Puppet on a String

Welcome everybody! Take a seat. You too, father, I want you to sit down. This is not your group, you are not leading it.

Everyone: the task today is to notice your judgments about what is going to happen here – and see if you can let them go. If not, just notice that you want to keep it.

Yes, it is dark in here. No father, you really has nothing to say in here. And Ian – I will not have you lecture me on all I do wrong.

Out of the blue, a vast storm of meanness and vicious rancid lecturing, invectives and sewer language spews out of me. And then, my judgments: Ohmygod now you all see what a klutz I am, I can’t even find adult words, no control, no control at all how utterly pitiful…

Then the evening show starts:

On the wall, behind Father’s Chair, stage lights are appearing under the roof. A small girl – just a toddler – is suspended by a line and a hook that is slided from left to right. She is also bumped up and down, like in a mini-bungee – jumping as she slides toward the end of the line

This can’t be right? She’s just a little girl – where are the theater workers who set this up? No – where is the cruel director? How can they treat a small child like that?

Sit still, group, I will take care of it

“I am right here below you – if you fall, I will catch you “

Without a word she lets me know that she will proceed to the end of the line.

Her costume is cream and white – so delicate – she is one I love with all of me. As she is jumped from left to right, she becomes older – at the end of the line she is about 13 – and I watch her suddenly freeze to ice. There is no child present now – just frozen terror in a child’s form.

I loosen the hook and take her in my arms. I look her gently in the eyes, and gradually she comes back into the body and says, dreamingly “It is so strange how I suddenly became terrified.”

“You forgot that you were just a character in a play” I tell her, and we sit down in Fathers Chair. “You thought you were this girl on a string.”

“Is it over now? “ she asks.

“I have you now” I say. “You are my little girl, you know.”

My father’s face darkens. He looks away, and black puke violently pours from him. I remind the group to watch their judgments and let them go. Let it be. Let the black vomit come out. Let him purge himself.

It is shame. We all know it is. We have all been there. Eons of black asphalt dung shame. Its acidity erodes a hole in the floor, and he disappears down into it.

Or does he? There is a young man standing where The Father stood. An easel with a large canvas is before him, and he start to paint with precise strokes. He knows his excellence as painter.

We see:

Heaven. Vast and calm ocean, not even a slight ripple, mirrors the sky.Horizon almost invisible. Small white rowboat with two persons: father and daughter. Silently fishing on the big ocean of awareness

3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mona Gustafson Affinito
    Aug 20, 2014 @ 15:55:24

    Dear Leelah, you have so stirred my soul this morning. I think the feeling will stay with me throughout the day. So moving, so real, so ultimately optimistic. Thank you! Thank you!

    Reply

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Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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