Compassion, Forgiveness, And Other Random Emotions

I have no idea why and I don't remember the exact circumstance but I do know that in Cozumel I had a fleeting thought about my stepfather. And if you're new to my world and want to know about my stepfather, just go over there to that list of topics and click on a few of the childhood sexual abuse posts.

It wasn't odd that I thought about my stepfather, because I do think about him now and then and it's never in a good way. It's usually in a he's-a-monster-and-almost-ruined-my-life-and-I-hate-him way. But this quick thought, almost like a dart to the brain whispered something about forgiveness.

Now listen here- I believe there are two things that a survivor of sexual abuse is not required to do and those two things are to confront and to forgive. I am sorry but I am not Jesus and I am not Mother Theresa and I am not even a Buddhist or a Christian and not even a good damn Pagan. I am nothing but a member of the Church of Bat-Shit Crazy and that's that.
So when I had that dart-to-the-brain, that out of nowhere fleeting thought of my stepfather with the idea of forgiveness in the thought somewhere, I dismissed it. Okay, I examined it and said, "Where the fuck did that come from?" and then I dismissed it. I was under the influence, folks. The influence of gentle Mayan ways and being in a place I adore with the man I adore and living a life that I could never even imagine having the vast fortune to hope for, much less live.

And then the other night, my brother called. The only brother out of three who is in any way in touch with this man, his father. One of my brothers has changed his last name, in fact. I mean- that's a statement. But I asked my brother who called if his father was still alive. And if it was, in fact true, that he has Alzheimer's.

"Yes," my brother said. "He's alive and he does." He told me that the old man had called him a few weeks ago and asked him to take him up to check on his mother who has been dead for thirty or so years and who was one of the meanest, nastiest harridans ever put on this planet. She was quite literally insane and not in a good way. But she's dead and he didn't remember that and he felt the need to go check on her.

And when my brother told me this, my first thought was, "Oh. Poor thing."

WHAT???!!!

What was I thinking? Poor thing? Now where in hell did that come from?

And truthfully, I don't know.

But the fact remains, it's so sad and so pitiful that it can't help but move me somehow. And I think that even six months ago it would have moved me to think, "Good. Maybe he's at the end stages. Maybe he's suffering."

And part of me still can't wait for that man, that soul, to be gone from this earth where I live. And part of me is completely unaffected that he may be suffering. I mean- the suffering he's caused others will never be attenuated in this lifetime. Never.

But part of me, some soft part of me which realizes that I have survived and that I have felt joy in this life, unbelievably, and that I have managed to create a life and a family of great beauty in many ways, knows that he never did and that he never will and that his suffering does not help me at all and that I can feel sorry for him.

Oh. I hate typing those words. I hate thinking those words.
But I do. I feel sorry for him.

My yoga teacher and I talked all through class today. It was one of those classes where it was just two of us, and one of her children is going through some really, really hard times right now which is causing her intense pain and worry and anxiety. She and I are as different as night and day but we are both women who love our children above all else and there, and on the yoga mats, we can meet. We shared some things and we talked about what the bottom line message of Christ was. She said that to her it was love and forgiveness. I said that for me, forgiveness implies a god who needs to forgive us and sins, too, and I don't buy into that whole thing but I believe in love and compassion. She said that she thinks that compassion and forgiveness may be the same, and I understood what she was saying, but I don't buy that one either. I'm not sure what I think about forgiveness but I'm pretty sure I don't have the power to forgive. And what does that mean? If I say I forgive someone, does that take anything away? No. But if I say that we are all extremely flawed individuals (as Jimmy Buffet, the beach bard says) and we make mistakes and if someone has done something that has hurt me and I can love them anyway, unconditionally and without any breath or hint of the martyr, then that is compassion and that is what I hope to achieve.

I will, quite honestly, never be able to do that for my stepfather. I can get to the part where I understand that he was extremely flawed but it pretty much stops there. Hurting a child goes beyond my definition of understanding.

But. But.

But. I do feel sorry for him even though he has caused so much suffering in his flawed, fucked-up life. The Buddhists say that life is suffering and that to understand that and to try to relieve others of their suffering is the meaning of it all.
That's pretty harsh and really, really hard.

But it's sort of beautiful.

And do you see that picture? That's my child. My very own child, pregnant with her very own child and this is where my life is. How can I not feel so full of the blessing this path has lead me to that I can't feel some compassion for that man's suffering? He didn't ruin my life. He could have, but somehow, by some miracle, he didn't manage to. I am not dead, I am not completely insane (just bat-shit crazy) and I have so much love in my life that my cup does overflow.

Baby steps. It's all about baby steps. And quick darts to the brain and yes, heart, and deep searching and change.

And a lot of other stuff I don't even pretend to understand.

But that's what I'm thinking about today. And it feels...good.