You don’t know me. In your arrogance, you make assumptions about my every intention and thought, but you don’t know me. You know only your worst fears about me, or versions of me you extrapolate from things that used to be true about me.
We never really meet either. Our “conversations” are mostly you playing out an inner mental conversation with whatever version of me you are currently projecting on the present me. Whatever closed question you ask can only serve to confirm your projection rather than open you to the me in front of you that you don’t know and can’t control.
You want to fix me, with genuine compassion, to become the perfect version of me that you need for you. You are genuinely disappointed and angry when I don’t meet your expectations to be the person you want me to play for you.
You have ugly judgemental eyes. Their lids are open but they’re closed. You look at me but only your own projections. You only see what you’re looking for: evidence to confirm your own assumptions that your negative expectations have been fulfilled: your victim identity confirmed, your pain body fed.
And in the same instance that you satisfy yourself that I have not met your expectations and requirements about how I am supposed to be, you give yourself permission to hate me, to unleash your resentment, jealousy, bitterness. You close your tight little heart and become your pain and emotional violence embodied.
And when it’s done, and you’ve vented your hate, you feel bad because you don’t let me in. You block off your heart to cut yourself off from me, but you only hurt yourself. By investing in the separation of the identity of the outer form, you cut yourself from essence and the truth of oneness, and can only plunge yourself deeper into unconsciousness as you honour the untruth of your conceptual self-identity. Well-Being is collective. The love must flow freely between all forms within the natural boundaries of shared respect.
We must forgive the limits of form and the ignorance of self-identity in each other, or else wrongly attribute reality to the unreal – and fall into unconsciousness. God is everywhere or nowhere at all.
Can’t you see the only difference between a victim and an abuser is time? They are an endless cycle of the mind’s mental separation: of pain projected, cultivated, harvested, and re-seeded.
So desperate are you to feed and confirm your pain: for confirmation that I don’t love you, that my intentions are malevolent, that I am the abuser and you the victim, that in the absence of evidence, you will fabricate it and see attack in the trivial and the neutral. You interrogate my every word or act in dualities of assumed intentions until you contort my whole being into the shape of your projections. I don’t fit! Come back to the present! I will not play along.
You look but you don’t see me with your ugly judgmental eyes.
Your compulsive need to reenact your original traumatic disappointment by others is your own addiction. How can another be to blame for not anticipating your unstated needs? How can another be to blame if your psychological scaffolding makes you feel liYour suffocating unspoken expectations and demands on how others should be or do or make your feel – casts a vice grip of neediness over me that makes me want to escape you, defy you: setting me up to disappoint you in a self-fulfilling prophecy. You reduce my whole being to an actor in your own internal suspicions and schemes. I am not this!
The unmeeting of your expectations and needs and subsequent disappointment is your own inner nonsense story and has nothing to do with me. You do it to yourself.
You’re locked in your own mind and anything I say or do only feeds your self-destructive victim narrative. So I can’t do anything to drag you out of your black hole of neediness and confirmation of victimhood by disappointment. Like any addict, you need to admit you have a problem and want to heal.
I hope one day you can see me, acknowledge me for what I am, and stop measuring me up against your own subjective expectations. Then, in the open present, we could receive each other. Until then, I will hold my heart open, but I must close my doors. Though I won’t interact with you as a person, my compassion flows through, for you, for us, for the whole situation in the present.
Here is the transmutation. Your ugliness has set me on fire. It has shook me awake. The indifference is permitted and perpetuated my own unconsciousness is now itself intolerable. Your shit has fertilized my inner desire to be more than I am. To no longer tolerate my own shit. To shake myself awake and be better.