In my last entry, I wrote about feeling intense rage towards a God I don't even believe exists. There is a residue of the God I was raised with, the ideals I attributed towards this personage and my expectations of him. They were all in my mind, of course, as well as the collective conscious of the Jehovah's Witness group I belonged to. It seems strange for me now to be making peace with a God that I don't even believe is real. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that I am making peace with my previous conceptions of the Divine. It is a letting go of any expectations I had of this ideal.
And I think of how often we rage against ideals. How often I have set up my own "gods"--my parents being the prime examples. As children we deify our parents; we give them otherworldly abilities, as well as high expectations. And inevitably, they fall short. How could they not?
I realize that making peace with my parents, with God, with my past, is about healing the illusions, about letting go of what was never real to begin with. It is about allowing the events and people to be just as they are. This happened. That happened. She did this. He did that. If I take out all the emotional overlay about what should have happened or was supposed to happen or what could have happened, all that is left is what is. And what is, is neutral. Without all the emotional overlay and judgment, there is a just a retelling of events. And once you can get to that place, there is peace. The suffering subsides. It becomes just another chapter in the life of.
This blog has been filled with emotional overlay and judgment and what I wish could have happened and feel should have happened. I let it all unfold in real time. I hope it stands as a testimony to the insanity of the mind while it's in process. It has been said that one must tell their story until they don't need to tell their story anymore. I'm getting pretty bored with the story. It's why I haven't written as much of late. Sure, I still get pretty triggered up at times. And there is always something lurking in the subconscious waiting to be processed. But it matters less and less to me. It passes through me much easier and faster now. There is a greater and greater letting go.
Not much matters. It never did.