Saturday, November 30, 2019

When your mind is stuck in the dark night in-between time

“How long, LORD?” cried the psalmist. “Will you forget me forever?”
“How long will you hide your face from me?”
In the Bible? These words? Yes. Psalm 13 to be exact.
It’s a crazy, quick 6-verse psalm that finishes in praise.
There’s only one problem. Many of us are stuck in that long period of the dark night where all cognisance of God’s goodness seems missing, even if we know we’ve got so much to be thankful for.
I really don’t care for people who will say, “That guy/gal has so much to be thankful for yet look at them whinge… so ungrateful!”
I care for the one, who, though they seem estranged to a constancy of joy, is honest, and they live the fact that Christians face depression, anxiety, grief, trauma, burnout and the like.
Many of the most ardent Christians are defined by the strength of their doubting. By the fact that they’ve been in their dark night in-between time so long is testament of their resolve for the Lord.
There is a trouble, however, in being in this waystation far from home for too long. We can forget what home looks and feels like, and we can fail to recognise the signs that we’re actually AT home; it’s just a new home that we haven’t yet recognised as good. This is scary in that, if we don’t feel at home now, we can become concerned, “will I ever feel at home again?”
I’m here to tell you, I hear you.
Trauma certainly takes us on a track where we find it hard to trust we’re safe.
As we travel through this in-between time that appears as the dark night that St John of the Cross described to us as a time where God’s Presence feels missing, we’d be forgiven for pondering giving up. Yet, such is God’s goodness faithful, we find we’re given just enough strength not to give up.
It is this kind of faith that pleases God most—that which keeps stepping despite doubt enough to seriously consider giving up very often.
Think of the final words of Habakkuk (chapter 3, verses 17-18):
“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.”
The reality is this: only as we continue to step out our weary journey, sustained by as little as keeps us going, somehow with an assurance of God’s goodness, but without even feeling it, are we being primed for something infinitely better. Stay the course my friend.


Photo by Allef Vinicius on Unsplash

Friday, November 29, 2019

If you never feel lonelier than at Thanksgiving

Anyone who’s ever been there knows the serendipitous sorrow of a time like Thanksgiving for millions of people whether they choose to acknowledge it or not.
Those who hate the concept of Thanksgiving, because it’s either not a personally felt phenomenon at all, or there remains so much still to be reconciled, have nowhere to run, when society lashes all to the mast of gratitude and joy.
There’s the day itself, of course, but then there’s also the season beforehand and all the hype, and then there is the steady trickle of stories of “what I did this Thanksgiving.”
It’s all too much for all too many people. And though we can all celebrate the IDEA of giving thanks, because we most of us already know that that’s the way to truly live life, for far too many there is loneliness upon isolation upon frustration upon lament upon even the triggering of horrendous trauma.
Let’s just say it here. It happens, it’s normal (even if it feels abhorrently abnormal to feel this way on a “day of celebration”), and it’s valid. There’s nothing more valid I would say than a situation where we CANNOT celebrate what makes us nauseated.
There are those for which Thanksgiving and all it stands for is hard. And it may always be hard. For the concept of harvest and of provision, still so many have not reaped what they have sown. Perhaps it’s a case of no matter what we sow we will never reap what we have lost. That’s just sad! Let’s just be honest.
If we’ve not reaped what we’ve sown, it is faith and faith alone that keeps us sowing in the hope of an eventual reaping. And that reaping may simply be a true and real acceptance of a new normal.
So, may we hear the gentle voice of the Saviour: “Well done, good and faithful servant, for continuing to sow especially when you’re weary… PLEASE do not grow weary in sowing in faith, for at the proper time you WILL reap a harvest of what you need if you do not give up.”
And even where you have sown and you’ve grown tired of sowing, seek rest and replenishment, because you know how long the journey is, and there is but one option left when we’re tired. God allows us to “give up” for a day. Perhaps Thanksgiving is that day.
As the Autumn leaves fall, it’s a reminder that growth is always a changing context.
Even though God must feel so silent when we’re at the depths of the abyss, God does know intimately what we’re dealing with, and God does care. How do I know? God is closer to those who need him most. It’s not until we look back that we recognise this. Afterwards we will know.
Here is to your “afterwards.”

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Reassurance in a moment of spiritual crisis

It happens to me once or twice a month; an intense hit I take, and it leaves me flat, sad, beyond hope, essentially despairing. Everything within my mind and body seems at war. I can hold it together, if I want, but I hate being fake these days.
Deeper into the journey of turmoil I sit there and admit it’s a spiritual crisis—a crisis of spirit. I don’t know what to do to fix it. I can’t be bothered fixing it. Yet, I hate it that I’m not feeling together.
I know what I need most of all in these tormenting hours. It is connection I need. To talk all the nonsense out. To expel the anger through a safe channel that attenuates harm. To experience the acceptance of, say, my wife as she just listens. To try and find words that might reconcile what is impossible to express. To jettison energy in the attempt to engage. To come to the very end of myself and then be situated in a stillness that has no answers yet accepts.
The reassurance we need when we feel estranged from ourselves can seem distant.
The comfort we strive for when we’re disillusioned and alienated is the connectedness that reminds us what we feel when we’re as far as possible from loneliness. When all our needs feel met. There’s an intrinsic satisfaction in feeling connected to ourselves. These times we either want to connect others, get creative, or sink into a soothing meditation.
Moments of spiritual crisis occur when we’re deep in estrangement, when all about us feels itchy within, and when we just cannot put our finger on what’s wrong. We may feel frustrated and annoyed, but the real issue is sorrow for what feels horrible and fear that we’ve truly lost our way.
Reassurance is found in resting in the truth that through connection we will find our way again. Not through dissociation though. The last thing we need is to depart into a dangerous temptation—a drink, a drug, a bet, a fancy or a fantasy, and any other escape.
Escape promises a counterfeit sense of connection that is opposite to connection and only exacerbates our problems. It takes us further than ever from a meeting with ourselves. Escape is a hideous betrayal of connection when connection could change everything.
Reassurance is received through reconnection to ourselves through facing our lonely reality. Through honesty, no matter how painful it is, we are reconnected with ourselves.

Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash

Monday, November 25, 2019

Acknowledging the presence of unknown spiritual attack

There is a feeling that is familiar that is also disconcerting. It’s an anxious feeling. It’s the sense that there is something not quite right, or even a preparation for something quite untoward.
The presence of an unknown source of mild bewilderment, of not being able to put our finger on it, of feeling flat (or what I call, ‘blah’), and especially of noting with that the slightest sense of fear (that often builds slowly into full blown anxiety), is often an insidious form of spiritual attack.
Spiritual attack is often inbound when we’re on the cusp of a vitalising change, at the end of a crucial period of transformation, or any other time when the enemy wants to slide on in with deft subtlety that we don’t figure. At the least likely time (as we figure) God’s ever prowling enemy threatens to devour.
This is why it is so important ever to realise the simple truths of God’s Word in James 4:7-8. As we draw near to God, even in a flatness that cannot be explained, God draws near to us. God is ever close, but we can only get the succour we need when we actually desire it; such is the love of God, he will not coerce us with the heavenly aid of the Spirit against our will.
There are some matters that, in terms of spiritual attack, beg to be mentioned, namely grief and trauma, for which we’re all susceptible.
The often-hidden impact of grief and trauma
Grief is a subtle force weaving its way from within our unconscious mind right up to make an impression at the surface of our conscious thought. We may discern it as a reticence to engage with life.
Levels below the consciousness of everyday thought lurk griefs that have been put off (denied) and traumas that we haven’t yet been able to interrogate.
Not all unknown spiritual attacks form because of griefs or traumas that haven’t been processed, but, in the spirit of the prayer of Psalm 139:23-24, it’s always a good place to start. We could wonder if God is asking, “Could it be that there is something within the last few years, or even something much earlier in life, that is still as yet to be reconciled?”
If we take God seriously, we take this enquiry into our prayers and meditate, a la Psalm 1:2, on the possibility of our unconscious mind having something to say.
The process of venturing deeper into the possibilities of grief and trauma is a search upon a learning journey this is as much about deconstruction as it is about reconstruction. Inevitably it’s all part of the spiritual journey. If only we will trust the journey to God.
The enemy’s hatred of the advancement of the Kingdom of God
Of course, much spiritual attack is propagated simply because the enemy hates us succeeding for the Kingdom of God. Such success isn’t something the world necessarily calls success, however.
Success in the upside-down Kingdom is an economy that wins nothing in this world but is full of favour and power in the Spirit.
Where we’re able to simply trust in an in-between season, or where patience and peace are ours in a way that transcends our understanding, or where there is an embracing of powerful community, the enemy is under threat, because we’re being shown things in the Spirit that we can neither deny nor can we backslide from.
The enemy knows that once we see the riches of God’s Kingdom we can never unsee them. The moment we taste and see that God is wholly good, we do not and cannot look back.
If we can acknowledge the presence of an unknown spiritual attack is inbound, we have discerned something that we may well be blessed to take seriously.
Seeing what we ordinarily would not see takes humility only found in a servant of God.
One thing for sure. If you’re targeted by an unknown oppression it is as much as anything a sign that your desire to please God has upset God’s enemy. That’s a sign if anything to keep going.

Friday, November 22, 2019

For those about to be traumatised… for the first time

We don’t get it until we get it. It’s the same deal in every arena in life.
Someone asked me recently, “How can those around the narcissist not see what the victims see?” It’s a really simple answer.
Because, on the one hand, those around the narcissist are unconsciously enmeshed in loyalty to them, whilst on the other, they haven’t experienced ‘the switch’. In a highly conditional relationship, loyalty keeps them safe. People usually have absolutely no idea—and cannot see—the subtle nuances that are unparalleled in their wrongness. Until. There is a crossing. As soon as there is a challenge to that loyalty—it could be as simple as a disagreement—the switch occurs. Conditions become apparent. Ultimatums are not unusual. In other words, they’re saying, “get back in line… or face the consequences.” (Now, there are many roles in life where getting back in line is necessary. It’s all in the way it’s done, what the relationship is, and the presence or absence of virtues like patience, respect, courtesy and kindness.)
What we’re delving into is common through life. Until we experience certain things it’s as if they don’t happen. This is one reason why when bad things happen to us, they can be seen as educative. That doesn’t mean we appreciate what’s happened.
Before we’ve been traumatised by an incident, by assault, by loss, or by abuse, we really cannot conceive what it entails, the suddenness of it, the brutality of the impact, the instant barrenness of soul that’s felt, the levels and depths of betrayal in some cases—all of which are truly fathomless.
Before we’ve been traumatised, we can see those who are traumatised as something of a problem. Or, if they’re loved ones or friends we can be in a situation where we watch on and empathise as best we can, without truly understanding.
Before we suffer traumatising events ourselves, when we’re not close to those who have suffered trauma, we can tend to doubt them, or think they’re lying, that it’s a fabrication, or that it’s only weak people who are ‘damaged’.
We might wonder why they can’t let go of it and their responses may even significantly frustrate us. We may wonder why they don’t listen to us. Before we’re afflicted by assault or loss or abuse and are affected by trauma, we can have some pretty strange concepts of this phenomenon of grief, and only afterwards—after we’ve experienced this kind of affliction—do we see the blindness of this. Suddenly the light flickers on within us; “Ah, I get it now!”
We just don’t get it until our world is rocked. Quickly we grow expansively in empathy and understanding. Grief matures us.
~
For those about to be traumatised, your world is about to change, and you will have no way back to the way life was. I am so sorry.
For those about to be traumatised, you are about to learn new things that will demand the unlearning of old things. You may be forced into a ‘new normal’ which you would never choose if you didn’t need to. This will feel brutal. Really—I am so sorry.
You will question very many parts about yourself in this process. This is grief; one of the worst kinds—the losing or deconstruction of self. This kind of grief is so hard to reconcile. 
Add to the complicated nature of grief that undoes oneself, bring in the sticky nature of trauma. Trauma’s impacts stick. It does your head in. Our first instances of trauma change us irrevocably.
We must cling to the hope that a palatable new normal is possible, even probable.
The new normal will involve a bigger version of ourselves that learns to 1) accept what we cannot change, 2) change what we can (because we will not leave it as it is), and 3) discern one from two and two from one.
~
Postscript: I for one think that so many people are traumatised early in childhood in one way or other through adverse childhood experiences (ACEs). It is therefore one thing to discuss the issue of “first traumatic experience” in the adult context, but we must consider that even a “first experience” probably isn’t truly a first experience. There may be experiences we had as children that we weren’t equipped to suffer at the time—i.e. they overwhelmed our capacity to suffer them.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Thursday, November 21, 2019

The depths of God you can only find through loss

As a fruit of the losses we go through, I want to share with you the one I was given. It was borne out of a revenant experience—and what experience of shattering loss that we cannot escape isn’t a revenant experience?
Loss is the antecedent to a revenant experience.
That is to say, to truly live we must first die. This metaphor is best illustrated in Jesus of Nazareth who went to the cross just days before he was raised in what is indisputably the greatest miracle of all time. Jesus’ death and resurrection is a model for what we’re to follow by metaphor. We follow him by his example.
There is always a compensation for the suffering we go through. To live as that is the truth is faith. We just have to find it. That itself is a faith quest. Yet, even as we do this—head held high in heartbreaking sorrow—which itself is mind-bending paradox—do we stay in the game, so to speak.
The longer—the more frustrating, the more we come to the end of ourselves—the experience of living in that liminal space of pain, learning to bear it honestly in sorrow amid the gamut of emotions before God, the deeper God takes us into his own heart. But this is always juxtaposed by equivalencies of support and encouragement—hence the importance of community!
Only as we hold steadfastly to the ideal that there will be—and therefore IS—a compensation for what we’re suffering do we reject overtures to give up and hold out for something entirely better. We can only do this one day at a time, even as time just about grinds to a halt.
Good does come at the end of the road of a faith that insists that good is coming. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy. But dying to ourselves will always feel like hell. We must not forget that Jesus has overcome hell.
It starts as a revenant experience, for in dying to ourselves—which, check and see, is a biblical imperative—we come to live out of a power that is not our own.
Imagine that it is impossible to attain to living as a revenant without bearing loss. Can you see, therefore, that even in the event and circumstance of loss, we are being promoted to a heavenly glory even as we live and breathe in this life? Even as we suffer in the pit of grief we are given access to a living death that precedes a glorious resurrection.
These words were ushered into me several years after I endured my revenant experience: I am cosmically alone with God. I believe they were God’s words for me.
I would recite it in Greek:          Î­Î³Ï‰  Î­Î¹Î¼Î¹  ÎºÎ¿ÏƒÎ¼Î¹ÎºÎ¿Î½  Î¼Î¿Î½Î¿Ï…  Î¼ÎµÏ„α  Î¸ÎµÎ¿Î½
Sound weird? Sound kind of lonely and sad?
The reality for me was (and is) everything that means everything to me. Suddenly, out of loss, what was discovered is, if loss cannot kill us, nothing can. Having experienced and survived that taste of revenant death, nothing of this world truly brings us close to that kind of ‘death’. Sure, we can still slip into our humanity and lose our way. It happens still so often. BUT, there is an opposite image in the Spirit that is, in a flash, returned to.
Once the Spirit is given to us, we cannot return, indefinitely, to what was.
It is not the end of our life to experience something very close and akin to the end of our life. Indeed, it is actually the beginning. In alignment with what Paul said, “When I am weak, I am strong,” we learn that enduring death to ourselves bestows an inextinguishable hope, and this hope cannot be learned without traversing the journey of grief.
See how good grief is?

Monday, November 18, 2019

A conversation with God about self-destructive thinking

Why does my heart feel so bad? 
I do know, Lord. Well, at least I have an idea. But why is this anger that is turned on within me, against me? Like most of my prayers, God, this will have the shape of incoherence about it, but at least I know you’re listening, even if it feels like I’m speaking to myself.
Oh, you do seek an honest prayer… thank you that I can be “me” before you.
Why is it that anger turns to destruction of another or self-destruction? I cannot bear to intentionally harm another person, so I turn all that torrent of self-recrimination on myself. I hate the very idea that I could cause another person harm, and yet that hatred zeroes back in upon me like a heat-seeking missile.
I understand it’s the trauma speaking, God. I hear the Spirit’s gently soothing truth: “Go gently now.” It just doesn’t help instantly, when I’m clamouring for help.
Help me receive the grace that I would feel healed amid this tyranny right now. Cause me and anyone else who is in this state to feel the gentle breeze of your shalom waft in, through and over, to a cellular level. Cool the heat of this inner corrosion in us.
Even in the throes of this inward attack, would you come in and like you do, give calm to the angst our souls bear. Give us the bearings of love that our loved ones feel for us, not least yourself, the God of our creation, who loves us like no other one can.
You get me because you get everyone you made. You know how things shake our entire world and being. In the desperation of the one who feels tormented by a triggering they couldn’t foresee let alone control, give the semblance of control that prevents the spiral into self-destruction.
~
Feeling triggered for trauma or being anxious to the point of being self-destructive, whether it’s what we’re thinking or acting out or both, is a scary place to be. Nothing scarier. We know we’re not alone, but it feels like we’re the only ones on the face of the earth driven to the end of ourselves.
You are not alone. You are not alone.
Being beautifully sensitive and empathic, courageous enough to be vulnerable to trust without doubt, we take opportunities to live our faith—but that leaves us susceptible to provocations and events that shake us down. Then we feel we cannot trust when we know we ought to. Feelings of confusion swarm.
We’re susceptible because of the scope and range of our hearts that were built to love and be loved. Open-hearted, our hearts were pierced. Open handed, our hands were slapped. 
What hurts, hurts. Whatever hurts, if we won’t counterattack, takes us to a place of absorption. We absorb the hurt in the power of God, but inevitably in God’s goodness we cannot contain that which is nasty within. God insists that what’s toxic is bad for us, and that IT must go!
So, in bearing a hurt that cannot be contained, in refusing to attack others, when attacking others helps nobody, we have to find another way to process what will poison us in self-destruction if we’re not careful.
We process that by talking.
We must talk.
We must speak these toxins out into space and time.
Speaking the toxins out saves us and heals us.
Speaking the toxins out saves us hurting others.
Speaking the toxins out takes courage.
Speaking the toxins out honours the Lord.
We talk with God in cries, yelps and screams. Long nights of sobbing. Days waiting for night to come. Waiting for time when we can be alone with God.
We may also talk with a beautifully empathic pastoral carer, too. Someone who big-hearted enough to allow the manifestation of the toxins to pungently flow. We tell our stories in sadness and in repetition as we need to. These are long stories and they’re said more than we thought they would need to be said.
And by that, in the seconds of engagement, God heals us again.
God’s heart is desperate that we would reach up in the wisdom of faith that’s birthed in a poverty of hope.

Friday, November 15, 2019

Advocate as much as possible, just do no more harm

The world needs prophets and the world has prophets. There is no end of prophecy these days, but if we’re not careful our prophetic voices will be harsh and ineffective instruments; noise that may bring dishonour to the name of Christ.
Besides this, when we lose our centre, when we run ahead of Christ, we not only lose our poise, we lose what Christ is doing IN US; the chief target, aim and work for any Christian being. Amazing how this is always the first thing to disappear from view when our voice looms large; God’s voice for us, for our journey, for us, alone—his greatest gifts are indelibly personal. From the personal (the vertical) we go the interpersonal (the horizontal).
Only as we orient ourselves vertically
are we equipped afresh to minister horizontally.
Another besides; we get close to nowhere when our interactions descend into rabble-rousing. If we cannot love people with the truth, including the tougher love that implores repentance, we need to leave them to God or to the enemy, depending on where that lands in the realm of judgement, which is not our prerogative.
Anger is certainly appropriate, but true righteous anger saves the vitriol and inters the incredulity inward so genuine sorrow can birth a resolve that helps us stay the distance. There is no surer way to ultimately burn out than by constantly hissing at those who disagree with us.
What good is anger if it doesn’t pour forth healing—and not just for those who have been harmed but hope for healing in those who did the injustices in the first place, though many will never see. Surely our action must at all times promote responses toward healing; that all comers would come nearer the truth and be better able to love, as much as possible as far at that depends on us (Romans 12:18).
I understand the anger. I really do. I’ve wrestled in that place myself, sometimes unable to reconcile the injustice that has seemingly swarmed around in my world. To be honest, I feel hypocritical writing this. But this is not about me. God wants me writing this for the reason that I’m sharing what the Holy Spirit is teaching me. I’m so thankful for the patiently prophetic voices in my life who have loved me with the gentlest truth.
I value your voice and I’d hope you’d value mine. Christian beings are being Christian when they value one another’s voices, and all the more when they elevate the view that is unlike their own, so long as that view is Christlike. And where it isn’t, we restrain ourselves from instinctive anger that is unbecoming those of Christ. Otherwise WE sin.
When we advocate from the space of I-will-do-no-harm-to-you, we do so out of the fruit of healing. Of course, there must be empathy for those who are on their way there. Empathy, and space, compassion, kindness, grace.
But if our voice isn’t reflective of Christ’s redemptive work, as exemplified in our being coarse, crude and abrupt with others, meting out offence for offence, then our voice is wasted at the very least, and it does great harm to others and to the name of Christ at the most. And it doesn’t profit us at all. It takes us into the opposite trajectory from healing.
We must be honest. If something riles us or triggers us, let us first go inward and enquire with God; “What’s in THIS for me?” In going inward, we stop the reptilian response that in the blindness of projection lashes out at others.
We pause, we reflect, we recoil, and we give God the chance to bring stillness to us from within. Only then can our voice be used to good effect.
I have often thought in my studies and writing on narcissism, that, “God, would you just pinpoint in me any of MY narcissism,” because I don’t want to be a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.
I might have lots of passion and energy, but if it’s even one degree misdirected, it lands in India instead of Indonesia. I’m sure that at times when I’ve had a fire in my belly, that that fire has spilled over and burned others, literally without caring. These are monstrous acts.
We cannot advocate against injustice and
in the same breath pour out injustice.
An advocate who cannot model the repentance they can begin to demand from others is disqualified in my view.
Advocacy perhaps straddles hypocrisy to this degree, and repentance is our only salvation when we’ve committed an injustice.
There’s no loving truth in that. There’s no Christ in that. There’s no trust that Christ has ALL injustice in his very hands of judgement in that.
We call out the injustice, we lament the fact, we say it as it is, but we leave space for Christ.
We inter our anger and we allow it to fully form in the womb of disdain so it may be birthed in genuine sorrow.
And, in this, as we advocate with our prophetic voices, we promise Christ afresh, to not stray from the Beatitudes…
As recorded in Matthew 5:3-10, Jesus said:
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart,
for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called children of God.
Photo by Klemen Vrankar on Unsplash

Tuesday, November 12, 2019

Once the gas is lit, KABOOM!

Not everything we see we believe. Think of the times we’re at traffic lights and our own eyes see the signals turn from red to green, yet we hesitate, not wanting to go forward until we see other cars move forward.
It happens in relationships all the time.
We believe the compelling witness… even when they’re lying through their teeth.
Especially if someone is authoritative, there are many situations where our default is to let them have their way, even if it means others suffer. This is a manipulation of more than the one who is directly suffering. We, ourselves, are being played. We’re manoeuvred into a position where the person doing the manipulation wants us.
This is gaslighting. And when the person who must deny the reality they know to be true is directly impacted, like it’s their reality and they’re the ones who suffer, it is even more poignant and reprehensible.
Gaslighting is a social phenomenon and not only can it easily be demonstrated as a phenomenon that is easily arranged, it’s a phenomenon that works nearly every time; unless our eyes have been opened to see it. Yes, of course, it takes seemingly enormous faith to trust what our eyes saw, but that’s not the half of it. It’s the standing up to the person who lords it over us that’s the key issue.
Once we’ve seen the cunning of gaslighting in its dark array of coercion, once we’ve seen its destructive patterns in full covert force, the real advantage we have is now we begin to see it in other arenas. Once our eyes are open, they cannot be shut. This is both a blessing for discernment, but also a curse, for we’re liable to advocate. We can stay silent no more. And opening our mouths is fraught with danger. We stick our head above the parapet wall, and we can expect to have it blown off.
Once the gas is lit, KABOOM!
Once we see that gas, in all its flammability, and it is brought into partnership with an ignition source, it can only create what explosions create; impact and devastation.
One thing people need from us, when we’ve learned to discern the wiles of optical illusion, is the testimony of true witness. We can call boldly to what we and they actually saw. We can tell it like it was and is. We can find words to describe it.
Doing so sheds light on the darkness, just like in the presence of a beam the darkness hides. Light bearers are destined to be placed in areas and situations of darkness.
Don’t be afraid to be the advocate. See the truth and report the truth, without hesitation, without someone with perhaps malevolent or misguided motives convincing you otherwise.
Once the gas is lit, KABOOM!
Once we have seen what we’ve seen, and especially once we’ve drawn attention to it, we must expect the heat of the explosion to impact us. We must expect that the person we expose will not like it. We must expect that they will feel, “How is their audacity?!” We must expect that we will be burned.
It takes great courage to see and then to report what we see, especially when that will mean there is heat coming our way. Look after yourself, therefore, and prioritise your self-care, your support network, as well as whatever you have to reinforce your vision for what took place.

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Sunday, November 10, 2019

FACING JOKER – RIDICULE EVIL AT YOUR PERIL

Not all, but many narcissists are the product of incarceration in narcissism; all they ever knew. They don’t know how to love because they’ve only ever been hated. They know that something’s missing. They know that they’ve missed out. Even the narcissist from permissive parenting, that brought him up to feel duly and tragically entitled, knows that he has missed the boat called love.
Many narcissists have been punished too far.
There are the narcissists, as I mentioned, who were treated far too well—which is a travesty of abuse, not only against the entitled one, but against all those who would become part of their life in future. These were treated in such undeservingly pampered ways that made a mockery of love. Their definition of love is an unadmonished admiration where they alone are to be awed. And the great tragedy is whenever they discover this is a fabrication of lies, that their self-image is a house of cards, it destroys the veil, ripping it in two, and the veneer shattered brings a reckoning they cannot reconcile. It is an uncut horror movie.
Joker is the former kind of narcissist. But, in the terror of a background of unconscionable abuse, his personality fractured, there are the delusions of grandeur that prop up a show that faces destruction by the minute.
He is driven to a place where evil is all that’s left. There is a tragedy in what can be seen as an upside-down twisted parody of love. Joker seems capable of love, and certainly knows what love is, because he knows that he’s missed out on it all his life, but all the same, love is tantalising and always more than out of reach. When the moment comes to face the truth, however—that his world is full of rejection—it drives him to a place where all that’s left is evil. Psychopaths and sociopaths face this either consciously or unconsciously. They have been driven to psychopathy and sociopathy.
Those who think they’re something make those who aren’t who they are. One shape of evil creates another. Those who reject those who are rejected merely create a form of evil that will trounce the one who did the rejecting. These are the elements of societal anarchy, and where the hobnobs and the gentry have disdain for the plebes, the plebes will always find a way of causing a revolution.
Unremitted trauma leads to soul ruin. There always comes a moment of cracking for those who have been made bankrupt of soul. Whenever a human being is pushed to beyond what is reasonable, we had better expect what cannot be predicted.
The sentiment that says, “They may not realise it, but I’m their only hope,” is a sick joke. That kind of arrogance is the antecedent to a shameful failure. The powers that BE, in their own narcissism to own the narcissist under them, weaponises the narcissist under them. Any "sinner" trying to be Jesus, especially disdainfully, will fail very majestically.
Two final thoughts:
Underestimate evil at your peril. Laugh at what you judge as pathetic and you will bleed tears.
The truths of evil shatter people into a million pieces and they cannot be put back together again.