I confronted my dad about the shit of my childhood not too long ago. He hasn't said a word since. Is that love? He says he loves me, but he cuts me outta his life like he did the rest of my family when I was thirteen. I saw some of them when I was eighteen, and I didn't even remember my grandpa had cancer when this "doctor" came for preventative medicine recently, and I realize in the present how much my narcissistic father destroyed not only my life, but has made my brother "fragile" as my dad says, oblivious that his livid horse shit is nowhere near where a father needs to be.
And I forgive him, because he knows not what he does. I still have anger, but I am watching it go out for good. His "normal" isn't normal and he has no perspective to understand how he hurts people. I'm pausing here because I don't know what to say next. I don't want to speak ill of him, as he has moved mountains for me, yet he still hurt me and stunted my development in profound ways.
I think I've only recently become a "man," though that is a word defining an exponential range of being. In this picture I've attached, I say I'm the third one, and my life partner is the fourth, partially disentangled. Learning is cyclical, and in this, I am currently going over a previous concept I understood, how the Chakras form a "pharaoh crook" with your nerve plexusus, like a drooping flower whose budding head needs to be picked up to totally actualize their full potential of receiving AND generating light.
I want to teach my father what I've learned, to help him, but he doesn't give a shit. Can't tell God, with lead poisoning, that everything he believes is not just false but true AND false, as in, I want to make him understand what I do about consciousness and self-determination and Karma and kindness and compassion, so he stops being the source of his and many other people's suffering, but can't do that! By his dualistic logic choices, he can't hear the things I say because he has his bias against me that he holds onto because he was hurt by life and he found a way to wrangle control in his anger, so his anger rules him, as he identifies with it, cuz it helps him in times he loses control, and thus he justifies his anger out of compassion for himself as he is in pain.
Anger is like a fire; it only burns if it has fuel. You take away the source of the anger, the anger goes out. The world may trigger you, but your anger is your own to work with. Every time you resist the temptation to give in to anger, you become better at resisting anger as you strengthen your prefrontal cortex. "Let there be light..." implies sound came before light, and that is how the executive order logic structure of your brain is organized, in that it's your prefrontal cortex that reaches down to your animal mind and tells it to fuck off with that shit that makes you the most human.
But those are words I want to say to him. So I wrote them, so I process the underlying emotions and thus heal myself of my trauma.
Thus is the power of art.
No, those are not aurora borealis, that's a fire in my kitchen.