

Yesterday I died, and only now, gazing back through the veil, do I see the significance of every tiny response I made, or didn’t make – day after day. Only now, as I look back, do I see how – with every tiny domestic decision – I was determining the destiny of my eternal soul.

I began to introspect… Why was she so angry? Was her anger to hurt me? Or was she fighting for connection, for intimacy, for love?

I’d vowed not to oppose her anger. I’d vowed to open to her anger. Why? Because, again and again, I’d seen and felt that this woman was fighting for love. Sometimes skilfully, sometimes unskilfully, but always fighting for love.

So had I been spaced-out (unconscious)? Had I been aggressive (albeit passively)? Had my aggression been impacting the atmosphere (energy field) between us? Had she been feeling it in her body (womb), even though it was silent and invisible – as a pounding punching to her middle? Was this why she’d been instructing me? Was this why she’d been giving me instructions to return to Centre and self-love?

If it was – then I had to admit it all, ‘confess’, come clean, and return to presence and love. If it wasn’t – well, then she was an authoritarian madwoman, an emotional dominatrix, a bossy bully, a controlling bitch, someone whose patterning/programming/survival-strategy was to control others by ‘helping’ them…

What was the truth? Had I been unconsciously aggressive on waking? And if I had been – could I admit it?

I felt deeper and deeper for the truth. And there it was, in all of its embarrassing obviousness: of course I’d been unconsciously aggressive on waking. Could I admit it? Could I drop all judgement of her ‘authoritarianism’, of her ‘emotional violence’? Could I admit that I, the innocent victim of her anger, had been the persecutor throughout?

Yesterday I died, and only now, gazing back through the veil, do I see the significance of every tiny response I made, or didn’t make – day after day. Only now, as I look back, do I see how – with every tiny domestic decision – I was determining the destiny of my eternal soul.

What to choose?

If I chose absolute honesty of heart – what destiny would I set in motion? I imagined this: that right then, we’d melt – into love. Then she’d leave for work – in peace – and we’d reunite in the evening in deep intimacy (I didn’t know I was about to die), and creativity would unfold between us – and in the days and weeks that followed we would explore that creativity more and more fully…

If I chose to root down in my judgements, if I refused to open to what I now knew to be the deepest truth, if I refused to admit, to ‘confess’, if I hid in my righteousness and indignation, holding to the position of the unseen and disrespected victim – then what destiny would I set in motion?

I imagined this: that she would leave outraged and despairing, and we wouldn’t speak that evening… The atmosphere would be clouded with disillusion, and she’d be further impacted by this (in heart, in womb), so that she’d withdraw for her own (energetic) self-protection – which would only add to my anger and pain, which (because I’d still see myself as the hard-done-by victim) I would not express in overt violence, but in further mind-violence (judgement), which I may or may not verbalise, but which she would feel nonetheless – and so the distance would grow between us over the days and weeks, and weeks, and weeks…

What did I choose – on my last morning?

Only now, gazing back through the veil, do I see the significance of every tiny response I made, or didn’t make. Only now, as I look back, do I see how – with every tiny domestic decision – I was determining the destiny of my eternal soul.

It was my last morning. I didn’t know it at the time…

If I chose to say “yes, I woke up angry, and I know you only got bossy because you were in a hurry, and because you wanted me to return to myself (and to us) quickly” then I’d shape the days and weeks ahead, which would inform the rest of my life – and ultimately, the destiny of my eternal soul.

It was a timeless moment. I didn’t know it at the time. Every moment is like that…. suspended in significance.

MJS, Cataluña, Spain, Dec. 2011

This entry was posted in Social Movement. Bookmark the permalink.

2 comments on “Yesterday I Died

  1. wow. beautiful writing, what a great perspective, very thought-provoking too ~ much appreciated, thank you very much

  2. Deborah Gutierrez on said:

    This article moves me to the core of my being. It so eloquently expresses the choices we are offered to choose the heart, the creative path or spiral down the way of ego., reaction and fear.
    I feel seen, heard and acknowledged by your writing. My womb relaxes . My heart rejoices and I want everyone I know to read it. Thank you so much for taking us, the reader, deeper into understanding the dynamic that happens as we react and respond to a typical morning between a man and a woman.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>