The Teacher speaks. . and I scribed. . . .When you realize that understanding is a bigger or heavier burden than not understanding, your behavior or course of action is already decided. The reason is this.
When you have the knowledge, you have the obligation. Not knowing the reason for a person’s behavior gives one the right to rage. Knowledge takes away this right. Yet who is to blame for this behavior, if blame is in the picture? There is no one. There never was.
Each person is a result of a compilation of errors destined for the head of man. And yet within is the spirit destined also for refinement, for an attuning that would bring the human species to the finest place of all. It is a testing ground for angels; each being the angel that decided to try his wings in a place that doesn’t allow flight but instead demands a rooting.
Some behaviors one can ascribe to fact. Yet most things properly belong to a generation of characteristics. Or many generations of characteristics. Not all things are a learned behavior to gain certain results. Some things are passed through the genes. And do not need to have anything done about them except to talk of them and aired.
There is generally a self righteousness about ourselves because we have nothing else in our frame of reference. We do what we do because anything else would be foreign to our natures.
When you understand the why of behavior you realize that understanding does not necessarily make the behavior easier to live with. But when you understand, when knowledge is yours, the obligation to do the correct thing is yours also. It is an incomparable growth experience. No one said it was going to be easy.
(In retrospect I see my life lived the only way I could in good conscience. Born with an open head and memory, I did the best I could . There are still some things to reconcile. Those may be easier when I am not in human skin. When you know you know, you know also that the way narrows and there are no options. As my granddaughter Jessie says, you suck it up.)
Genetic Memories. . .
Lurking behind every door are ghosts
from a shadowy past, eager to be translated
to a dubious present.
Impregnated in genes are the memories
of these ghosts, split second DNA with desire
housing the delicate substance quoting life.
Stupid am I to allow others’ memories,
lurking in my fresh Being, to
suck life out of my present.
But power filled even to think that I could
release their tenacious hold from a life
unfulfilled and requiring recompense.
Helplessness rages simultaneously,
pleading a judicious balance
to satisfy life’s imbalances, yet knowing,
I cannot do it.