Harsh Truths
Sometimes when you look deeply, what you see ain't pretty, but it’s true.
As we plumb the depths of our souls, we will discover hard-to-bare truths. We may shut the door quickly when we catch a glimpse of these disfigured ones. We may close our mind and say, “no this is not who I am!” We may believe the pain is too hard to hold.
Treat these areas with care and remember, you are on sacred ground.
There are actions in our personal or collective past which require apology and reconciliation. They form a portion of the demons who haunt us, driving us to escape in distractions, denial and addictions. These demons will not go away and for our sake and our children’s sake we will need to acknowledge them.
Take courage, you are being guided here, the adult and elder in your psyche can handle this. Let the children know they do not have to carry these harsh truths.
I was honored to be involved in a ritual where men apologized to women. A small offering in light of thousands of years of misogyny. The opposition to face harsh truths, even with this simple act, was surprising in myself and other men around me with anguished cries, “But I haven’t done anything! I personally have not harmed any woman and I can’t apologize for those men who have harmed women!” A poem by Thich Nhat Hanh opened my eyes to the understanding we are all connected, we are rapist and we are victim. The rapist within needs to make amends and make it right. Injustice needs to be recognized, the victim needs to hear she matters, the trauma experienced was real and was not the victim’s fault, apologies need to be made and the power balance restored. Collectively and personally, there’s a lot of apologizing, healing and justice needed, but first harsh truths must be acknowledged.
The field of harsh truths is wide and can generate great howls of denial and hostility. Sometimes a harsh truth is waking up and realizing something you have believed in your whole life is not true. Facing harsh truths can create great shifts, this is work, hard work. Face these harsh truths and welcome their gifts.
As we plumb the depths of our souls, we will discover hard-to-bare truths. We may shut the door quickly when we catch a glimpse of these disfigured ones. We may close our mind and say, “no this is not who I am!” We may believe the pain is too hard to hold.
Treat these areas with care and remember, you are on sacred ground.
There are actions in our personal or collective past which require apology and reconciliation. They form a portion of the demons who haunt us, driving us to escape in distractions, denial and addictions. These demons will not go away and for our sake and our children’s sake we will need to acknowledge them.
Take courage, you are being guided here, the adult and elder in your psyche can handle this. Let the children know they do not have to carry these harsh truths.
I was honored to be involved in a ritual where men apologized to women. A small offering in light of thousands of years of misogyny. The opposition to face harsh truths, even with this simple act, was surprising in myself and other men around me with anguished cries, “But I haven’t done anything! I personally have not harmed any woman and I can’t apologize for those men who have harmed women!” A poem by Thich Nhat Hanh opened my eyes to the understanding we are all connected, we are rapist and we are victim. The rapist within needs to make amends and make it right. Injustice needs to be recognized, the victim needs to hear she matters, the trauma experienced was real and was not the victim’s fault, apologies need to be made and the power balance restored. Collectively and personally, there’s a lot of apologizing, healing and justice needed, but first harsh truths must be acknowledged.
The field of harsh truths is wide and can generate great howls of denial and hostility. Sometimes a harsh truth is waking up and realizing something you have believed in your whole life is not true. Facing harsh truths can create great shifts, this is work, hard work. Face these harsh truths and welcome their gifts.
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I am
The blood on my hands drips and flows red and slippery making it hard to hold on to anything. I am white And have wielded the lash and chain. Enslaving others with skin different than my own. I am male And have raped and beaten because I had the muscles, phallus and insecurity. Patriarchy has served me well at the expense of the other half of humanity. I am a colonist And have wiped out entire civilizations. Tossing thousands of years of culture into flames. Claiming land and resources, not mine, as my own. I am a Christian And have murdered, oh highest blasphemy, in the name of Jesus. Blood flowing from God’s children. Pagan and Native, Jew and Muslim. I am a consumer And have taken more than I return. Leaving an open wound from Africa to Appalachia. Consuming raw materials at a blinding pace, breaking body, bone and spirit in the race. There is blood on my hands. Rivers of red. And all the distractions of MTV and the Kardashians cannot blot up or blot out the stain. These harsh truths I acknowledge yet I cannot be crushed by this knowledge. It is time for me, my brothers and others to take a long, hard, honest look. Our past, our future, this moment Make their demand. - Jose Enciso |
The Pearly Gates
I died last night. Soul left body and ascended to the celestial plain. As was in my childhood stories the pearly gates awaited separating loving from not loving. Fluffy clouds, sparkle-dust and angels flying about. Saint Peter stood his place, heaven’s watchman, in full grace. A magnificent twelve point buck he was. God’s forest prince there to greet me, face to face. His queries of admission began. In my living time, when I looked upon his young, brother deer dead on the side of the road, did I offer a prayer, even once? I hesitated to remember those time in the car insulated by talk shows and insurance commercials. The angel closest to our conversation, silently drew closer, a tear forming in his eye. The next question. In my living time, when I looked upon a tree did I see my sister or a super-sized fry container and a stack of sales flyers? And I struggled to remember what trees looked like. A second angel gathered closer. More tears forming. The third question. In my living time, when I looked upon the earth did I hear her cry or just see dirt? I started to tremble. And a third angel joined us. I fell to my knees Tears pouring, joining with the angelic stream now flowing. Saint Peter lifted me with powerful hooves Held me closely Whispering, “Welcome home”. - Jose Enciso |