I have a few perceptions about Marty’s wife, Eddy, which I need to share to finish this story. Eddy considered herself a minister, and a teacher, and a leader, for those on “the spiritual path”, and had this understanding of herself for close to thirty years. She was quite the planner, and was also studious, and read everything readily available to support her knowledge, or need for knowledge, in areas revolving around her main concerns in life, or in her teaching arenas. She had quite the rigid understanding of the facts, and, in fact, her “facts” became her idols, of which she trusted, sometimes at the exclusion of any teaching, or learning, that those around her might try to impart to her, either unintentionally, or through a need to help her to see more clearly. She had little or no sense of humor, and was devoid of all capacity to embrace the “unknown” or the present moment, as it fruitlessly tried to present itself to her every moment of her existence.
She could be a “control freak”, and her quest for knowledge had the unconscious intention to keep her in control, and to establish herself as a teacher, so as to keep her own fears of insufficiency and inadequacy at bay in group settings. Every group discussion had her taking the lead role, where she would endlessly parade herself, and all of her supposed self-knowledge, in front of her adoring masses, or, at least she had hoped that they were adoring. She wanted so much to be like her mentor, Mary Boggs, of LEC, until Mary betrayed her in the 1990’s.
Her self-righteousness was continuously displayed, as she went from one topic to another, always showing to the world how perfect her relationship was to any issue revolving around medical issues, social responsibility, or ecological awareness. Perfectionism and unintentional self-worship were characteristics that defined her, and were immediately recognizable by me and others, who were not also participating in the parade of self.
She truly was the type of person, had the Christ been before her, and teaching from the Truth, she would have grabbed her phone, and Googled information to prove that her own head knowledge trumped what was being presented in the moment by Truth itself. She had, in a term that I coined just for her, “spiritual dementia”. She thought that every moment needed to be covered by her (mis)understanding of what was really there. Discussions with her were difficult, and she rejected most feedback, and many would defer to her, rather than confronting her about her quirks, and her need to always be right.
I sat through literally, a hundred or more groups with this woman, first when she was a single woman, and then after she married Marty. She would actually attempt to speak for her own husband, even while he was attending the shared group experiences, including our couples’ group meetings. Many nights most of the other members of the group would just sit back, and let her take control of all group communication. I cannot tell you how many times at least two members of this group, including me, would tire, and fall asleep, and end group times early together. Others would sit back, and offer up an occasional barbed remark (typical passive/aggressive communication style for me), without adding much to the flow of the group energy.
I had made a decision to love her long ago, unconditionally and with a “tenderness” of heart and Spirit, which meant, for a person who has difficulty sharing his own truth, sitting silent on my truth more often than I cared to remember. Yes, she still had the potential of the beauty of the Rose, yet her “thorns” were scratching at her world, and the limited world that she shared with me. It is hard to fully appreciate the others essence while constantly treating oneself from wounds incurred through direct relationship with the others wayward thorns. It is not just my personal view of her that was causing pain to me, it was her inability, or unwillingness, to stop resisting life, and become open to new possibilities for meeting with Life, on terms that were mutually favorable. I did not come into this world to “bow down before her excellence”, though that was the implied need expressed through her outward behavior.
Why did I not ever confront her about her behavior, and share with her my perceptions of her? Why would I withhold myself, and my truth, from a situation that should have demanded my participation in it? Why would I withhold my own assessments of what is real, and true, and right, in the face of this assault upon my own sensibilities? Why would I devalue myself, and my own truth, so much that I would carry the perception that “I have nothing to say”, or that “nobody would ever listen to me because I do not have a college degree, or I am not a therapist or respected spiritual advisor”? Why do I sometimes unconsciously believe that nobody would ever listen to what I have to say, anyway?
When her husband began his dying process, I became actively involved in her life, and their shared life, on a level that I never anticipated I would. A defining story came near the end of her husband’s life, when I was providing care for him up to two times per week. She rattled on endlessly about how to best care for her husband, even though I was already an established help mate, and quite successfully navigating the unknowns, and the difficulties, with his care. Her husband became quite unhappy with her care for him, and he considered her incompetent, and uncaring, and he informed me that he wanted a divorce from her, as she was so “insane”, and there presently was little or no love being shared between them. Yet he was helpless, and powerless to do anything about it, as his fading life force had removed all options for change for him.
Yet, she would not stop her irritating teaching mode of existence, forcing me to finally confront her.
“Eddy, please stop trying to teach me about stuff that I don’t need to know, or don’t want to learn? Can’t you trust that your husband and I are successfully navigating these difficult times together, and that we can manage without your endless control?”
“Oh, Bruce, you are just going to have to treat this like it is an AA meeting. I have to give you this teaching, as I have no choice. Just continue to listen until I am complete, and then take what you like from it, and leave the rest.”
“Actually, I don’t want or need any of your teaching, or your lessons. You teach fear, and distrust of me, as well as the Unknown, and i have grown weary of your intellectually dominating behavior, as has your husband. Please get into your car, and leave for a while, so that we can all breathe a little easier.”
It only took me 23 years to speak my truth to this knowledge dominatrix. My love for her husband, and my attention to his needs and greater good, took precedence over my own feelings of inadequacy in confronting his wife about her alienating, crazy making communication style. Her spiritual dementia needed to be challenged, lest I lapse into deeper degrees of anxiousness, powerlessness, and unreality. Confronting a difficult reality takes more energy than most of us care to bring to the table, yet, not doing so diminishes our own standing in Truth, Life, and Love, and that was my experience up to that point.
What did this emotionally and spiritually disfigured woman represent to me on the inner plane of my consciousness, where the human collective archetypes reside? She was the Dark Queen, and Trickster, and a number of other “lesser gods”. She represented the unyielding rational brain, devoid of Spirit’s soft, embracing touch. She had no room for anything unlike herself in her kingdom, and the stick figures in her dream of world domination could never be filled out with their true essence, because she had no time for that. Her Trickster mind misrepresented trust and openness to the Unknown as something to fear, and cover up its Nakedness with second-hand, worn out rags of other people’s intellects and misunderstandings. She truly was like the King in the parable of the “Emperors’ New Clothes”, parading her misunderstandings of life around for all to see and worship, all the while fearing that an innocent boy would call her out.
In the absolute, All that we ever see, unto eternity, is our own self. As I look upon the world, and all of my relationships with the people, the land, the animals, and inner and outer space, I see an evolving landscape that demands collaboration and involvement by ALL PEOPLES, and representation for those beings who do not have a voice in such matters. This is a landscape that demands that I make my own unique impression upon it. I must first confront the demons within my own mind and heart before I strike out against the “outer world”, lest I project unhealed images and intentions upon the unsuspecting population.
I had very poor training since birth in how to successfully navigate group energy, up to, and including, the whole of society that we all participate in. As a boy, when family discussions turned into arguments, many times I found myself either raising my voice against the angry voice of my father, or retreating into submission and fear at the threat of being attacked for being contrary to the flow. And, I internalized that I was probably wrong anyway, and would be punished if I stepped out and asserted myself too much. I learned that I could undertake less obvious means of rebelling against authority, sometimes through indirect, or obvious, self, or other, destructive behavior.
Passive/aggressive tendencies have haunted me most of my entire life, and becoming “self-aware” has gone a long way to keep me from employing those unskilled coping mechanisms unconsciously, though I am still occasionally haunted by their presence. Having undertaken the inner work of insight, and maintaining mindfulness, and identified those sources of suffering within myself, does not instantaneously remove all of the darkness within. But is also does not remove from me the responsibility to call out those who are the external agents of oppression and repression, no matter how much I might love them or want to protect them, or even to protect myself from the ramifications of asserting what is right, true, or proper in any situation.
So I spoke out, and it felt like Eddy actually listened to me. She still felt obligated to give me the latest details on Marty’s care, even though I did not need them. I continued to help with small tasks around their home, once or twice a week. I continued to attend, and participate with him in, the men’s cancer survivor writing group at OHSU, until two weeks before his assisted suicide. Of course, my survival from melanoma went much better than his, as mine has not yet metastasized, and hopefully will not in the future.
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