Place of Refuge

Place of Refuge

02 April 2011

4/1/2011 - 4/2/2011

I had a guy in my life
who was kind of like a psychopath;
I don't know
if he truly was one,
but he was
an awful lot like one.

He would mirror
back to me
(or you or anybody)
exactly what we want to see
to a 

And I was able to hold
his attention
for over two years,
which meant that
for about a year --
                      maybe a little more--
he actually found some interest or
or maybe even enjoyed
mirroring me back
to me;
and I had this crazy belief that,
in the midst of that time,
I penetrated the surface and found and connected with
the man underneath

And he was pretty darned extraordinary
and I still believe
in a sick, sad way
that he thought I was extraordinary

I will honestly tell you:
I had never been
so happy
in my life.  Foolishly, I thought
I could make it last


But when the man you give your love to
is actually
the man deep inside
the mirror,
you have to realize
is constantly receding,
because in this world comprised
solely of representations
the mirror
over the

                                . . . and so

every other woman
who sees this man
also sees
herself the way
she would like
to see herself,
and she wants him for her very own;
and if he's living
in his Mirror Stage,
he's very rarely in contact
with the true he,
he's just continually infatuated
with the perfect he
that he thinks he can see whenever
 a woman thinks she has fallen
head over heels in love
with him.

there has to be a man in the mirror,
a man who on this earthly domain
was given the deadly deed
of having to be the mirror-bearer,
he whose essence
is that mystical 3rd that God created
for the sole purpose
of being able to see

this is a pretty wild entry here,
but I'm going to ride it out

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
how many women fall so
in love (as much in love as I did) with
their psychopath lover?

I'd say almost all of them;
or most of them

So what                                               
big fucking deal?

There is no deal:
there never was:
for two years, I stood
in front of a
beautiful mirror
and learned to love myself.

would be
my father's birthday,
had he lived,

but as we all know:
Makropoulos is 425 years old,
so her father,
has long since mingled
with the earth he loved,
with the water he loved,
with the trees he wouldn't cut down,
not even for Christmas:

My father,
the most beautiful man
I will ever know:
tall and slender
and blonde
and quiet; smart
and witty
(I was the one who always got his jokes)
and kind,
and so misunderstood,
I've only just passed the age
he was at when he died,
or so it seems,
as he's been gone
such a long
It's been hundreds of years
since I saw him last,
and I was just really getting
to know him.


I loved my father
very much,
and I do believe
he loved me too.

                                                          He just never said it
                                                                       out loud.


And then there was another man:
the man I was married to, many years ago,
was 20 years my senior,
I married him
when he was at the age my father was
when he died.

People said to me:
you married a father figure,
and I said:
no! I did not!

He didn't look a think like my father, and
he was shorter than him, and
he could see color
and play the piano.

My father
was tone deaf,
and could only see red.

But I will tell you something
I recently discovered
(or came to terms with)

I did marry my husband
to replace my father, and I am here to tell you:
the biggest
mistake a woman could make
if in a position even vaguely similar
to the one I was in when I married
would be to marry a man
who is the opposite of her father.  Women

make their men
in to the man
they want him to be.
And if the woman is lucky,
the man
is amenable to it.

If a woman feels
she met the perfect man
in her father, well, she tries
to make the man in her life
into her conception of her father.

That is why, quite frankly,
if a woman must marry,
and if she loved her father,
she should marry a man who is like her father,
in looks and temperment,
because if her father is really
a wonderful man (as my father was)
then the man you've chosen
to mold into him won't mind it at all,
and won't mind reflecting him back to you.

Does this mean I agree with Freud, when he said
that every girl and every boy
wants to have sex
with their father and/or mother?


A girl can love her father without wanting to bed him,
and visa versa, just as a boy
can love his parent in the same way.
There is a true paternal love, a love
that adores the daughter
but does not cross that line;
and there is a true daughterly love,
a love that adores
her father, and adores
him all the more
because she knows she is safe with him.

But when it comes to a boyfriend,
a reproduction will suit her fine.
There's no sin in that;
there's not sin in wanting to love your mate
with the same excessive love that a child
once harbored for their parent who was their absolute world.

And if that man (or other mate of whatever gender)
is of like temper,
and seeks to love a woman
with the same adoration that he once
directed solely towards his mother,
they're a match made in heaven.



That's really another element all together.

Yes, there's no sin in that, because
if we could all find a partner
who we can love with the same love we felt
for the person we loved absolutely most in our lives,
this would be a pretty happy planet,
and would spin
in an energy of
healing bliss.

But alas,
that's not the way the world turns, instead
we live in the tug of war of
users, abusers
used, abused,
active complacent
passive passive
active active

and every gradation in between.


And we fight and we bicker,
and we flaunt flirt and hurt,
and we ignore the beautiful
simplicity of truth right before
our eyes.


(Is it Armageddon yet?)

If it is,
well perhaps
we should
give up our
petty hatreds
now, and love
with a love that exceeds,

like a child loves his mother or her father,
or whomever it was
who once made that child
oh so glad, just to be

No comments: