27: Shedding Excess Poundage

CHAPTER 27

Shedding Excess Poundage

Dragging excess poundage is a laborious weight on any trip, let alone a trip into the unchartered future of our actual lives.

Disaster is for sure when we journey into the unknown with saddled bags stuffed with the needless poundage of yesteryears.

When I was a teen, I launched my first bout of emotional weight loss. Unfortunately, this meant I was working out my past with my back aimed at the future. Ergo! I wasn't aware of the madness waiting in the Wings of Wacko preparing to waltz on stage.

That was the bad news.

The good news was: I wasn't as cargo heavy as I could have been.

Ignorance may not have been bliss, but it stalled overloading my system with mortgage payments of worry on a future I had yet to occupy.

My unawareness prevented me from seeking to control the uncontrollable tidal wave mounting on distant shores.

At 16, I was so accustomed to bowing out on public life that I stretched it even further by walking out on a contract fate had set up for me with a Los Angeles film studio.

No matter how I tried to cling onto anonymity, life would not let me. While the world may have been urging me to one day star on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, I was rehearsing for Strife-styles of the Poor and Obscure.

I fought destiny by covering the mirrors of my soul, tuning Nanny out, officially announcing my retirement from Show & Sell and slingshoting my life into the Alleys of Anonymity.

Though Ashley and I had snipped our flimsy family ties, memories of our relationship still hitchhiked in my heart. I was aware of the need to face and deal with them, to put them in their proper files, then archive for future use. But how? Whenever those memories surfaced, they emerged carrying a picket sign reading: Failure.

I now understand why I then labeled myself a Failure, a masquerade at success, not worthy of notice. My verdict was not based on my own worth or material accomplishments, but on my inability to rescue Ashley from her Sorrow Sea. I forced my success to be contingent on her success in rising up from her melancholy muck. No matter how far we split, I let that muck smear my sense of love-ability.

I now see it doesn't matter how we toss a life preserver to a drowning person if they don't want it. We aren't responsible for their fate. And, cosmicly, no matter how well thought out, we may not be offering the setup another's soul seeks for their soular deliverance.

So, even though she chose the Days of Whine & Woeses as her theme song, who was I to silence her favored strain?

My challenge was to realize I could select my pet channel and hear: “Life Is Just A Bowl Of Cherries”, “Thank You For Being My Friend”, “Joy To The World”, “Celebrate”, “You Don't Own Me” or “Never Going Back Again”. Though, more often than not, I heard: “What's Goin' On?”

Through the afteryears, I sought to keep communication open between us. Eventually, I faced facts: If she never desired a fuller relationship… that was her choice. I was not to take it personal. I couldn't let what was out in my control deny me my happiness. Yet, I did for many years after our breakup.

Though not consciously, the results from feeling I failed with her were as tangible as if I overtly asked the world to send in the downs.

It's been many many years since I've seen Ashley. I don't know how or where she chose to live after our split. Or if she is alive.

I do know I lived up to my choice not to hate her, though I feel no kinship as I never knew her, nor did I get to share a gentle, loving, supportive or communicative chat or hug with her.

Thus, my only wish for her has always been that she chose to gain as much from our encounter as I chose to gain.

That last thought makes me consider another amnesia, that which causes us to forget who our biological relatives are.

But, if this occurred, who in our life would we believe is our family based on supportiveness, unconditioned love, non-judgmental conversations, and unmanipulating blendships.

Who would be our chosen family?

Might this amnesia possibly eliminate the fear and guilt that cause so many to describe their feelings toward the psychologically and/or physically abusive family members in such dichotomous phrases that simmer down to: “Well, I don't like them, but I do love them”.

I never understood that concept as I feel one has to share a liking before they can share a loving. At least, that's what I've noticed to be advisable when approaching a new pal-ship. Yet, I've never noticed that concept applicable to a biological relationship.

It's as if a deeply buried guilt says we must love our biological family members, no matter how abusive they may be, or have been. But, we're permitted honesty with our feelings when a member of God's family abuses us.

I'm not talking about relationships where unwaivable, bountiful breadth of supportive love has bred throughout the years, and then one or the other briefly slips emotionally via something the other doesn't like, but after discussion, they return to the genuine reassurance of their original union.

That's the growing pains of mortalness.

I'm speaking of those long running kinships that have destructive and debilitating affects on another via abuse, lies, cheating, degradation, nagging, manipulation, and battling. Actions and reactions that would not be tolerated in an acquaintanceship but are forced to be tolerated under the Must Love label due to the biological linkup.

That makes me further contemplate the meaning of love.

A biggie quest for us all to travel.

Personally, I've realized that love begins within.

If we don't love ourselves, how can we love another or accept another's love? And those we live with, those who reside in the closest arenas of our thoughts often have the greatest influence on our loving self-esteem.

Whether they cheerlead the best in our spirits, encourage our creative decision making ability, accept our beingness as-is and grant us the emotional freedom to explore our own spiritual voyage. Or, whether they catcall our creative dreams, douse our growth parades for independence with doubt and dread, or seek to imprison us within their concept of our role in life – their life… be it as their maid, punching bag, meal ticket, target of sarcasm and control, or as their handy victim for abuse.

Ergo! To me, love is feeling terrific about myself and my beingness. Within that mind frame, my loving and feel-great energy is attracted to those who activate that positive energy within themselves. Those who bring out the finest spiritual best within my soul and who encourage me to be all I was born to be. And, to those who are open to my offerings of those same qualities in return, the same spiritual sustenance.

To me:

Mutual love is the beautifying of one another's soul.

True, love does not use, abuse nor seek to confuse our potential with fear, guilt, belligerence or heartache. Nor, does it war to nag us into undesired decisions.

I've learned: only love those who genuinely love and nurture me as-is. And, those who love me are the one's who love themselves as-is and know that I encourage and nurture that simplistic acceptance.

Understand, I'm not encouraging anyone who describes a biological relationship with the words of “I don't like (fill in the blank) but I love them”, to do a 180 and activate anger or revenge. That's a waste of spiritual accomplishment time.

Rather, if people explored that phrase, I wonder how many may discover the anger connected with their concept of love as a Gotta-say emotion. Gotta-say for fear of being ill-thought of for their reflective honesty.

Forced obligation, hidden anger, control and degradation do not blossom from love. They sprout from fear.

I've detected that in unrequited situations, familial or marital, the phrase “I love you” is often a cover for the truer inner requests of “Please be the nice, unabusive, trustworthy and unnagging person I want you to be” and “Please, please, love ME as-is.”

At that bye-bye bend in my familial road, my challenge was to not pack her fearing energies into my future luggage. Curiously, by gaining the peace of mind I discovered via letting go without hate or love, caused me to realize:

The finest diet for emotional weight loss is to quit pigging out on What-might-have-been Waffles, If-only Oreos, Didn't-try-hard-enough Donuts or the I'll-make-'em-pay Pizzas. Then, order only from the calorie free menu of Salads for Spiritual Success.

As I taste it, the best revenge against poundage that's been emotionally and/or physically gained via an abusive relationship is simply choosing to create and savor one's own potential for love; for happiness; for sharing the spiritual best in life; and, for becoming acceptable to one's own heart and conscience as-is.

'Tis a Thot.