Compassion.
Why does this always happen? I never thought of myself having any family issues although I suppose every family has its issues. I've got family in town and after 24 hours have managed to completely botch it up. The details are complicated and personal with the overall result of bringing pain to everyone involved (plus a few innocent bystanders).
I saw it all unfold. I watched, helplessly, as the words and actions unfolded until it was too late. I sit now both relieved at watching the pus leak out, but still wallowing in the pain that was created to puncture the boil.
I feel confused, frustrated. I am at a loss for words. I can see solutions, but words have no meaning. I keep returning to the notion that the only thing that has meaning is compassion. Compassion for the participants. Compassion for the situation. Compassion for myself.
It is frustrating watching the ones that you love suffering. I have the incredible ability to manifest that love through aggression instead of honesty. I admit it. Now what?
On account of the moonday, I ended up going to a restorative/pranayama iyengar yoga class with said family. It was not the mushy, prop and sounds-of-nature-music I was hoping for, yet I suppose was just what was needed. It opened everyone up (perhaps a little too much). Is it not through a bit of difficulty that we find ease?
Yogic philosophy doesn't make sense to someone who is in pain. Don't try it. It doesn't work. It just makes whomever you tell it to more angry because it makes so much sense. The problem with it is the concept of personal responsibility, and if someone chooses not to see that they have the choice to change their state of mind, one can only offer compassion. That, and wait. Waiting is the hardest part.
Why does this always happen? I never thought of myself having any family issues although I suppose every family has its issues. I've got family in town and after 24 hours have managed to completely botch it up. The details are complicated and personal with the overall result of bringing pain to everyone involved (plus a few innocent bystanders).
I saw it all unfold. I watched, helplessly, as the words and actions unfolded until it was too late. I sit now both relieved at watching the pus leak out, but still wallowing in the pain that was created to puncture the boil.
I feel confused, frustrated. I am at a loss for words. I can see solutions, but words have no meaning. I keep returning to the notion that the only thing that has meaning is compassion. Compassion for the participants. Compassion for the situation. Compassion for myself.
It is frustrating watching the ones that you love suffering. I have the incredible ability to manifest that love through aggression instead of honesty. I admit it. Now what?
On account of the moonday, I ended up going to a restorative/pranayama iyengar yoga class with said family. It was not the mushy, prop and sounds-of-nature-music I was hoping for, yet I suppose was just what was needed. It opened everyone up (perhaps a little too much). Is it not through a bit of difficulty that we find ease?
Yogic philosophy doesn't make sense to someone who is in pain. Don't try it. It doesn't work. It just makes whomever you tell it to more angry because it makes so much sense. The problem with it is the concept of personal responsibility, and if someone chooses not to see that they have the choice to change their state of mind, one can only offer compassion. That, and wait. Waiting is the hardest part.
I also learned that some people use the word "fuck" more casually than others. Note to self: Be more compassionate in word choice.
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