FORGIVENESS... © 2010 Dakini Verona

FORGIVENESS © 2010 Dakini Verona

Life has been a journey, not without challenges. Sometimes, even I have been known to receive a  spattering of rewards. I remind myself to remember my adventures as I piece the puzzle of my past. I have to remember that even the traumas have hidden blessing. All blessings begin within.

I look back now on all the adventures of my life with gratitude, instead of regret. I have let go of resentments and learned to forgive instead of hate.

The most difficult person to forgive, was of course, myself. But finally, I can say that a few years ago, I forgave myself. Forgave myself for allowing those things to happen. Forgave decisions based on my innocence and trust. Forgave myself for choosing the path of least resistance and later repeating the mistakes over and over, until I at last learned a better way.

 My life adventures sometimes remind me of the butterfly story. You know the one where someone sees a butterfly struggling to free itself from its cocoon, and decides to help it out. The person cuts the cocoon allowing the butterfly to easily emerge to its new form. However, the butterfly is unable to unfold its winds and fly. Because it was “protected” from the struggle, it never built up the strength in its wings therefore, they were shriveled and undeveloped.

My life is like that of the butterfly which has struggled to free itself from its cocoon. My continuous struggling against my own environment has forced me to make myself stronger. Forced me to build character. Through this process, I have become a warrior in my own right.

There is not much that I have not experienced firsthand.

I remember telling my dad when he asked why I did the things I did (experimenting with drugs and running away to live in the streets) that I, unlike him, could not live vicariously through books. I told him that I have to learn by experiencing. It’s been a drive that I have come to terms with. However, even to this day, my life is one that is filled with adventures. I cannot sit by and watch life go by.

I still am not clear of the purpose of this, but yet I dare not turn away. Like a train wreck or a car accident I cannot turn away. Like a moth, I am compelled to follow the dangerous path. Where it will take me - I know not. But I believe it will become clear to me once I arrive.

Recently I wrote "kidnapped, beaten and beyond". Those are just words to most people, they can only relate to that type of violence through what they have observed in some on-screen drama or perhaps through the pages of a book.

I have survived these and even more. Contrary to that which you might think, regardless of the horrifying act, it is not the worse thing to be in the middle of the violent act. It is, by far, the aftermath that is most difficult to get through.

As I draw upon my past, I find it really sad that I am struggling to remember the traumas. I am struggling to remember not because I am unable to cope with the memories, but because there were so many that I have lost count. They all seem to run together.

I am first narrowing my stories down to those that were most brutal, because no matter how much I tried to bury them, they are the easiest to remember.  Perhaps after they, the worst, are purged, the others will surface as well.

A few weeks ago I posted a story bout being molested. I just came upon another version of that story and wanted to share it as a part of this forgiveness post:

The first time that I was touched and fondled was not at the hands of someone that clove me. It was at the hands of a monster. I was 7 and he was 17 or 18. I fell into a deliberate trap. He knew exactly how to lure in the innocent. I am sickened by the thought of how easy it was for him to take my innocence. To crush all trust. How easy it was for me, in one moment to be totally devastated.

I have a burden so heavy that could never forget it. The scars are forever etched upon my soul.

I would not with that experience upon anyone. No. Not even upon the monster’s children. I now know, most likely, that the monster was created by a demon that caused a normal boy to become a monster.

Molester. Monster. The words are almost the same in the English language, but in my mind, they are totally synonymous.

I wish on that dreaded day, that I had been attached by a little green monster. One with slimy tentacles and sharp orange teeth. Something from the dredges of a dark and dank lagoon.

But no. the monster was in another form. A soft spoken gift-bearing, manipulative, coercive man. Actually not even a man, more of a man/boy. But to me he was a monster, to be exact. The monster lived on the farm at the end of the road.

All children like “shinys”, as well you must know. And those that prey upon the innocent know exactly what to say and do to gain the trust of those that know any better.

Telling a child not to talk to strangers does not help. In most cases the victims know those who molest or abuse them.

Easy prey.

I forgive myself for being easy prey to the monster on that day.