Substance

I cannot find words to write
Disorientation in my mind
One side says yes and then says no.
I grasp for truth with substance

How can I believe me
How can I believe you
When the substance seems but vapor?
After so many lies it's hard for the heart to trust

But trust I must
Or else my heart will crater
My life's substance will dissipate.
For without trust, what else can I hold onto

june 11, 2007
judithpiper

June 2007. I had recently experienced triggering relationships/experiences with a certain group of people with whom I had initially turned to for help shortly after exiting The Way. Yet, within those relationships I found myself in the midst of events experiencing similar tactics I thought I had left behind in The Way. In addition to that turmoil, my personal spiritual beliefs were taking me in an unchartered direction; the truth I had clung to for so long had lost its certainty. I was confused, afraid, filled (again) with self-doubt and not sure who or what to trust.

2004- 2005. The year before I exited The Way in October, 2005, my heart was an vast, empty hole. To no avail, I continually tried to fill the void. I wanted to break the religious shackles, but was afraid. By exiting The Way I might divide my family; by deserting I'd fulfill a 3-strikes omen I had carried for decades; by exiting I'd be outside God's hedge of protection; by leaving I'd be alone. I didn't know who to trust. Would anybody be safe? Could I find help without succumbing again to manipulation, without succumbing to bitterness and victimization, without falling prey to some false doctrine, without harming my family? I was afraid and confused.

Trust is a huge issue after being involved in a high control group or relationship. One has so much doubt regarding his/her own internal direction. S/he looks to others for guidance; and when that trust is maligned, it can be devastating, confusing, lonely, gut-wrenching, scary. Perhaps black/white thinking plays into that mindset of trust.

Yet in the end, trust is vital; especially trust in oneself, which comes with time and practice. To trust doesn't mean what/who one trusts is perfect; but hopefully there can be forgiveness, openness, and accountability on all sides.

To trust in one's own heart. 'Tis a good thing!

Dis-connected

I feel disconnected
from my heart.
It's not the first time
nor the last, I'm sure.
People appear so confident
while I tremble in my shoes
where no one can see my toes.
But I'll keep walking
with a steady pretense
so as not to trip and let them know.



january 14, 2008
judithpiper

January, 2008. I embark upon a new year, new beliefs. I am letting go of 3 decades of believing that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God. It has been a gradual process that is slowly developing into a different outlook on life. To have "known" the absolutes and to then to know no longer, can be disconcerting. Yet, it can also mean freedom.

It is election year and many shout with confidence there opinions. I am not sure of mine, so I stay quiet but composed.

In the Fishbowl

In a fishbowl
I bump the glass
trying to swim
beyond the transparent barrier

To survive beyond
I need a new design
different equipment
from my gill-oxygenated carrier

My guppy eyes stare
wondering, pondering
How would it feel
to breathe that air

I shrug

Swimming back to my castle I play awhile
among the faux coral and seaweed
I ascend upon sprinkled kelp to feed
then settle again with a contented smile

...tap...tap...tap...

Back at the edge with my guppy-eyed stare

In a fishbowl
trying to swim beyond
the transparent barrier

march 12, 2007
judithpiper

*~*~

When in the thrall of a belief system and organization that proclaims the 'all-truth,' it can be difficult to see beyond that mindset. Upon leaving, it can still be difficult and one can be easy prey to fall back into what is known as 'black-white' thinking. Black-white thinking is similar to all-or-nothing thinking, in which one views others/circumstances/belief systems/institutions as 'all bad' or 'all good' and/or views oneself or one's group/belief as having the truth.

I wrote the above poem 17 months after exiting the organization I was involved with, The Way International. A few months after exiting The Way, I got involved with an online forum that was (mostly) anti-Way. The forum was helpful for me in reconnecting with folks after decades, in decompressing some of my experiences and thoughts, in learning to express myself, and in learning about different peoples' experiences who had been involved with the group. Yet, after about 10 months of being involved with that forum, I began to recognize similar tactics and mindsets that I had experienced in The Way.

I came to the realization that (for me) I had jumped from a frying pan (The Way) into a fire (the anti-Way forum). I came to see that the anti-cult movement can be just as cultish as a cult. I wanted out of the fish bowl; I wanted to understand thought-reform and to learn to recognize when I was falling prey to group-think. I became more serious about my study in that regard. I am by no means an "expert;" yet I am continually learning about social dynamics and how to better recognize and navigate my own vulnerabilities.

In fact, any organization with social dynamics is prone to some group-think. I'm not stating that as a fear, but rather simply how social groups are formed and function. A test (for me) is how much autonomy is one allowed to maintain while in the group. Autonomy can be quite difficult for folks who have been deeply indoctrinated and influenced.

I believe I am now out of the fish bowl; it is a continual process. I think I've made it as far as the ocean, which also has its boundaries. Yet those boundaries are far wider than a fishbowl, the coral and seaweed are real, and one has to learn how to feed oneself being interdependent with the abundance of ocean life. :-)

Quite evolutionary!!!

YAY!!!

Of Leaves, Squirrels, Dogs, and Dances

~gazing out my kitchen window~

~change of seasons landed~

~nature again makes her mark~

She didn't ask my permission

nor scatter her leaves orderly.

She allowed them to fall where they may;

with great purpose she allowed it.

~squirrel~

All that matters to him is the next nut

or the next squirrel to chase around the tree.

~dog~

All that matters to her is

the next meal,

the next intruder,

or the next two-legged creature

that comes along

to caress and talk with her.

The animals do not worry

or engage in much ado.

Aye, I do think the animals

in many ways are wiser than man.

What is their secret?

Simplicity and instinct.

~oh humankind!~

Why have we allowed so much complexity,

strife, unease?

Where have our instincts gone?

Who stole them?

Why did we allow it?

Perhaps if we jump off the Jones' wheel;

perhaps if we smile and touch again;

perhaps if we quiet ourselves

long enough to observe the animals,

even in the cities;

Perhaps we can again arrive at simplicity,

arrive at instinct,

arise each day

with thankfulness in our hearts

and a skip in our step...

Perhaps then life in all its richness

and oneness can be enjoyed

and we can bask in all the goodness

with which we are surrounded.

Will you join me?

Here, take my hand

and dance with me.

Show me your steps

and I'll show you mine.

Together we can make our lives,

our families, our world

A little better place.

december, 2004

carol welch

~*~

I stood at my kitchen window one winter day. I gazed into the unkept woods beyond the backyard, noticing how nature cares for itself. I longed for simplicity. I longed for people to live as one. I longed for the non-sterile life of the wild. I longed for relaxed standards from perfection. I longed to find me.

When I wrote this prose I was still involved with a high-control religious group which believed (and I imagine still does) that the true believers were those who believed as the group taught. To desire oneness with unbelievers was not of God and could result in becoming contaminated or possessed or influenced by the adversary (the devil and devil spirits).

I hid this poem in my journal until after I left the organization. After some of the toxicity was neutralized, I was brave enough to share the poem publicly. But even then I slightly trembled, for fear of being open to inclusiveness. How sad for the family of man to be so divided that to think of peace and tolerance among various beliefs is evil.

I'm glad to be mostly free from that school of thought; though it does try to creep in from time to time and whisper to me that I am wrong to desire harmony among humanity's many tribes. When it whispers I remind myself that I am o.k., that inclusiveness is a good thing; and to remember to dance together with those who wish to dance, to share, and to continue to reach for peace.

I also hope that mankind is the master of progress and that we do not allow progress to master our moments of life.

Shattered Pieces

I found myself startled
astonished
and stunned
as I awoke to the reality
of what lie surrounding me.
Shattered pieces of what I had fabricated,
What I thought was authentic and inerrantly stated.
With passing time and heart-wrenching agony
I endeavored to grasp the sobering truth
of this shattered vase,
each fragment noteworthy.

I asked my soul,
Where do I start
to pick up the pieces?
The answer came,
One at a time.
Some trash; others, keep 'em.

Deliberately with focus, I timidly began
God please guide my soul and my trembling grip,
allow me with courage to honor each slip.
Thank you for showing me all is not lost
that the next vase we sculpt is at a great cost,
that your fire will purify each pattern anew
a vessel wrought tenderly
restoring me, embracing you.

august, 2006

I awoke one morning with an image in my mind. I stood in a kitchen, bewildered. I looked around on the floor; it was covered with fragments of a shattered blue vase. The fragments were the residue of what had been my substance, my belief system, my identity.

I felt that everything I thought and believed to be true had shattered.

In reality, not everything had been shattered; yet the core of what I had allowed to become me, the foundation of my substance was fractured, obliterated into 1000's of fragments. How could I ever organize the scramble and make sense of the loss?

Thus this poem was born. I posted it on an online forum and someone pointed out that the shape of the poem looked like a vase. Ha! I hadn't noticed.

It is now 2008, a little over two years after the penning of this piece. I still feel shattered. Cleaning up a blasted foundation with its demolished edifice structure takes a lot of time. There are pains to be honored and treasures to be crowned.

Lately I've thought about the vase. Had my belief/identity structure been a pillow, it wouldn't have shattered with the fall. Vases are rigid; pillows are pliable. An analogy can only be taken so far. As humans, we need both vases and pillows.