Spiritual Archives ~ Page 4 of 5 ~ Four Figs

Shameful Secrets

Shame isn’t a quiet grey cloud, shame is a drowning man who claws his way on top of you, scratching and tearing your skin, pushing you under the surface.
― Kirsty Eagar, Raw Blue

This week we saw courage under the worst fire; a woman baring her shame to the world in an arena sworn to brotherly secrecy, more than half giving lip service to her pain. There was prejudgment in the highest court of the land. Her fear was real, threats to her own life as well as her family, then the ultimate expression of her shame. The long stride she took out of her comfort zone was altruistic, driven by a strong personal code of ethics and integrity that powered her resolve. She unlocked the rusty lock on her heart and turned courageously into the maelström. Under fire she remained graceful, authentic, and by doing so, was able to expose her trauma and shame, her crippling secret. May she find recovery and peace.

I won’t share too much about how I thought the other party reacted, except to say his responses under oath were at best defensive. Outrage coursed through his body as he ferociously denied all claims, and I found his frequent tongue in cheek ironic. His behaviour was shameful, far beneath expectations of someone applying for the highest legal role in the country, and belied his innocence. We will see what further evidence reveals as the next week unfolds.

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Family Parents Spiritual

The Saga of Big and Little MaryAnn

Have you ever been on the receiving end of ladybug love? It’s the delight you feel when you discover one climbing up your leg or resting on a leaf. You can check in here anytime you need to relive that pleasure. My Mom’s ladybug is for everyone to enjoy. She painted it forty years ago and it became her iconic signature. The message is simple yet powerful, just like her ~ It’s All About Love. This story tells the tale of my parents best loving efforts as the result of a traumatic event that happened to me when I was a baby.

I am fortunate I was born into a loving family. My father was a dedicated family man, intelligent, educated, driven, and not afraid to speak the truth. Sometimes it was only his truth though. My Mom quietly loved us all, listened to our woes, and chimed in when asked. Otherwise she masterfully took care of business.

Over the years Dad kicked up some spectacular drama with his fearlessness, something one might not expect from a man profoundly deaf since the age of 4, when measles claimed his auditory nerves. He was the counterpoint to my Mom’s solid, calm spirit. As a teenager the only way I could respond to Dad was by stomping off and slamming the door in utter frustration. We did not give each other a break for a long time, but signs of a cease-fire emerged in his later years.

Dad’s poetic spirit did inspire me, and I knew he loved me even though it was not always obvious. In his late eighties Dad wistfully shared his envy of my spiritual explorations, then declared me a mystic. He said he wished he had more time. With this I felt a deeper connection for the first time.

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