I read people's stories, of their childhood. Their stories involve their families. My childhood stories don't...at least not on the surface. It bothers me at times, this lack of family memories.
Maybe I just have a shoddy memory. Sparse.
I was my own person, even as a child. I rarely, at least to my recollection, asked permission to do things. I just did them.
When I was around 6 years old, I made myself a chore chart and posted it on the outside of the painted off-white bathroom door on the back porch. The "back porch" was the den, not a porch. It was a porch before the porch got torn down and my parents had a real room built in place of the porch. I remember when the old screened-in porch got demolished, there was a door that went from the kitchen to where the porch used to be. If someone would have walked out the door then, before the new real room was built, they'd fall from the second story and hit the ground. I wonder if there was some sort of caution tape put up to keep us from walking, by habit, through that door?
But I don't recall any tape; I just recall how cool it was that I could open the door and have the air as a floor.
I wanted to have responsibility like my friends had. That's why I designed the chore chart. My friends had chore charts, with checks and stars and stickers, all given for completed chores. I don't remember what chores I listed on my chart. I tried to give myself checks when I completed a chore. Probably didn't last but a couple weeks.
Looking back, maybe I just wanted to be noticed. To think that I was somebody. That I was here.
I used to have temper tantrums too. Once I demolished my red plastic gum machine that distirbuted the little square Chiclet gum that came in a two-pack.
I spent lots of time with horses, up until I was 12. They were some of my best friends, horses were.
I then traded horses for boys.
There were lots of kids in our neighborhood...lots of kids. At that time in middle-class American culture, neighbors used to play together. We spent a lot of time outside.
There weren't all the time-consuming organized sports and activities like we have now.
There were sand lot games..rolly bat, football, tag, Sardines, Werewolf, Hide and Seek, Croquette. There were horses, bicycles, minibikes. And sleds in the winter. There was the miniature putt-putt course that some of the guys built in the woods across the street where houses are now.
I broke my arm when I was around 10 years old in some of the woods that were across the street, below the putt-putt course. I was breaking in Mary Jane, a horse. She was the size of a Welsh pony, multicolored white with black and brown spots. She got spooked that day, I think by a mini-bike, and she took off in a wild uncontrolled panicked gallop. I started screaming, instead of staying calm. Mary Jane didn't like my screams; she ran faster and harder through the woods.
I woke up on the ground at the base of a tree. My face scratched and bleeding from briers. My right arm numb.
I began to scream, "My arm's dead! My arm's dead!"
Mr. Yount, our neighbor who I had a crush on, who used to give me rides on his motorcycle, came to my aid. I don't know who took me to the hospital. It seems like they first let Dr. Lafferty, our neighbor who was a family doctor, examine me. Or maybe I'm thinking of the time I got bit by Georgia Girl, another horse. Seems she was a quarter horse of some sort.
I don't think Dr. Lafferty charged the neighbors to check out the neighborhood kid injuries. He was a kind man, something out of a Normal Rockwell painting.
We were neighbors.
September 30, 2011
September 28, 2011
Look at what is
As I was descending the mountain yesterday, I had a mix of emotions.
I was savoring the feeling I often experience on one-day excursions into the wilderness.
Magic. Eternity's touch. Wind. Ocean of mountains. Stillness. The wild.
Cares of life that await once off the mountain. Longing for simplicity. Fear of not living up to cultural standards. Fear of ignorance of politics. Lack of confidence in my own ability to communicate. Fear of others' appraisals of me.
I home-eclectic-un(in that order)-schooled my children from birth through high school. Like any other field of life, there are people who paved the way. There are experts, so to speak. There are a slew of magazines, books, conferences on the 'right' way to raise a child, on the 'right' way to school or unschool a child. Opinions abound. Experiences abound. Studies? Not so sure if they abound, but there are studies on child rearing and schooling.
Opinions can make me nervous. I feel sure my own self-doubt plays into that nervousness. I often have to calm my mind and heart and tell myself, "Carol, just look at what is. Now what do you think? What do you feel? What is your assessment? If you didn't have the experts' opinions and opinions of those so adamantly confident running through your head, what would your thoughts be...independent of their thoughts? Look at what is."
I used to go through that 'exercise' with homeschooling and educational and child-rearing approaches and opinions. I'd have to go back to my heart, focus there, and see what I thought and what resonated with me. From there, I did my best to choose a course of action at that given time.
Isn't that the best any of us can do?
Advice, opinions, suggestions, judgement of others. I'm sure most people mean well; but when these people assume to know others (especially from cursory knowledge of the other) and spout their unsolicited advices, it can turn me off...or at least cause me to want to avoid such persons.
And it reveals, that maybe the adviser has a narrow viewpoint of life? Hasn't put themselves in the other person's shoes?
The unsolicited adviser might better serve the other by asking questions, instead of ass-you-ming the other wants their advice, or even that their advice applies.
It is madness at times...all these well-meaners with their oh-so-sage wisdom, without ever having walked in the other person's shoes.
On the 9-mile-probably-most-rugged-hike-I've-ever-hiked yesterday, my 21-year old son and I talked of life, of mountains, of music, of family, of culture, of beliefs, of education, of choices. It is a day I will always treasure.
***********************
My son descends the ladder into the "subway."
~Grandfather Trail, NC
I was savoring the feeling I often experience on one-day excursions into the wilderness.
Magic. Eternity's touch. Wind. Ocean of mountains. Stillness. The wild.
Cares of life that await once off the mountain. Longing for simplicity. Fear of not living up to cultural standards. Fear of ignorance of politics. Lack of confidence in my own ability to communicate. Fear of others' appraisals of me.
I home-eclectic-un(in that order)-schooled my children from birth through high school. Like any other field of life, there are people who paved the way. There are experts, so to speak. There are a slew of magazines, books, conferences on the 'right' way to raise a child, on the 'right' way to school or unschool a child. Opinions abound. Experiences abound. Studies? Not so sure if they abound, but there are studies on child rearing and schooling.
Opinions can make me nervous. I feel sure my own self-doubt plays into that nervousness. I often have to calm my mind and heart and tell myself, "Carol, just look at what is. Now what do you think? What do you feel? What is your assessment? If you didn't have the experts' opinions and opinions of those so adamantly confident running through your head, what would your thoughts be...independent of their thoughts? Look at what is."
I used to go through that 'exercise' with homeschooling and educational and child-rearing approaches and opinions. I'd have to go back to my heart, focus there, and see what I thought and what resonated with me. From there, I did my best to choose a course of action at that given time.
Isn't that the best any of us can do?
Advice, opinions, suggestions, judgement of others. I'm sure most people mean well; but when these people assume to know others (especially from cursory knowledge of the other) and spout their unsolicited advices, it can turn me off...or at least cause me to want to avoid such persons.
And it reveals, that maybe the adviser has a narrow viewpoint of life? Hasn't put themselves in the other person's shoes?
The unsolicited adviser might better serve the other by asking questions, instead of ass-you-ming the other wants their advice, or even that their advice applies.
It is madness at times...all these well-meaners with their oh-so-sage wisdom, without ever having walked in the other person's shoes.
On the 9-mile-probably-most-rugged-hike-I've-ever-hiked yesterday, my 21-year old son and I talked of life, of mountains, of music, of family, of culture, of beliefs, of education, of choices. It is a day I will always treasure.
***********************
My son descends the ladder into the "subway."
~Grandfather Trail, NC
September 23, 2011
On my walks today
On my walks today, I cross examined myself.
I asked questions in regard to my motives.
I asked questions in regard to compassion.
I asked questions in regard to my behavior.
On my walks today, I recalled Fred Poole stating something like, "Write what scares you. Write what shames you." I think he heard that from one of the McCourt brothers.
What shames me the most in my life?
It's not the short-lived, long-distance phone and online affair I had when my husband and I were on the brink of divorce. It's not the abortion I chose when I was 19 years old. It's not the hiding-my-head-in-the-sand my last years in The Way, trying to be true to myself and true to the Ministry. It's not my past life involving drugs and sex as a teenager. It's not even the recent events that have played out online in regard to my ex-therapist, though I do feel at times that he has branded me with a scarlet letter by accusations of which I am not guilty but that I apparently brought on myself by publishing some of what I've written in private the past year, an exposure really more of me than of him. There is much I haven't exposed regarding him.
No, it's none of those things. At least for today.
What is the thing that shames me most? It is still, as has been for decades, that I broke my Way Corps commitment in my early 20s. I not only broke it once, but twice.
Write what shames me. Write what scares me.
What scares me? My thoughts sometimes scare me, my memories and me wondering which are accurate and which aren't and if I write what I remember am I really being honest. What if that car is a 2001 model and not a 1999 model?
I'm sure other things scare me and shame me.
On my walks today, that is what came to mind. That and speaking in tongues.
______________________
I asked questions in regard to my motives.
I asked questions in regard to compassion.
I asked questions in regard to my behavior.
On my walks today, I recalled Fred Poole stating something like, "Write what scares you. Write what shames you." I think he heard that from one of the McCourt brothers.
What shames me the most in my life?
It's not the short-lived, long-distance phone and online affair I had when my husband and I were on the brink of divorce. It's not the abortion I chose when I was 19 years old. It's not the hiding-my-head-in-the-sand my last years in The Way, trying to be true to myself and true to the Ministry. It's not my past life involving drugs and sex as a teenager. It's not even the recent events that have played out online in regard to my ex-therapist, though I do feel at times that he has branded me with a scarlet letter by accusations of which I am not guilty but that I apparently brought on myself by publishing some of what I've written in private the past year, an exposure really more of me than of him. There is much I haven't exposed regarding him.
No, it's none of those things. At least for today.
What is the thing that shames me most? It is still, as has been for decades, that I broke my Way Corps commitment in my early 20s. I not only broke it once, but twice.
Write what shames me. Write what scares me.
What scares me? My thoughts sometimes scare me, my memories and me wondering which are accurate and which aren't and if I write what I remember am I really being honest. What if that car is a 2001 model and not a 1999 model?
I'm sure other things scare me and shame me.
On my walks today, that is what came to mind. That and speaking in tongues.
______________________
Damascus Highway
Where to go with the keyboard this Friday in September, 2011.
The weather is rainy out today. It will make for a soaking day in which to walk dogs.
__________________________
May, 2010.
My son and I were finishing up 30 miles of backpacking along the Appalachian Trail. We had started in Grayson Highlands, Virginia, and were now at Damascus, Virginia.
It was my first trip backpacking in almost 30 years and Son had agreed to be my mentor, to teach me the ropes of hiking with all I need on my back. How to hang a food bag to keep the bears from stealing my supply. How to set up my tent. How to get water. How to rest while standing. How to lift my then much-too-heavy 48-pound pack on and off my 51-year old back. Then there was the trail lingo. "Yellow blazing." "Pink blazing." "Slack packing."
My goal was around 120 miles. The last 90 miles I'd hike solo, without my son.
I'd rest for a day in Damascus, finding a place to stay overnight. I'd take a "0 day," which meant I'd hike 0 miles.
My feet were killing me as I slowly made my way out of the woods down the wooden stairway toward the paved walkway that paralled the two-lane highway. Son had already descended. He took a snapshot of me hobbling down the stairs.
We'd started at Grayson on Monday afternoon. It was now Thursday afternoon.
I stepped onto the pavement.
"Come one Mom. Dance a jig." My 20-year old son was spry and lively as he sang, "if you're happy and you know it stomp your feet..come on Mom!"
I sneered at him.
"I'm walking to that driveway up there and I am stopping." The driveway was an entrance to a barbeque restaurant.
Son tried to talk me into walking with him to get the car.
"No way. I ain't walking past that driveway. I can barely walk now." My gait was slow, my steps tender and calculated.
He chuckled.
My son had been my hero the past few days carrying my pack for me after he'd drop his at the top of a mountain and run back to where I was, seeing as I stayed at least a mile behind him most of the time. He literally lifted me up a couple times; once when I fell backwards in the rain on the trail and landed right smack on my butt and like a turtle with a shell on my back, I couldn't get up. Another time we had to climb a ledge and I got stuck sitting on the flat table-top rock ledge; he put his arms under my smelly armpits and hoisted me to my feet.
Once to the driveway some 400 yards away, I unloaded my pack and plopped down on the green, lush grass.
"I'll be back in a few to pick you up." And away hiked my son to fetch his white '99 Toyota Corolla which was parked a mile or so further in a parking lot for backpackers in the small town of Damascus.
I untied my loosely-tied hiking shoes. My feet were swollen enough that I didn't need the shoe laces tight. I pulled off the shoes and then my stinky socks.
The grass felt good on my feet. Fresh. Cool. There isn't much grass on the trail.
I stretched out my body on the green manicured, but not overly so, lawn carpet.
The sun in the clear blue May late afternoon sky bathed my body. I absorbed the rays. There isn't much sun on the trail.
I listened to the sound of cars passing by.
___________________________
The weather is rainy out today. It will make for a soaking day in which to walk dogs.
__________________________
May, 2010.
My son and I were finishing up 30 miles of backpacking along the Appalachian Trail. We had started in Grayson Highlands, Virginia, and were now at Damascus, Virginia.
It was my first trip backpacking in almost 30 years and Son had agreed to be my mentor, to teach me the ropes of hiking with all I need on my back. How to hang a food bag to keep the bears from stealing my supply. How to set up my tent. How to get water. How to rest while standing. How to lift my then much-too-heavy 48-pound pack on and off my 51-year old back. Then there was the trail lingo. "Yellow blazing." "Pink blazing." "Slack packing."
My goal was around 120 miles. The last 90 miles I'd hike solo, without my son.
I'd rest for a day in Damascus, finding a place to stay overnight. I'd take a "0 day," which meant I'd hike 0 miles.
My feet were killing me as I slowly made my way out of the woods down the wooden stairway toward the paved walkway that paralled the two-lane highway. Son had already descended. He took a snapshot of me hobbling down the stairs.
We'd started at Grayson on Monday afternoon. It was now Thursday afternoon.
I stepped onto the pavement.
"Come one Mom. Dance a jig." My 20-year old son was spry and lively as he sang, "if you're happy and you know it stomp your feet..come on Mom!"
I sneered at him.
"I'm walking to that driveway up there and I am stopping." The driveway was an entrance to a barbeque restaurant.
Son tried to talk me into walking with him to get the car.
"No way. I ain't walking past that driveway. I can barely walk now." My gait was slow, my steps tender and calculated.
He chuckled.
My son had been my hero the past few days carrying my pack for me after he'd drop his at the top of a mountain and run back to where I was, seeing as I stayed at least a mile behind him most of the time. He literally lifted me up a couple times; once when I fell backwards in the rain on the trail and landed right smack on my butt and like a turtle with a shell on my back, I couldn't get up. Another time we had to climb a ledge and I got stuck sitting on the flat table-top rock ledge; he put his arms under my smelly armpits and hoisted me to my feet.
Once to the driveway some 400 yards away, I unloaded my pack and plopped down on the green, lush grass.
"I'll be back in a few to pick you up." And away hiked my son to fetch his white '99 Toyota Corolla which was parked a mile or so further in a parking lot for backpackers in the small town of Damascus.
I untied my loosely-tied hiking shoes. My feet were swollen enough that I didn't need the shoe laces tight. I pulled off the shoes and then my stinky socks.
The grass felt good on my feet. Fresh. Cool. There isn't much grass on the trail.
I stretched out my body on the green manicured, but not overly so, lawn carpet.
The sun in the clear blue May late afternoon sky bathed my body. I absorbed the rays. There isn't much sun on the trail.
I listened to the sound of cars passing by.
___________________________
September 22, 2011
journal entry ~ september 22, 2011: shoulds, whys, so whats
9/22/11
journal entry
Is it worse on the internet when someone lies about another anonymously or when someone lies about another non-anonymously? If a person lies and uses their real name when lying, that's brazen. But I can't say which is "worse." At least the victim knows who the perpetrator is when the perp uses his/her real name. If needed, the victim can take action (hopefully choosing a civil and/or legal way) regarding the perpetrator.
Do people that fabricate lies on the internet do the same in 3-D life? It seems at some point the facade would eventually catch up with them and bleed over into 3-D life.
How much compassion should I have for the person who lies? Say, they have a mental health disorder that, in certain situations, exasperates moods and the person acts out...even fabricates in a psychotic state. It doesn't matter; the person is still accountable for their actions and words. As am I. As are we all. Mental health issues may be part of the reason for someone to lie, but it gives no one a free pass.
Since John Knapp fabricated a story (with dialog) in which I propostioned him for sex (not to mention other lies and twists) and to which in response I stood up for myself by speaking up...I've noticed the responses of people toward me.
Most ignore the situation. Some have totally ignored me, or at least it feels that way, but perhaps that is my perception.
Some advise or suggest to get on with other things in my life and not give Knapp one more iota of my thought time.
Some have suggested, "Sue his ass!"
Some seem to suggest that by writing about the situation or by using John Knapp's name when I write, that I am giving Knapp some sort of power.
Some seem to suggest that it's not a big deal. In comparison to deception that results in murder, rape, and a total brandishing of a person...it's not that big of deal. I hope I'm never faced with those circumstances; but none of us are immune.
People need to understand that Knapp was my mental health therapist. A bond and intimacy (and I'm not talking sexual intimacy) develops in such a relationship. Knapp knows almost all my secrets and vulnerabilities. I say almost all because I don't even know if I know them all. He turned those around and used them against me, before and after I went public. Over the past year, I learned that I'm not the only one this (verbal assault and twisting of facts) has happened with.
As I was editing a memoir piece last night, a piece that came off my keyboard as I thought about autumn/fall...it was impressed on me that for at least 28 years I trusted some of the most intimate parts of my soul with people in authority (supposed ministers in the "body of Christ") who I later learned were manipulators and liars.
I trusted them. I trusted them.
It was beyond belief for me to learn that these people I trusted lied, manipulated, used, and trashed the people in their care. For the most part, that had not been my experience with them. How could I believe they were not who I thought they were?
They abused their positions of power and covered it with deceit. Did they have mental health challenges? Probably. But they are still accountable. As are we all.
So how should I feel in regard to the recent outlandish, deceptive, unbelievable (even to me) words and actions of my ex-therapist, John Knapp? How should I respond?
The answers to those questions are solely up to me. No one, except me, knows all the details and backlog surrounding this three-year scenario. There are three(?) others that know much of the detail and backlog, but none know all...except me. And it is me that has to live with me the rest of my days. The same as every other person who walks this planet.
journal entry
Is it worse on the internet when someone lies about another anonymously or when someone lies about another non-anonymously? If a person lies and uses their real name when lying, that's brazen. But I can't say which is "worse." At least the victim knows who the perpetrator is when the perp uses his/her real name. If needed, the victim can take action (hopefully choosing a civil and/or legal way) regarding the perpetrator.
Do people that fabricate lies on the internet do the same in 3-D life? It seems at some point the facade would eventually catch up with them and bleed over into 3-D life.
How much compassion should I have for the person who lies? Say, they have a mental health disorder that, in certain situations, exasperates moods and the person acts out...even fabricates in a psychotic state. It doesn't matter; the person is still accountable for their actions and words. As am I. As are we all. Mental health issues may be part of the reason for someone to lie, but it gives no one a free pass.
Since John Knapp fabricated a story (with dialog) in which I propostioned him for sex (not to mention other lies and twists) and to which in response I stood up for myself by speaking up...I've noticed the responses of people toward me.
Most ignore the situation. Some have totally ignored me, or at least it feels that way, but perhaps that is my perception.
Some advise or suggest to get on with other things in my life and not give Knapp one more iota of my thought time.
Some have suggested, "Sue his ass!"
Some seem to suggest that by writing about the situation or by using John Knapp's name when I write, that I am giving Knapp some sort of power.
Some seem to suggest that it's not a big deal. In comparison to deception that results in murder, rape, and a total brandishing of a person...it's not that big of deal. I hope I'm never faced with those circumstances; but none of us are immune.
People need to understand that Knapp was my mental health therapist. A bond and intimacy (and I'm not talking sexual intimacy) develops in such a relationship. Knapp knows almost all my secrets and vulnerabilities. I say almost all because I don't even know if I know them all. He turned those around and used them against me, before and after I went public. Over the past year, I learned that I'm not the only one this (verbal assault and twisting of facts) has happened with.
As I was editing a memoir piece last night, a piece that came off my keyboard as I thought about autumn/fall...it was impressed on me that for at least 28 years I trusted some of the most intimate parts of my soul with people in authority (supposed ministers in the "body of Christ") who I later learned were manipulators and liars.
I trusted them. I trusted them.
It was beyond belief for me to learn that these people I trusted lied, manipulated, used, and trashed the people in their care. For the most part, that had not been my experience with them. How could I believe they were not who I thought they were?
They abused their positions of power and covered it with deceit. Did they have mental health challenges? Probably. But they are still accountable. As are we all.
So how should I feel in regard to the recent outlandish, deceptive, unbelievable (even to me) words and actions of my ex-therapist, John Knapp? How should I respond?
The answers to those questions are solely up to me. No one, except me, knows all the details and backlog surrounding this three-year scenario. There are three(?) others that know much of the detail and backlog, but none know all...except me. And it is me that has to live with me the rest of my days. The same as every other person who walks this planet.
September 21, 2011
Temptation in the Garden
aww ~ 9/21/11
non-subject: that lie
___________________________________
Today is the first day of autumn, or fall - whichever one prefers to call it.
The "Fall." I think of Adam and Eve in the Garden, in Paradise. I was taught and believed for decades that Eve believed a lie given to her by the beautiful being that the Bible calls the serpent.
What was that lie? That if she ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil that she would be like God, knowing good and evil.
Who could resist that? Certainly not me. I don't blame her for checking that one out.
But the actual Fall of mankind that brought death to the earth? Adam was to blame for that. He could have resisted Eve's tempting offer.
But again, who could resist such a thing? Humans are fascinated with evil. If not fascinated, at least intrigued.
The Way taught that technically the original sin was "high treason." Adam had dominion over all the earth; but then in one fell swoop, he delivered that power to the serpent, the devil, the adversary, the father of lies.
What was the action that caused that transfer of power? What was it that Adam did that was so horrendous as to curse the land and sea and all life?
Doctor had taught that perhaps it was the act of masturbation; more specifically the motivation behind the act - Adam and Eve meeting their own sexual needs instead of meeting each other's needs. Doctor taught that the Hebrew words in the Genesis Garden of Eden story, that some of those words were sexual in nature. Desire. Fruit. And I don't recall what else at the moment.
Now, in February, 1996, Doctor was dead. He died in 1985...of cancer. Us believers in the Household didn't speak of his cancer. It was never announced what Doctor died from, at least that I recall. I asked leadership and they told me he died of cancer, something to do with his eyes. That's all I knew. I didn't ask anymore.
It didn't matter what Doctor died from; he had lived a full life standing for God and His Word. Doctor was our father in the Word; he had fed us that Word of life and taught us how to read it for ourselves and how the scripture interprets itself.
Now, in February, 1996, Rev. Martindale is the president of The Way. He became president in 1982. We could call ministers by their first names in more informal Household settings. I knew Rev. Martindale as Craig and as Rev. Martindale. He'd been the director of the Way Corps when I was in-residence. For me, Craig was a better teacher than Doctor. I loved Craig, like a student loves a teacher, like a disciple loves their trainer.
Now, in 1996, The Way is finally replacing its old class series that Doctor had taught back in the late 1960s. The Power For Abundant Living series was being replaced with The Way of Abundance and Power series. But Craig said it wasn't "replacing" the old; nothing could replace what Doctor had done. The new series built upon the old.
Now, in February, 1996, as I sit in the home in Morganton, North Carolina, I hear Rev. Martindale's take on the original sin as he expounds it over the T.V. screen from the video that plays The Way's new Foundational Class on The Way of Abundance and Power.
The adversary would like nothing better than to steal the Word from people. The first night our Class was supposed to start, western North Carolina was shut down in a snow storm. My dad had died that same day. The opening session for the Class was postponed. The adversary is always trying to steal the Word by controlling the weather or circumstances. He is the god of this world and we have to always be vigilant to not let him get a foothold through any crack in our hedge of believing.
I don't recall in which session Craig expounded about the original sin. Maybe it was session 3?
Using the scriptures with translations of Hebrew words, Craig unfolds Genesis, Chapter Three. From what Craig could work from the Word, the act that led to high treason wasn't masturbation; it was homosexuality. Eve had a lesbian relationship with the devil who had taken the form of a beautiful woman. Adam partook by condoning the two lovers, watched and getting off on the performance.
Rev. Martindale displays a copy of Micheal Angelo's "Temptation and Fall" painting from the Sistene Chapel. There it is, in full color. The serpent in the form of a woman handing Eve the fruit. Surely this had been a teaching in the past that had gotten muddled through the millennia - a hidden treasure.
Craig didn't teach it as absolute, or maybe my ears didn't hear it as absolute. Craig preached though that it was there; it was in the Word - this lesbian affair between the serpent and Eve. If we didn't see it right away, just keep working the Word and we would see it.
But, I had my doubts. I didn't mention my doubts. I'd just keep the teaching on the back burner and keep working the Word, like Craig said.
Some nine years later, in 2004 and 2005, I learn that in 1996 Craig was having sex with multiple women other than his wife - multiple times, and had been doing so since at least a decade before. Supposedly his then wife knew and supposedly condoned such. Some nine years later, in 2004 and 2005, I learn that this sex beyond marriage had been an inner teaching among top leaders, among those who could handle it on a spiritual level. And that Doctor too had taught it and lived it.
I wonder how that inner circle of The Way would have fared with the temptations in the Garden?
___________________________________
non-subject: that lie
___________________________________
Today is the first day of autumn, or fall - whichever one prefers to call it.
The "Fall." I think of Adam and Eve in the Garden, in Paradise. I was taught and believed for decades that Eve believed a lie given to her by the beautiful being that the Bible calls the serpent.
What was that lie? That if she ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil that she would be like God, knowing good and evil.
Who could resist that? Certainly not me. I don't blame her for checking that one out.
But the actual Fall of mankind that brought death to the earth? Adam was to blame for that. He could have resisted Eve's tempting offer.
But again, who could resist such a thing? Humans are fascinated with evil. If not fascinated, at least intrigued.
The Way taught that technically the original sin was "high treason." Adam had dominion over all the earth; but then in one fell swoop, he delivered that power to the serpent, the devil, the adversary, the father of lies.
What was the action that caused that transfer of power? What was it that Adam did that was so horrendous as to curse the land and sea and all life?
Doctor had taught that perhaps it was the act of masturbation; more specifically the motivation behind the act - Adam and Eve meeting their own sexual needs instead of meeting each other's needs. Doctor taught that the Hebrew words in the Genesis Garden of Eden story, that some of those words were sexual in nature. Desire. Fruit. And I don't recall what else at the moment.
Now, in February, 1996, Doctor was dead. He died in 1985...of cancer. Us believers in the Household didn't speak of his cancer. It was never announced what Doctor died from, at least that I recall. I asked leadership and they told me he died of cancer, something to do with his eyes. That's all I knew. I didn't ask anymore.
It didn't matter what Doctor died from; he had lived a full life standing for God and His Word. Doctor was our father in the Word; he had fed us that Word of life and taught us how to read it for ourselves and how the scripture interprets itself.
Now, in February, 1996, Rev. Martindale is the president of The Way. He became president in 1982. We could call ministers by their first names in more informal Household settings. I knew Rev. Martindale as Craig and as Rev. Martindale. He'd been the director of the Way Corps when I was in-residence. For me, Craig was a better teacher than Doctor. I loved Craig, like a student loves a teacher, like a disciple loves their trainer.
Now, in 1996, The Way is finally replacing its old class series that Doctor had taught back in the late 1960s. The Power For Abundant Living series was being replaced with The Way of Abundance and Power series. But Craig said it wasn't "replacing" the old; nothing could replace what Doctor had done. The new series built upon the old.
Now, in February, 1996, as I sit in the home in Morganton, North Carolina, I hear Rev. Martindale's take on the original sin as he expounds it over the T.V. screen from the video that plays The Way's new Foundational Class on The Way of Abundance and Power.
The adversary would like nothing better than to steal the Word from people. The first night our Class was supposed to start, western North Carolina was shut down in a snow storm. My dad had died that same day. The opening session for the Class was postponed. The adversary is always trying to steal the Word by controlling the weather or circumstances. He is the god of this world and we have to always be vigilant to not let him get a foothold through any crack in our hedge of believing.
I don't recall in which session Craig expounded about the original sin. Maybe it was session 3?
Using the scriptures with translations of Hebrew words, Craig unfolds Genesis, Chapter Three. From what Craig could work from the Word, the act that led to high treason wasn't masturbation; it was homosexuality. Eve had a lesbian relationship with the devil who had taken the form of a beautiful woman. Adam partook by condoning the two lovers, watched and getting off on the performance.
Rev. Martindale displays a copy of Micheal Angelo's "Temptation and Fall" painting from the Sistene Chapel. There it is, in full color. The serpent in the form of a woman handing Eve the fruit. Surely this had been a teaching in the past that had gotten muddled through the millennia - a hidden treasure.
Craig didn't teach it as absolute, or maybe my ears didn't hear it as absolute. Craig preached though that it was there; it was in the Word - this lesbian affair between the serpent and Eve. If we didn't see it right away, just keep working the Word and we would see it.
But, I had my doubts. I didn't mention my doubts. I'd just keep the teaching on the back burner and keep working the Word, like Craig said.
Some nine years later, in 2004 and 2005, I learn that in 1996 Craig was having sex with multiple women other than his wife - multiple times, and had been doing so since at least a decade before. Supposedly his then wife knew and supposedly condoned such. Some nine years later, in 2004 and 2005, I learn that this sex beyond marriage had been an inner teaching among top leaders, among those who could handle it on a spiritual level. And that Doctor too had taught it and lived it.
I wonder how that inner circle of The Way would have fared with the temptations in the Garden?
___________________________________
September 19, 2011
Thoughts on a Monday morning: psychopaths, mania, lies, & dominance
What to write. What to write.
I've been reading the past day about bipolar, psychopathy/sociopathy, and lies. I'm curious as to how manic episodes in bipolar mirrors that of psychopathic traits. I'm not an expert in either. Just a lay person interested in the subject, especially in light of recent events in my personal life. (The terms sociopath and psychopath seemed to be used interchangeably.)
[ I don't think people diagnosed with bipolar disorder are psychopaths. Plus, there are various types of bipolar disorder. Nor do I believe that people with bipolar disorder typically "lie," at least anymore than the average Joe. (Then one can get into defining what exactly a "lie" is.) ]
One of the articles I ran across lists similarities in bipolar manic phase with that of sociopathy. The list of shared common features below is from the article ASK Dr. LEEDOM: What is the difference between bipolar disorder and sociopathy?
A list of traits/behaviors common to mania and sociopathy
The list doesn't mention 'lying' though, but it does mention "schemes" and "grandiosity." Is it typical for people to tell lies when manic? Hmmm...
With grandiosity a person may believe themselves to be and even proclaim to be indestructible or have a special connection with the universe or something, none of which are factually true. But to the manic sufferer, they are true at that moment. It is a delusion. So, is it really a lie? I mean, if someone believes that what they are saying is true, to them it isn't a lie...even if there are no facts to back it up.
I decided to google "does a psychopath believe their own lies."
In my search I ran across a three-part series entitled Myth: Psychopaths are great liars.
Myth: Psychopaths are great liars. Part 1 – The lies of psychopaths
Myth: Psychopaths are great liars. Part 2 – The motives of psychopaths
Myth: Psychopaths are great liars. Part 3 – The nature of lying
A couple things I came away with after reading the 3-part series is that the psychopath's primary motive is to dominate, not deceive. And to accomplish dominance s/he will use the truth as well as lies. In doing such, even the truth becomes a lie...in a twisted, distorted way. Thus resulting in part of the crazy making that psychopaths' victims feel and think of themselves, until they begin to unravel the scramble.
So, how does that (motive to dominate) tie in with the manic phase of bipolar?
What comes to mind is a statement from Judge Sol Wachtler, who is now a mental health reform advocate and founder of the Law and Psychiatry Institute. His statement is quoted from Sol Wachtler: The trial of his life:
"I don’t blame my actions on my mental illness,” Wachtler says. “I blame my actions on the fact that I was too driven in my profession to seek help. As a result, I not only destroyed my career, but I hurt a lot of very innocent people.
“One of the reasons for my downfall was narcissism, the belief—and I guess my illness was contributing to this—that I could do anything, I could be anything. Now I realize that I’m filled with all the weakness that brings out all the doubts that beset everyone. I’m not nearly as good as I thought I was."
I think that describes a "dominance" mindset.
The second president of The Way, Craig Martindale, used to use the word "dominate" regularly. Along with "permeate" and "saturate."
I've been reading the past day about bipolar, psychopathy/sociopathy, and lies. I'm curious as to how manic episodes in bipolar mirrors that of psychopathic traits. I'm not an expert in either. Just a lay person interested in the subject, especially in light of recent events in my personal life. (The terms sociopath and psychopath seemed to be used interchangeably.)
[ I don't think people diagnosed with bipolar disorder are psychopaths. Plus, there are various types of bipolar disorder. Nor do I believe that people with bipolar disorder typically "lie," at least anymore than the average Joe. (Then one can get into defining what exactly a "lie" is.) ]
One of the articles I ran across lists similarities in bipolar manic phase with that of sociopathy. The list of shared common features below is from the article ASK Dr. LEEDOM: What is the difference between bipolar disorder and sociopathy?
A list of traits/behaviors common to mania and sociopathy
- Increased energy
- Grandiosity
- Talkativeness
- Hypersexuality
- Pursuit of schemes to make money, legally and illegally
- Strong power/dominance motive with or without aggression
- Poor impulse control
The list doesn't mention 'lying' though, but it does mention "schemes" and "grandiosity." Is it typical for people to tell lies when manic? Hmmm...
With grandiosity a person may believe themselves to be and even proclaim to be indestructible or have a special connection with the universe or something, none of which are factually true. But to the manic sufferer, they are true at that moment. It is a delusion. So, is it really a lie? I mean, if someone believes that what they are saying is true, to them it isn't a lie...even if there are no facts to back it up.
I decided to google "does a psychopath believe their own lies."
In my search I ran across a three-part series entitled Myth: Psychopaths are great liars.
Myth: Psychopaths are great liars. Part 1 – The lies of psychopaths
Myth: Psychopaths are great liars. Part 2 – The motives of psychopaths
Myth: Psychopaths are great liars. Part 3 – The nature of lying
A couple things I came away with after reading the 3-part series is that the psychopath's primary motive is to dominate, not deceive. And to accomplish dominance s/he will use the truth as well as lies. In doing such, even the truth becomes a lie...in a twisted, distorted way. Thus resulting in part of the crazy making that psychopaths' victims feel and think of themselves, until they begin to unravel the scramble.
So, how does that (motive to dominate) tie in with the manic phase of bipolar?
What comes to mind is a statement from Judge Sol Wachtler, who is now a mental health reform advocate and founder of the Law and Psychiatry Institute. His statement is quoted from Sol Wachtler: The trial of his life:
"I don’t blame my actions on my mental illness,” Wachtler says. “I blame my actions on the fact that I was too driven in my profession to seek help. As a result, I not only destroyed my career, but I hurt a lot of very innocent people.
“One of the reasons for my downfall was narcissism, the belief—and I guess my illness was contributing to this—that I could do anything, I could be anything. Now I realize that I’m filled with all the weakness that brings out all the doubts that beset everyone. I’m not nearly as good as I thought I was."
I think that describes a "dominance" mindset.
The second president of The Way, Craig Martindale, used to use the word "dominate" regularly. Along with "permeate" and "saturate."
September 15, 2011
Wind
I read a few memoir pieces tonight. Pieces written by others, not by me. I sometimes read and re-read what I have written.
Memoir pulls me, as does poetry. Tugs at a part of me that cannot be described with words. It's a similar pull as when I hear bagpipes, or the fiddle, or the wind as it tussles in along a mountainside.
I can hear the wind before it reaches me.
I like the wind.
Wind at night, across empty spaces, reminds me of a hitch-hiking trip I took while in The Way. My assigned hitch-hiking partner and I started out in Emporia, Kansas, and hitch hiked to Tinnie, New Mexico.
Hitch-hiking was a requirement in The Way Corps. This particular trip to Tinnie was at the end of November, 1982. All of us Way Corps hitching to Tinnie had an allotted amount of time to get to our destination. If we missed that time allotment, we had to turn around and hitch back to Kansas.
That was the rule, always.
On this trip, my partner and I got stuck in Amarillo, Texas. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Over ten hours stuck. Ten hours was a long time when we were on a deadline.
In the wee morning hours around 1:00 AM, the wind sounded lonely. From Interstate-40 I gazed across the flat plain to the south. It must have been a clear night, with moonlight. It was cold. I had on my down jacket. My breathing was heavy, a bit wheezy with asthma. I was fatigued. I could hear the echo of my breathing within the cowl of my hood.
I'm sure I must have lowered my hood off my head. It was my habit to do so. I liked the cold at intervals on my head and ears, kind of like the cold side of the pillow when I sleep or sticking one leg out of the covers.
There were few cars or trucks at 1:00 AM in late November on I-40 right outside Amarillo.
As I gazed across the plain to the south of the interstate, I saw tumbleweeds roll. The wind like an invisible giant index finger flicking the giant weed balls so they roll to some unknown destination.
I listened, the wind's call like that of the call of the wild.
Like bagpipes. They too are a wind instrument.
Breath is like wind...tiny little winds escaping my lungs and pulling in air again.
African drums too. They call me. Times I've played with others in drum circles. Our hands beating out traditional West African rhythms. Our hands which slice the air before the slap on the goat skin.
Air. Without it, there would be no wind.
Breath. Air. Wind.
Bagpipes. Drums. Memoir.
All tell a story. Stories that are carried across the winds.
My partner and I made it to Tinnie but missed our designated arrival time. We had to turn around and hitch back to Kansas.
______________________
Memoir pulls me, as does poetry. Tugs at a part of me that cannot be described with words. It's a similar pull as when I hear bagpipes, or the fiddle, or the wind as it tussles in along a mountainside.
I can hear the wind before it reaches me.
I like the wind.
Wind at night, across empty spaces, reminds me of a hitch-hiking trip I took while in The Way. My assigned hitch-hiking partner and I started out in Emporia, Kansas, and hitch hiked to Tinnie, New Mexico.
Hitch-hiking was a requirement in The Way Corps. This particular trip to Tinnie was at the end of November, 1982. All of us Way Corps hitching to Tinnie had an allotted amount of time to get to our destination. If we missed that time allotment, we had to turn around and hitch back to Kansas.
That was the rule, always.
On this trip, my partner and I got stuck in Amarillo, Texas. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Over ten hours stuck. Ten hours was a long time when we were on a deadline.
In the wee morning hours around 1:00 AM, the wind sounded lonely. From Interstate-40 I gazed across the flat plain to the south. It must have been a clear night, with moonlight. It was cold. I had on my down jacket. My breathing was heavy, a bit wheezy with asthma. I was fatigued. I could hear the echo of my breathing within the cowl of my hood.
I'm sure I must have lowered my hood off my head. It was my habit to do so. I liked the cold at intervals on my head and ears, kind of like the cold side of the pillow when I sleep or sticking one leg out of the covers.
There were few cars or trucks at 1:00 AM in late November on I-40 right outside Amarillo.
As I gazed across the plain to the south of the interstate, I saw tumbleweeds roll. The wind like an invisible giant index finger flicking the giant weed balls so they roll to some unknown destination.
I listened, the wind's call like that of the call of the wild.
Like bagpipes. They too are a wind instrument.
Breath is like wind...tiny little winds escaping my lungs and pulling in air again.
African drums too. They call me. Times I've played with others in drum circles. Our hands beating out traditional West African rhythms. Our hands which slice the air before the slap on the goat skin.
Air. Without it, there would be no wind.
Breath. Air. Wind.
Bagpipes. Drums. Memoir.
All tell a story. Stories that are carried across the winds.
My partner and I made it to Tinnie but missed our designated arrival time. We had to turn around and hitch back to Kansas.
______________________
Double Standards, Accountability, Blame Shifting: Abusers & Victims
Monica Pignotti, Ph.D, commented in response to one of my recent memoir-type blog entries. She addressed the questions that I posed to myself in the blog entry, questions of self-blame. I think others who choose to speak out regarding abuse of power may also pose and ponder the same questions.
I thought Monica's response comment too well-stated to sit in the comment section, so I have copied and pasted it below. (Monica's comment can be read in context here: Comments)
Monica's blog, Cyber Abuse Awareness, exposes tactics of cyber-bullying and ways to handle such.
_____________________________
Monica Pignotti, Ph.D, states (italics mine):
What would you say to an ex-cult member who was taking some kind of formal action against a cult leader and also was blogging about the experience or speaking out in some way? That happens quite often. I doubt anyone would have a problem with that, yet in the anti-cult community, there appears to be a double standard.
Whether the person in question is a cult leader, an anti-cult leader, a therapist or anyone else in a position of power that is being investigated for abusing that power, a classic tactic is for that person to blame the victim for speaking out by inducing guilt and shame and many other people, even educated, intelligent people, buy into that. That blaming is not only done on the part of the cult leader or person in question, often recently defected ex-members also buy into this and blame the whistleblower. I have seen this happen among ex-Scientologists where people recently out still see those who have gone public as doing something wrong.
Inducing fear and guilt, whether it is by the cult leader or former members still buying into part of it, is a classic tactic to silence the victims. Victims who speak out are constantly told they should just "let it go" and move on with their lives. While there is nothing wrong with moving on and people making the choice not to speak publicly about their experiences, when someone chooses to do so, I don't in any way think they are doing the same thing that the person in power has done to them. That's my opinion.
As to your question about how much one should speak up, I don't think there is any one answer to that question and I have a problem with other people imposing their "shoulds" on victims and survivors. When the issue is an abuse of power, speaking out publicly can be very empowering, which is why those in power work so hard to silence whistleblowers and take that power away. How much one should speak out is something for each person to decide for him or herself and not for others to judge. That is why it has always been my position to neither discourage nor encourage people who are survivors of this kind of abuse to speak out. Whatever the person decides, it seems that there will always be people around who will sit in judgement of them, when really the judgement and focus ought to be on the perpetrator who abused the power in the first place. That's my two cents, for what it's worth.
Comment posted 9/11/11 12:16 PM
[end comment]
_____________________________
Logically I know that ultimately any person of age (with reasonably sound mind and body) is responsible and accountable for their own actions. That said, there are influences that catalyze us humans to respond in certain ways. We do not abide in a bubble shielded from outside influence. We swim in it every day.
But still, in the end, we each have to answer for ourselves.
As I've said many times over: Us humans behave the way we do for reasons, sometimes unknown even to ourselves.
[Note: On the morning of August 25, 2011, my ex-therapist sent me a FB message. I discovered the message mid-morning on August 25 and responded before I headed out on a three-day backpacking trip. That was our first communication since his abrupt and harmful severing from August 2 and 3, 2010. My ex-therapist's aberrant public outbursts began late afternoon on Thursday, August 25, 2011.
Pertinent links for contexts and content regarding the outbursts are provided toward the bottom half of the page at this link: My statements addressing John M. Knapp's allegations & accusations.]
I thought Monica's response comment too well-stated to sit in the comment section, so I have copied and pasted it below. (Monica's comment can be read in context here: Comments)
Monica's blog, Cyber Abuse Awareness, exposes tactics of cyber-bullying and ways to handle such.
_____________________________
Monica Pignotti, Ph.D, states (italics mine):
What would you say to an ex-cult member who was taking some kind of formal action against a cult leader and also was blogging about the experience or speaking out in some way? That happens quite often. I doubt anyone would have a problem with that, yet in the anti-cult community, there appears to be a double standard.
Whether the person in question is a cult leader, an anti-cult leader, a therapist or anyone else in a position of power that is being investigated for abusing that power, a classic tactic is for that person to blame the victim for speaking out by inducing guilt and shame and many other people, even educated, intelligent people, buy into that. That blaming is not only done on the part of the cult leader or person in question, often recently defected ex-members also buy into this and blame the whistleblower. I have seen this happen among ex-Scientologists where people recently out still see those who have gone public as doing something wrong.
Inducing fear and guilt, whether it is by the cult leader or former members still buying into part of it, is a classic tactic to silence the victims. Victims who speak out are constantly told they should just "let it go" and move on with their lives. While there is nothing wrong with moving on and people making the choice not to speak publicly about their experiences, when someone chooses to do so, I don't in any way think they are doing the same thing that the person in power has done to them. That's my opinion.
As to your question about how much one should speak up, I don't think there is any one answer to that question and I have a problem with other people imposing their "shoulds" on victims and survivors. When the issue is an abuse of power, speaking out publicly can be very empowering, which is why those in power work so hard to silence whistleblowers and take that power away. How much one should speak out is something for each person to decide for him or herself and not for others to judge. That is why it has always been my position to neither discourage nor encourage people who are survivors of this kind of abuse to speak out. Whatever the person decides, it seems that there will always be people around who will sit in judgement of them, when really the judgement and focus ought to be on the perpetrator who abused the power in the first place. That's my two cents, for what it's worth.
Comment posted 9/11/11 12:16 PM
[end comment]
_____________________________
Logically I know that ultimately any person of age (with reasonably sound mind and body) is responsible and accountable for their own actions. That said, there are influences that catalyze us humans to respond in certain ways. We do not abide in a bubble shielded from outside influence. We swim in it every day.
But still, in the end, we each have to answer for ourselves.
As I've said many times over: Us humans behave the way we do for reasons, sometimes unknown even to ourselves.
[Note: On the morning of August 25, 2011, my ex-therapist sent me a FB message. I discovered the message mid-morning on August 25 and responded before I headed out on a three-day backpacking trip. That was our first communication since his abrupt and harmful severing from August 2 and 3, 2010. My ex-therapist's aberrant public outbursts began late afternoon on Thursday, August 25, 2011.
Pertinent links for contexts and content regarding the outbursts are provided toward the bottom half of the page at this link: My statements addressing John M. Knapp's allegations & accusations.]
September 13, 2011
Projections, threads, sundials
This morning I was reading some of the dialog for the first time on my ex-therapist's FB page, the dialog under the thread he started about me, describing me as being sadistic, terroristic, cyber-stalker, sex-propositioner, et al. (He is welcome to his opinions, but some things he states as fact are outright fabrications.) I have previously read a few snippets of the comments in the thread. I can only take it in small doses. Probably shouldn't even take any doses. But, at times when I'm feeling strong I can read a few words in some of the comments.
Elsewhere, someone recently brought up to me about what to do with my rage and anger. I'm not sure where they get the impression that I have much rage and anger. Perhaps they get it from reading what Knapp has written about me; ie: that I'm terroristic and sadistic and all those other labels alongside false allegations and accusations. Perhaps they've read a few of my pieces in which I mention or express rage and anger. But I think most of what I write is not laced with rage and anger...at least not to me.
Or maybe the person reads into what is written, or what they have heard. We all bring our projections with us and we each are responsible for managing our projections in given situations. To jump to conclusions based on our projections....well, we need to recognize that does happen and be open to considering other possibilities. (I think of something I've read in various cognitive exercises on 'mind reading'... like that a disturbed look on an audience member's face may have to do with some stomach issue and nothing to do with what is being said by the speaker.)
I've learned through the few years I've been on the internet that people don't read thoroughly. (I first posted on the internet in 2005, I think in December that year.) People come to conclusions based on cursory tidbits. Perhaps people have always been that way and the internet simply displays that trait in a more viewable manner.
And I get that we don't have time or energy to read all there is to read about situations/circumstances. We do the best we can with our accumulated life experiences and knowledge and then weigh various situations with what resources we are able to access and have energy to deal with. And some things just aren't important to us in our particular frame of life at a given time; other things are.
Some years back, I read in the book Margin by Richard Swenson, M.D., that "a single edition of the New York Times contains more information than a seventeenth-century Britisher would encounter in a lifetime." I don't know the accuracy of that statement, but I get the point. Information overload.
In the same book, Swenson gives a snippet history of the clock. As early as 200 BC, Plautus was cursing the sundial for hacking his day into pieces. The first mechanical clocks were introduced to the Western world in the 1200s. Minute and second hands came on board in the 1600s. And now we have nanoseconds and maybe beyond at this point.
I wonder what people would do if the internet crashed and the instant communication process went kapoof? We might have to go back to actually talking or writing a letter long hand.
**************************
“The gods confound the man who first found out How to distinguish hours! Confound him, too, Who in this place set up a sun-dial, To cut and hack my days so wretchedly Into small portions” ~Plautus
__________________________
Elsewhere, someone recently brought up to me about what to do with my rage and anger. I'm not sure where they get the impression that I have much rage and anger. Perhaps they get it from reading what Knapp has written about me; ie: that I'm terroristic and sadistic and all those other labels alongside false allegations and accusations. Perhaps they've read a few of my pieces in which I mention or express rage and anger. But I think most of what I write is not laced with rage and anger...at least not to me.
Or maybe the person reads into what is written, or what they have heard. We all bring our projections with us and we each are responsible for managing our projections in given situations. To jump to conclusions based on our projections....well, we need to recognize that does happen and be open to considering other possibilities. (I think of something I've read in various cognitive exercises on 'mind reading'... like that a disturbed look on an audience member's face may have to do with some stomach issue and nothing to do with what is being said by the speaker.)
I've learned through the few years I've been on the internet that people don't read thoroughly. (I first posted on the internet in 2005, I think in December that year.) People come to conclusions based on cursory tidbits. Perhaps people have always been that way and the internet simply displays that trait in a more viewable manner.
And I get that we don't have time or energy to read all there is to read about situations/circumstances. We do the best we can with our accumulated life experiences and knowledge and then weigh various situations with what resources we are able to access and have energy to deal with. And some things just aren't important to us in our particular frame of life at a given time; other things are.
Some years back, I read in the book Margin by Richard Swenson, M.D., that "a single edition of the New York Times contains more information than a seventeenth-century Britisher would encounter in a lifetime." I don't know the accuracy of that statement, but I get the point. Information overload.
In the same book, Swenson gives a snippet history of the clock. As early as 200 BC, Plautus was cursing the sundial for hacking his day into pieces. The first mechanical clocks were introduced to the Western world in the 1200s. Minute and second hands came on board in the 1600s. And now we have nanoseconds and maybe beyond at this point.
I wonder what people would do if the internet crashed and the instant communication process went kapoof? We might have to go back to actually talking or writing a letter long hand.
**************************
“The gods confound the man who first found out How to distinguish hours! Confound him, too, Who in this place set up a sun-dial, To cut and hack my days so wretchedly Into small portions” ~Plautus
__________________________
September 11, 2011
Post Hurricane Crystals
My friend and I stood outside the 1998 gray Ford Explorer in the parking lot of the Cracker Barrel restaurant. It was a pleasant September afternoon. North Carolina crystal blue sky, a week of so after Hurricane Irene had been on the North Carolina coast.
The weather is always crystal after a hurricane passes. Irene didn't get far enough inland to do her harm to our area. We only had some downpours and steady, but not heavy, winds.
"Did I create this?" I asked my friend. "This" being the recent drama that had played out on my ex-therapist's Facebook page. A public display of verbal assaults toward people who were a part of his non-profit's Staff and/or Board.
"Carol, would you feel bad if you had reported a child molester?"
"No. But I didn't just report Knapp; I went public with some of my story."
"Would you feel bad had you gone public with the name of a child molester?"
"No. But Knapp's not a child molester."
We both paused and looked at each other. Both deep in thought, at least I was searching my insides to try to grasp something. What I'm not sure. Perhaps a grounding for the continual self-doubt with which I struggle, wondering if I caused all this confusion, these outbursts from my ex-therapist, this dismantling of relationships.
"But he is a soul molester," I added. "He emotionally raped me, and some of that in public."
"Yes," my friend responded.
"But did I do the same with him by going forward with my story?"
Our conversation continued tonight, a few days later. This time at Panera instead of Cracker Barrel. I shared with him some of the relationships I'd heard about that were torn apart in the past and now in the present.
"I don't know if 'soul molester' is really the right description. Maybe 'relationship wrecker,'" I stated and then went quiet. "I don't know," followed the quiet as my heart sank and I shook my head, my eyes cast downward toward the ground.
The whole situation causes my heart to sink. It was all so avoidable, so very avoidable.
And I question, how much am I responsible for the wreckage?
Is it right to speak up? How much should one speak up? At some point should the truth not be spoken? When? How? Why?
I wonder if there will be any crystal blue sky in the clearing of the storm? I sure hope so.
***************************
The weather is always crystal after a hurricane passes. Irene didn't get far enough inland to do her harm to our area. We only had some downpours and steady, but not heavy, winds.
"Did I create this?" I asked my friend. "This" being the recent drama that had played out on my ex-therapist's Facebook page. A public display of verbal assaults toward people who were a part of his non-profit's Staff and/or Board.
"Carol, would you feel bad if you had reported a child molester?"
"No. But I didn't just report Knapp; I went public with some of my story."
"Would you feel bad had you gone public with the name of a child molester?"
"No. But Knapp's not a child molester."
We both paused and looked at each other. Both deep in thought, at least I was searching my insides to try to grasp something. What I'm not sure. Perhaps a grounding for the continual self-doubt with which I struggle, wondering if I caused all this confusion, these outbursts from my ex-therapist, this dismantling of relationships.
"But he is a soul molester," I added. "He emotionally raped me, and some of that in public."
"Yes," my friend responded.
"But did I do the same with him by going forward with my story?"
Our conversation continued tonight, a few days later. This time at Panera instead of Cracker Barrel. I shared with him some of the relationships I'd heard about that were torn apart in the past and now in the present.
"I don't know if 'soul molester' is really the right description. Maybe 'relationship wrecker,'" I stated and then went quiet. "I don't know," followed the quiet as my heart sank and I shook my head, my eyes cast downward toward the ground.
The whole situation causes my heart to sink. It was all so avoidable, so very avoidable.
And I question, how much am I responsible for the wreckage?
Is it right to speak up? How much should one speak up? At some point should the truth not be spoken? When? How? Why?
I wonder if there will be any crystal blue sky in the clearing of the storm? I sure hope so.
***************************
September 6, 2011
Tales and Tails of Rats and Igaunas
I want to write about something good, and something other than the recent drama that I've written about for the last week.
I search my mind for a "prompt." Ha.
What are some things traversing my mind?
My children in their formative years: their words, the baby squirrel we raised, field trips, fear of heights, hikes, snow, guinea pigs, the science center...
Ahh. The science center.
From 1997 through sometime in 2002, I worked at a science center which at the time was one of the largest in the southeastern United States. For at least four of those years I worked as an on-site Camp-In Director. Camp-Ins were a program at the time where up to 400 people would spend the night in the museum. Scout troops, school groups, church groups, other groups, families.
I'd pack a small overnight bag and my sleeping bag for a 20- to over 40-hour stint. Afterward, I'd often feel I'd been gone for 5 days to another place. In a sense I had.
I along with others abode in a giant museum, complete with heads of animals on the walls and a live rain forest, not to mention the marine area and touch pool and electric eels, and all the clicks and whirs of all sorts of science gadgets. It was always an adventure with rarely a dull moment...from checking everyone in on a Friday or Saturday late afternoon to checking them all out late morning the next day; sandwiched between were all the workshops, snacks, meals, lost-in-the-museum campers, sick kids and headaches, IMAX movies, sidewalk nightlife onlookers from the busy uptown Charlotte Trade Street wanting to come join the party as they observed through the large glass windows that took up almost the entire front museum walls.
The museum had some resident basketball rats. I can't recall their names now. During normal business hours, not the special Camp-In hours, the rats would be rolled out at certain times to perform their basketball agility.
Their basketball court was designed inside a large waterless aquarium. At each end of the structure was a small basketball goal. It seems the basketball was a ping pong ball.
Each rat would push the ball down the court. Then using their front paws would pick up the ball, stand on their hind legs... and DUNK! Bravo!! Two points! Then the rat would gobble up the treat given him by the attendee. The treat was pushed through a hole that was located near each basketball goal.
At night the rats were kept in a different aquarium in a storage room on the main level of the large museum.
The museum was large, still is. I got to know the place like the back of my hand. My favorite section in the museum was the rain forest where I sometimes worked as a presenter, handling Solomon Island skinks, hissing cock roaches, and a tarantula or two. A 5-foot long iguana lived in the trees in the rain forest section. I don't recall his name.
There were birds too, an assortment of tropical birds that made their home with the iguana, among the faux trees and cliff sides. They'd awaken me each morning of the Camp-Ins. I usually slept on a cot or sleeping pad right outside the enclosed glass area of the top of the rain forest area on the main level of the museum.
The rats. One night my daughter and I went into the storage room to get supplies for the Camp-In. My daughter was in her teens and volunteered as a Sci-teen helping out during Camp-Ins, everthing from set-up to assisting presenters in work shops. There was lots of set-up to be done. The staff was a skeleton crew so we were always busy clocking off miles of walking and trotting about the four huge levels of the giant building.
My daughter and I entered the storage room. The rats were not in their aquarium.
"Dang it. We don't have time for this. But we gotta catch the rats so they don't get into the museum where all the people are."
That'd be disastrous. Especially if the rats decided to visit folks while they lay asleep on the hard floors that night. We had enough problem with regular cock roaches freaking people out. I could only imagine a rat. I'd heard the story about when the tarantula got loose and decided to take a tour at night checking out the human-stuffed sleeping bags.
A dart. Out of the corner of my eye, amongst all the boxes and piles of stuff in the storage room, I saw a rat dart across. "Close the door!"
My daughter and I spent the next 20 minutes slying endeavoring to catch the rats. The only way to catch them is by their tails. It apparently doesn't hurt them. We were successful. Finally grabbing the tail of each rat and carrying it head down to the aquarium, securing the lid so they couldn't get out again.
Rats can be caught by their tails, but not iguanas. Iguanas' tails are designed to break off when grabbed. It's a protection they are afforded for survival as they live in the trees of the rain forest.
Once an iguana we were iguana sitting got loose in the living room of our home. That's a tale for another time, perhaps.
________________________
I search my mind for a "prompt." Ha.
What are some things traversing my mind?
My children in their formative years: their words, the baby squirrel we raised, field trips, fear of heights, hikes, snow, guinea pigs, the science center...
Ahh. The science center.
From 1997 through sometime in 2002, I worked at a science center which at the time was one of the largest in the southeastern United States. For at least four of those years I worked as an on-site Camp-In Director. Camp-Ins were a program at the time where up to 400 people would spend the night in the museum. Scout troops, school groups, church groups, other groups, families.
I'd pack a small overnight bag and my sleeping bag for a 20- to over 40-hour stint. Afterward, I'd often feel I'd been gone for 5 days to another place. In a sense I had.
I along with others abode in a giant museum, complete with heads of animals on the walls and a live rain forest, not to mention the marine area and touch pool and electric eels, and all the clicks and whirs of all sorts of science gadgets. It was always an adventure with rarely a dull moment...from checking everyone in on a Friday or Saturday late afternoon to checking them all out late morning the next day; sandwiched between were all the workshops, snacks, meals, lost-in-the-museum campers, sick kids and headaches, IMAX movies, sidewalk nightlife onlookers from the busy uptown Charlotte Trade Street wanting to come join the party as they observed through the large glass windows that took up almost the entire front museum walls.
The museum had some resident basketball rats. I can't recall their names now. During normal business hours, not the special Camp-In hours, the rats would be rolled out at certain times to perform their basketball agility.
Their basketball court was designed inside a large waterless aquarium. At each end of the structure was a small basketball goal. It seems the basketball was a ping pong ball.
Each rat would push the ball down the court. Then using their front paws would pick up the ball, stand on their hind legs... and DUNK! Bravo!! Two points! Then the rat would gobble up the treat given him by the attendee. The treat was pushed through a hole that was located near each basketball goal.
At night the rats were kept in a different aquarium in a storage room on the main level of the large museum.
The museum was large, still is. I got to know the place like the back of my hand. My favorite section in the museum was the rain forest where I sometimes worked as a presenter, handling Solomon Island skinks, hissing cock roaches, and a tarantula or two. A 5-foot long iguana lived in the trees in the rain forest section. I don't recall his name.
There were birds too, an assortment of tropical birds that made their home with the iguana, among the faux trees and cliff sides. They'd awaken me each morning of the Camp-Ins. I usually slept on a cot or sleeping pad right outside the enclosed glass area of the top of the rain forest area on the main level of the museum.
The rats. One night my daughter and I went into the storage room to get supplies for the Camp-In. My daughter was in her teens and volunteered as a Sci-teen helping out during Camp-Ins, everthing from set-up to assisting presenters in work shops. There was lots of set-up to be done. The staff was a skeleton crew so we were always busy clocking off miles of walking and trotting about the four huge levels of the giant building.
My daughter and I entered the storage room. The rats were not in their aquarium.
"Dang it. We don't have time for this. But we gotta catch the rats so they don't get into the museum where all the people are."
That'd be disastrous. Especially if the rats decided to visit folks while they lay asleep on the hard floors that night. We had enough problem with regular cock roaches freaking people out. I could only imagine a rat. I'd heard the story about when the tarantula got loose and decided to take a tour at night checking out the human-stuffed sleeping bags.
A dart. Out of the corner of my eye, amongst all the boxes and piles of stuff in the storage room, I saw a rat dart across. "Close the door!"
My daughter and I spent the next 20 minutes slying endeavoring to catch the rats. The only way to catch them is by their tails. It apparently doesn't hurt them. We were successful. Finally grabbing the tail of each rat and carrying it head down to the aquarium, securing the lid so they couldn't get out again.
Rats can be caught by their tails, but not iguanas. Iguanas' tails are designed to break off when grabbed. It's a protection they are afforded for survival as they live in the trees of the rain forest.
Once an iguana we were iguana sitting got loose in the living room of our home. That's a tale for another time, perhaps.
________________________
September 5, 2011
Absurdity
journal entry form my private blog
9/05/11 ~at home, 12:30 pm
Haven't journaled on versions in awhile. Lately I've mainly been journaling publicly.
Last weekend [after Knapp sent me a message on FB on Thursday, 8/25/11, to which I responded before heading out to back pack; it was the first time I'd heard from him since his harmful actions over a year ago], he then dedicated a blog post to me, using my photograph and making false allegations and accusations. Some of them were a twisting of facts. Some were outright fabrications.
He plastered the post on FB, including other peoples' walls...with my FB photograph to boot. What a jerk thing to do. What an invasive thing to do...to post something like that on other people's walls.
The fabrication that is the doozy is that I sexually propositioned him. He even makes up a tiny, seedy story, complete with dialog. Writing that sentence makes me chuckle slightly; the story is so absurd ....and dime storeish. As a couple people have stated, "Well, at least he has an imagination."
But some of his other allegations, I have considered, thinking through who I have contacted and who has initiated contact with me in regard to Knapp. Wondering if I am guilty of assertions he exacts. He can be a hostile one.
I had to think: Did I contact his friends, colleagues, Board members, and clients about what had gone on with my experience with John?
Friends & colleagues? I don't know who all John considers his friends and colleagues. John and I know some of the same people. Have I initiated contact with any of them about my experience with Knapp? I can only think of four that may be his friends and colleagues with whom I privately initiated contact, and some of that was very brief. But, my contact with them contained nothing false. One person never even got back with me. Two people and I only discussed it briefly. One person had had similar experiences as I with Knapp.
Board members? The only Board member I initiated contact with was Doug Mesner, and that in public on Doug's site after I went forward with my endorsements retraction in March, 2011. I offered to speak with Doug if he wanted, and he said sure. So I did. When we spoke, I offered the complaint I'd filed and emails if he wanted, letting him know it was a lot of information. He said to send him his way. So I did. But then, I never heard back from Doug. So I'm not sure what his thoughts were on any of it; if he even had time to read it. It was a lot and would be tedious for anyone to ferret through.
Clients? Big no. Never happened...until August 22, 2011, when I decided to write the three folks with whom I had been friends in Knapp's support group. I decided to write them about what had happened over a year prior and that I had filed a complaint and was recently coming forward with my story. I've not heard back from any of them.
Knapp states, that shortly after the incidents of August, 2010, I published his name on my blog and the full story of what happened. I've had to ponder the "publishing his name" part. To my recollection I never posted his name on toss & ripple until March, 2011. I got to thinking that maybe I did state John's name once on my versions journal blog which wasn't/isn't on search engines. And that I then took his name off. I went back and forth on how to and if to speak up during the initial seven months after Knapp's verbal assaults. That said, if his name was stated on versions, I would have taken it off rather quickly and it was never on search engines...at least to the best of my recollection. I did post on a mental health help forum in which all parties (including me) were totally anonymous. I even changed one person's gender and referred to Knapp as "they." At the time, there was no way to identify me or the players in the incidents I was relaying.
I never recall posting anything about possibly taking legal action. I don't recall ever directly stating I might file a complaint.
Then I've thought, "What if it were true that, within days, I revealed the story online with Knapp's name? What if I did state somewhere that I was pondering whether or not to take legal or disciplinary action? What grounds is that for anything, such as defamation?" My understanding of defamation is that it has to be false and/or with intent to destroy someone's character, or something to that effect.
Was or is my intent to destroy John Knapp? No, at least not to my conscious awareness.
So Carol, what is your intent when you go public with anything (not just the Knapp saga) you have written? It's a question I've asked myself probably 100s of times and something I've openly written about on toss & ripple. I don't know if I have a definitive answer; other than after decades of "hushing," I'm learning (however ungracefully) to speak up.
Another questioning of myself that I've done over and over through out this process of coming forward is if I am scapegoating Knapp. Scapegoating involves falsifying and shifting blame. I've sought counsel on that with a few others asking if I am doing that. The response has always been, no. That I am simply telling what happened. I know I haven't falsified, at least to my knowledge. As far as shifting blame, I'm left somewhat dumbfounded because to this day, I'm still baffled as to where John came up with his accusations he dealt to me back in August, 2010.
To my recollection I never sent my blog posts to anyone in order to vilify Knapp. I'd have to look back at the communications I had with the few people and see what blog posts I did send. It wasn't many...and it was never to vilify. Did I sometimes feel vindictiveness? Sure I did. But to the best of my knowledge and ability, I held back from acting out in that regard. I'm sure I fell short a few times.
Would I have come forward if not for others' stories, stories shared with me by a handful of people about their experiences with Knapp? Probably not. In fact, I may not have filed a complaint had it not been for others' sharings. If it had been just me that had had this experience, that would have prompted me (in all likelihood) to take a different approach.
As I've read (or glanced at) what John (and others who believe him) have written about me and the labels given me, at least on Knapp's Facebook wall, I have considered some of them. And I have found myself on the edge of the self-blame vortex being tempted to believe what they state; these people who don't know me making assessments of me because of what my ex-therapist states about me.
And then I remember the sex story Knapp fabricated and published.
And I remind myself, "Why would I even consider that anything he alleges toward me, or anyone for that matter, is even remotely true?"
___________________________
9/05/11 ~at home, 12:30 pm
Haven't journaled on versions in awhile. Lately I've mainly been journaling publicly.
Last weekend [after Knapp sent me a message on FB on Thursday, 8/25/11, to which I responded before heading out to back pack; it was the first time I'd heard from him since his harmful actions over a year ago], he then dedicated a blog post to me, using my photograph and making false allegations and accusations. Some of them were a twisting of facts. Some were outright fabrications.
He plastered the post on FB, including other peoples' walls...with my FB photograph to boot. What a jerk thing to do. What an invasive thing to do...to post something like that on other people's walls.
The fabrication that is the doozy is that I sexually propositioned him. He even makes up a tiny, seedy story, complete with dialog. Writing that sentence makes me chuckle slightly; the story is so absurd ....and dime storeish. As a couple people have stated, "Well, at least he has an imagination."
But some of his other allegations, I have considered, thinking through who I have contacted and who has initiated contact with me in regard to Knapp. Wondering if I am guilty of assertions he exacts. He can be a hostile one.
I had to think: Did I contact his friends, colleagues, Board members, and clients about what had gone on with my experience with John?
Friends & colleagues? I don't know who all John considers his friends and colleagues. John and I know some of the same people. Have I initiated contact with any of them about my experience with Knapp? I can only think of four that may be his friends and colleagues with whom I privately initiated contact, and some of that was very brief. But, my contact with them contained nothing false. One person never even got back with me. Two people and I only discussed it briefly. One person had had similar experiences as I with Knapp.
Board members? The only Board member I initiated contact with was Doug Mesner, and that in public on Doug's site after I went forward with my endorsements retraction in March, 2011. I offered to speak with Doug if he wanted, and he said sure. So I did. When we spoke, I offered the complaint I'd filed and emails if he wanted, letting him know it was a lot of information. He said to send him his way. So I did. But then, I never heard back from Doug. So I'm not sure what his thoughts were on any of it; if he even had time to read it. It was a lot and would be tedious for anyone to ferret through.
Clients? Big no. Never happened...until August 22, 2011, when I decided to write the three folks with whom I had been friends in Knapp's support group. I decided to write them about what had happened over a year prior and that I had filed a complaint and was recently coming forward with my story. I've not heard back from any of them.
Knapp states, that shortly after the incidents of August, 2010, I published his name on my blog and the full story of what happened. I've had to ponder the "publishing his name" part. To my recollection I never posted his name on toss & ripple until March, 2011. I got to thinking that maybe I did state John's name once on my versions journal blog which wasn't/isn't on search engines. And that I then took his name off. I went back and forth on how to and if to speak up during the initial seven months after Knapp's verbal assaults. That said, if his name was stated on versions, I would have taken it off rather quickly and it was never on search engines...at least to the best of my recollection. I did post on a mental health help forum in which all parties (including me) were totally anonymous. I even changed one person's gender and referred to Knapp as "they." At the time, there was no way to identify me or the players in the incidents I was relaying.
I never recall posting anything about possibly taking legal action. I don't recall ever directly stating I might file a complaint.
Then I've thought, "What if it were true that, within days, I revealed the story online with Knapp's name? What if I did state somewhere that I was pondering whether or not to take legal or disciplinary action? What grounds is that for anything, such as defamation?" My understanding of defamation is that it has to be false and/or with intent to destroy someone's character, or something to that effect.
Was or is my intent to destroy John Knapp? No, at least not to my conscious awareness.
So Carol, what is your intent when you go public with anything (not just the Knapp saga) you have written? It's a question I've asked myself probably 100s of times and something I've openly written about on toss & ripple. I don't know if I have a definitive answer; other than after decades of "hushing," I'm learning (however ungracefully) to speak up.
Another questioning of myself that I've done over and over through out this process of coming forward is if I am scapegoating Knapp. Scapegoating involves falsifying and shifting blame. I've sought counsel on that with a few others asking if I am doing that. The response has always been, no. That I am simply telling what happened. I know I haven't falsified, at least to my knowledge. As far as shifting blame, I'm left somewhat dumbfounded because to this day, I'm still baffled as to where John came up with his accusations he dealt to me back in August, 2010.
To my recollection I never sent my blog posts to anyone in order to vilify Knapp. I'd have to look back at the communications I had with the few people and see what blog posts I did send. It wasn't many...and it was never to vilify. Did I sometimes feel vindictiveness? Sure I did. But to the best of my knowledge and ability, I held back from acting out in that regard. I'm sure I fell short a few times.
Would I have come forward if not for others' stories, stories shared with me by a handful of people about their experiences with Knapp? Probably not. In fact, I may not have filed a complaint had it not been for others' sharings. If it had been just me that had had this experience, that would have prompted me (in all likelihood) to take a different approach.
As I've read (or glanced at) what John (and others who believe him) have written about me and the labels given me, at least on Knapp's Facebook wall, I have considered some of them. And I have found myself on the edge of the self-blame vortex being tempted to believe what they state; these people who don't know me making assessments of me because of what my ex-therapist states about me.
And then I remember the sex story Knapp fabricated and published.
And I remind myself, "Why would I even consider that anything he alleges toward me, or anyone for that matter, is even remotely true?"
___________________________
Next Water Source
I recently discovered that I was recently given the label of a "professional victim."
I'd never heard that term and wondered, "What is a professional victim?"
I thought maybe it was a term the person who labeled me such had made up. But alas, the term is in the urban dictionary which states:
Someone who (usually falsely) claims victimization any time things don't go their way. Everywhere this person goes, they believe someone is taking advantages of them. This person has many many stories of The Man keeping them down, numerous abuse incidents throughout their childhood and adolescence and adulthood. This person will regale you with stories of their failures as a result of someone other than themselves. It's never their fault, in whole or in part. Life just isn't fair for these people.
The professional victim cannot take responsibility for his or her own shortcomings and life failures, so they claim to be a victim of circumstance and/or other people.
Well, I guess if that is someone's opinion of me, that is their opinion of me.
But I'm not quite sure how they came to that conclusion.
Maybe what I write comes across that way?
Maybe I have regaled with stories of my failures as a result of someone other than myself. Must be why I'm complaining all the time and continually blaming "The Man" and never myself, seeing as how I don't take responsibility for my failures. Ha.
Or maybe the person who gave me that label is projecting.
I think most (all?) of us project to a point.
I sure am glad for the good folks in life, "the givers" as my hubby calls them. The other day he was talking about how some folks are givers in this life, and some folks are takers. Hubby is a giver. He says I'm a giver. Our children are givers.
The folks I meet on the backpacking trail are givers. And respecters, in a good sense. A certain mutual respect is given to one another as we meet and talk. Not to mention the respect for the wilderness that can be unforgiving if one isn't prepared.
On the trail, only oneself can get oneself to the next water source. "The Man" ain't there to blame.
I'd never heard that term and wondered, "What is a professional victim?"
I thought maybe it was a term the person who labeled me such had made up. But alas, the term is in the urban dictionary which states:
Someone who (usually falsely) claims victimization any time things don't go their way. Everywhere this person goes, they believe someone is taking advantages of them. This person has many many stories of The Man keeping them down, numerous abuse incidents throughout their childhood and adolescence and adulthood. This person will regale you with stories of their failures as a result of someone other than themselves. It's never their fault, in whole or in part. Life just isn't fair for these people.
The professional victim cannot take responsibility for his or her own shortcomings and life failures, so they claim to be a victim of circumstance and/or other people.
Well, I guess if that is someone's opinion of me, that is their opinion of me.
But I'm not quite sure how they came to that conclusion.
Maybe what I write comes across that way?
Maybe I have regaled with stories of my failures as a result of someone other than myself. Must be why I'm complaining all the time and continually blaming "The Man" and never myself, seeing as how I don't take responsibility for my failures. Ha.
Or maybe the person who gave me that label is projecting.
I think most (all?) of us project to a point.
I sure am glad for the good folks in life, "the givers" as my hubby calls them. The other day he was talking about how some folks are givers in this life, and some folks are takers. Hubby is a giver. He says I'm a giver. Our children are givers.
The folks I meet on the backpacking trail are givers. And respecters, in a good sense. A certain mutual respect is given to one another as we meet and talk. Not to mention the respect for the wilderness that can be unforgiving if one isn't prepared.
On the trail, only oneself can get oneself to the next water source. "The Man" ain't there to blame.
September 4, 2011
Of Scandals & Scapegoats
What to write today? And the other question, will I click 'publish post?'
The main thing still on my brain cells is the Knapp scandal. And it is a scandal.
A few years back I read a book by Rene Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightening. Dr. Girard is an anthropologist who, to my understanding, termed mimetic desire and how that mechanism plays into the ways that cultures and groups scapegoat. It was in that context and study that, to my recollection, I first understood the term "scandal" in the context of scapegoating.
One of the best articles I've read regarding scapegoating, at least for me, is here: Undoing Scapegoating by Simon Crosby
I ran across Crosby's Scapegoating Research & Remedies site on a google search. As my manner is, some months back I was questioning myself. Was I scapegoating Knapp by bringing forth my story? Thus I read up a bit on scapegoating; one of the things I read was Crosby's article.
The following is part of one article that speaks loudly to me at this point along the scandal road. It is quoted from under the subtitle: OBSTACLES TO UNDOING
"[...]
The scapegoating process has a characteristic way of maturing and solidifying. Consequently, the more time there is between the start of a scapegoating and its resolving, the less undoing can be achieved - especially with the all-important audience. Not only that but there are other unfortunate time-related effects:
Usually the scapegoater will stop his process when he senses that he has effectively transferred blame and that any further transfer might be counterproductive. He, as it were, rests his case - but his `evidence' continues to harm and dismay the target - hence the need for completion and closure.
[...]"
From my perspective, Knapp is the scapegoater. Prior to the recent false allegations he brings forth toward me and others, I felt Lom (Lema) Nal was Knapp's main scapegoat. I gathered this from some private conversations. Did I feel a scapegoat during that time? Only some, and that because of Knapp's false accusations exacted toward me in his private email(s) back in August, 2010, and in an email he sent to someone else in September, 2010.
But now, the circle has come all the way around, and I (along with a few others) sit as a goat in Knapp's scape.
I've wondered if I will at some point start a separate blog regarding the Knapp scandal. I really don't want to, but at some point it may happen. Just so I don't write about it all the time on this blog. It can be a tiring subject.
So, time will tell how much more I will write on the subject and if I will start a separate blog on the subject. I don't want the process (as Crosby notes) to "mature and solidify," but I may not have much control over that process. I am but one person.
(Note: The above linked article by Simon Crosby mentions The Landmark Forum (with Crosby noting some reservations regarding), which I do not endorse. That said, I still find the article itself regarding undoing scapegoating valuable.)
Added note, 9/05/11: The following link defines scapegoating and expounds about what it is. SCAPEGOATING RESEARCH & REMEDIES: CONSTRUCTIVE INQUIRY INTO THE NATURE AND NEUTRALIZING OF BLAME
______________________________
The main thing still on my brain cells is the Knapp scandal. And it is a scandal.
A few years back I read a book by Rene Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightening. Dr. Girard is an anthropologist who, to my understanding, termed mimetic desire and how that mechanism plays into the ways that cultures and groups scapegoat. It was in that context and study that, to my recollection, I first understood the term "scandal" in the context of scapegoating.
One of the best articles I've read regarding scapegoating, at least for me, is here: Undoing Scapegoating by Simon Crosby
I ran across Crosby's Scapegoating Research & Remedies site on a google search. As my manner is, some months back I was questioning myself. Was I scapegoating Knapp by bringing forth my story? Thus I read up a bit on scapegoating; one of the things I read was Crosby's article.
The following is part of one article that speaks loudly to me at this point along the scandal road. It is quoted from under the subtitle: OBSTACLES TO UNDOING
"[...]
The scapegoating process has a characteristic way of maturing and solidifying. Consequently, the more time there is between the start of a scapegoating and its resolving, the less undoing can be achieved - especially with the all-important audience. Not only that but there are other unfortunate time-related effects:
- with the passing of time your associates may get more and more wearied by your desire and attempts to achieve undoing,
- they may also begin to feel sorry for the perpetrator being continually held to account by you, even though you are entitled to do so,
- should the perpetrator eventually complete the undoing he will tend to receive more credit for doing that than you do, especially if the undoing is far from the original scapegoating.
Usually the scapegoater will stop his process when he senses that he has effectively transferred blame and that any further transfer might be counterproductive. He, as it were, rests his case - but his `evidence' continues to harm and dismay the target - hence the need for completion and closure.
[...]"
From my perspective, Knapp is the scapegoater. Prior to the recent false allegations he brings forth toward me and others, I felt Lom (Lema) Nal was Knapp's main scapegoat. I gathered this from some private conversations. Did I feel a scapegoat during that time? Only some, and that because of Knapp's false accusations exacted toward me in his private email(s) back in August, 2010, and in an email he sent to someone else in September, 2010.
But now, the circle has come all the way around, and I (along with a few others) sit as a goat in Knapp's scape.
I've wondered if I will at some point start a separate blog regarding the Knapp scandal. I really don't want to, but at some point it may happen. Just so I don't write about it all the time on this blog. It can be a tiring subject.
So, time will tell how much more I will write on the subject and if I will start a separate blog on the subject. I don't want the process (as Crosby notes) to "mature and solidify," but I may not have much control over that process. I am but one person.
(Note: The above linked article by Simon Crosby mentions The Landmark Forum (with Crosby noting some reservations regarding), which I do not endorse. That said, I still find the article itself regarding undoing scapegoating valuable.)
Added note, 9/05/11: The following link defines scapegoating and expounds about what it is. SCAPEGOATING RESEARCH & REMEDIES: CONSTRUCTIVE INQUIRY INTO THE NATURE AND NEUTRALIZING OF BLAME
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September 2, 2011
Twist and Shout
Journal entry: 9/02/11
My inner state has calmed some since this past Saturday evening when I first read John Knapp's false accusations and allegations regarding me. He made false statements about others as well.
As I sat with my psychologist, who has witnessed everything in the past year - "everything" being my personal inner turmoil & distress, the handful of others who have come forward to me in private with their experiences, reading various emails, viewing online activity - we discussed that things didn't have to end up like this. Had Knapp cooperated with the State Board, he possibly could have gotten by this whole thing with a slap on the hand. Now, things look quite different.
The one blog, where Knapp fabricates his embellished story about me sexually propositioning him to meet in a motel room...well, as odd it may sound, has helped me in a sense. Helped me to see that I can't believe anything that Knapp writes or states. (I find it interesting that it's a "motel" instead of "hotel" room. Motels being a bit more seedy.)
I have wondered about John's phone call to me, back in August, 2010, the day after he verbally assaulted me. In that phone call, he stated I had contacted his assistant and said I wanted to speak with John. I never contacted his assistant and I wondered at the time if a message was relayed to John in error, if it was someone else who had called John and the message got mixed up.
Now, I think that too was a total fabrication. Just like Mr. Martin's statement that John posts about in one of his blogs.
It's all fabrications.
To me fabrications are different than twisting what happened. We all have our own perceptions of events. I don't call that perception "twisted." To me things are "twisted" when the facts are skewed in a malicious manner in order to justify or rationalize a wrong.
Fabrications on the other hand, are simply fiction, made up out of thin air. There are no facts to twist because the events simply never happened.
If someone is going to lie, I think I prefer fabrications over twists. They are easier for me to identify, less complicated.
That brings to mind "Twist and Shout." Perhaps "Reckless Speculation" should be renamed "Twist and Shout." Or maybe it could be a subtitle.
My inner state has calmed some since this past Saturday evening when I first read John Knapp's false accusations and allegations regarding me. He made false statements about others as well.
As I sat with my psychologist, who has witnessed everything in the past year - "everything" being my personal inner turmoil & distress, the handful of others who have come forward to me in private with their experiences, reading various emails, viewing online activity - we discussed that things didn't have to end up like this. Had Knapp cooperated with the State Board, he possibly could have gotten by this whole thing with a slap on the hand. Now, things look quite different.
The one blog, where Knapp fabricates his embellished story about me sexually propositioning him to meet in a motel room...well, as odd it may sound, has helped me in a sense. Helped me to see that I can't believe anything that Knapp writes or states. (I find it interesting that it's a "motel" instead of "hotel" room. Motels being a bit more seedy.)
I have wondered about John's phone call to me, back in August, 2010, the day after he verbally assaulted me. In that phone call, he stated I had contacted his assistant and said I wanted to speak with John. I never contacted his assistant and I wondered at the time if a message was relayed to John in error, if it was someone else who had called John and the message got mixed up.
Now, I think that too was a total fabrication. Just like Mr. Martin's statement that John posts about in one of his blogs.
It's all fabrications.
To me fabrications are different than twisting what happened. We all have our own perceptions of events. I don't call that perception "twisted." To me things are "twisted" when the facts are skewed in a malicious manner in order to justify or rationalize a wrong.
Fabrications on the other hand, are simply fiction, made up out of thin air. There are no facts to twist because the events simply never happened.
If someone is going to lie, I think I prefer fabrications over twists. They are easier for me to identify, less complicated.
That brings to mind "Twist and Shout." Perhaps "Reckless Speculation" should be renamed "Twist and Shout." Or maybe it could be a subtitle.