Jewels, Gems & Gunpowder

I would love to hear from you! Sharing Saturday with you.

I’d like to build a community where we support each other so I’m starting today, Saturday, as a community share. Each week I’ll post and I would love you join in.

Jewels, Gems & Gunpowder

A Jewel: Owning my personal story with full integrity.

A Gem: Not hiding behind the shield of denial.

Metaphorical Gunpowder: Sharing in full honesty revealing what could easily stay hidden and become a stumbling block for myself.

Please comment below by leaving your jewel, a gem or something you keep yourself free from with metaphorical gunpowder.

Happy Saturday!

Keep steady in the battle. Together we do win the war against childhood crimes.

Published by Gracedxoxo

I have the courage to tell my story to help others embrace theirs.

2 thoughts on “Jewels, Gems & Gunpowder

  1. I can’t be sure how far back in human history the habit of denial can be traced.

    But it is at least as old as my family.

    In my family, I’ve traced it three or four generations back, to those “good ol’ days” that we all know don’t really exist.

    All that I was taught at home or in school was colored by denial, and thus it became so familiar to me that I did not even see it.

    When my father was a small boy, his mother brutalized him. Early on, my father exhibited anti-social, psychotic behavior. He maimed small animals, started fires, & tried to assault his teacher with a pair of scissors.

    Later on, there were secrets of his sexuality and my grandfather confessed some of these secrets to my mother at the start of their relationship… a warning and an omen.

    My mother’s early life, as you have all been learning, contained a wasps nest of secrets that threatened the her very existence.

    The secrets piled up. And ultimately, the we’re passed onto me.

    Secrets are kept alive by two things: denial and untruth.

    We pass them down like eye color to our children and even if they are never confessed or discovered, they haunt the people who carry them as well as the people who don’t yet know.

    But especially the ones sho refuse to see.

    I do not see my life as separate from history. In my mind, my family secrets mingle with the bigger secrets of the world and of the universe.

    Nor is my life divided from the lives of others. I, who am a woman, have my father’s face. And he, I suspect, had his mother’s face.

    I am beginning to believe that we know everything, that all history, including the history of each family, is part of us, such that, when we hear any secret revealed, a secret about a grandfather, or an uncle, or secrets secret larger than us, beyond our scope of vision, our lives are made suddenly clearer to us, as the unnatural heaviness of unspoken truth is dispersed.

    Our own history and the history of the world is embedded in us and we hold a sorrow deep within and cannot weep until that history is sung.

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