4/1/2011 - 4/2/2011

rachelnico

So

I had a guy in my life

once

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

EXACTLY

to a 

"T"

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

challenge,

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

downloadmonkey

And he was pretty darned extraordinary

and I still believe

in a sick, sad way

that he thought I was extraordinary

too.

I will honestly tell you:

I had never been

so happy

in my life.  Foolishly, I thought

I could make it last

forever.

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


                                . . . 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
continually
in his Mirror Stage,
well,
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.

Still,
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
HimSelf.




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

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 So
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                                               
is
                                          the
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.




Tomorrow
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)
subtle,
and kind,
and so misunderstood,
my
               dear
                dear
father,
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
long
long
time.
It's been hundreds of years
since I saw him last,
and I was just really getting
to know him.

                  Yes,

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


                                                          He just never said it
                                                                       out loud.

artsjournal


And then there was another man:
the man I was married to, many years ago,
he
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
which
I recently discovered
(or came to terms with)
:

Yes.
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?

No.

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,
well,
they're a match made in heaven.

Soulmates?

Maybe.

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,
well,
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,
passive-aggressive
active complacent
passive passive
active active

and every gradation in between.

Indeed
Indeed.

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

Indeed
Indeed.

(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
alive.

With Gratitude To The Blogger, LunarWisdom

I really want to thank the blogger

named 

Lunar Wisdom

whose blog I joined through

Networked Blogger, I think,

on Facebook.

* * * * 

So I was going through the stream of blog entries
from the blogs I joined there
on my own 

"Makro Makropoulos"

Facebook page,

when I came upon an entry by

CricketSong

aka:

Lunar Wisdom,

and I read it.

There it was,

amidst the countless entries from

the Huffington Post:

CricketSong's

lonely chirping,

sort of like the way

Makro Makropoulos'

murmurs

might pop through on your NetWorkedBlog site,

if, that is,

you were to join the Facebook NetWorkedBlog service.

Anyway,

I read CricketSong's 

chirp,

and what I heard 

explained to me why

I feel a need to be 

Emilia Marti

aka:

Makropoulos

aka:

Makro Markropoulos:

 


 (Raina Kabaivanska sings Emila Marty in Janecek's opera Vec Makropulos (The Makropulos Affair))





Cricket Song introduced me to the concept of
psychic empath.

Now I've known for a little while
that I fit, in nearly every way,
the profile of an empath

( zenya )


A few writers see the empath
as the exact opposite of the sociopath.
Whereas the sociopath has no ability to empathize
the empath has an excess of ability to do so.

Notably, though, empaths have some of the same features as sociopaths:
people are naturally drawn to us.
People will immediately tell us
their deepest darkest secrets,
and if we want to,
we can use that power to our advantage.

Some empaths do, on occasion.
I know I do, either consciously
or not,
when it will serve me.

But since empaths have this terrific desire to
save the world,
most of us are more likely to not
abuse the power we have.

Because we're so good at empathy,
sometimes we can even enter another person's mind:

and that's where this enters into the realm of
what might be called the psychic.

According to a certain "Grace,"
empaths have ten levels of
psychic traits that they might draw on.
And I quote:
 "
sychometry - the empathic ability to receive energy, information and impressions from objects, photographs or places
Telepathy - the empathic ability to read people's thoughts
Mediumship - the empathic ability to feel the presence and energies of spirits
Physical Healing - the empathic ability to feel other people's physical symptoms in your own body (and often the ability to heal, transform or transmute them)
Emotional Healing - the empathic ability to feel another person's emotions
Animal Communication - the empathic ability to hear, feel and communicate with animals
Nature - the empathic ability to read, feel and communicate with nature and with plants
Geomancy - the empathic ability to read the energy of places and of the land - geomancers can feel the energies of the Earth, such as Ley lines. They can also get headaches, pain or anxiety before earthquakes or other disasters occur anywhere on the planet.
Precognition - the empathic ability to feel when something important is about to happen (often this can be a feeling of inexplicable dread or doom)
Claircognizance or Knowing - the empathic ability to feel what needs to be done in any given circumstance, often accompanied by a feeling of peace and calm, even in the midst of a crisis
 "
(askgrace.com)

Thank you, Grace;
I would say I have at least eight of those abilities,
though that's not something I admit to
in polite circles.

In fact, for a long time I prefered to not deal with it at all because,
well,
it can be downright scary sometimes.

But recently I haven't had too much choice in the matter:
it's just been flooding in --
it being tons of different
energies,
perceptions,
precognitions,
inspirations,
intuitions. . . .

you name 'em, I get 'em.


That's where Cricket Song's column on
"Empaths and the Shift"
comes in.
Read it.
Decide what you want to decide on it.
I'll tell you something honestly,
when I started to read it, I thought:
Oh, this will be amusing; another woman who claims to be
a witch.

About half way through,
I was stunned, thinking:
she's explaining what the hell
has been happening to me
for the past five years or so.

And she also helped make me more confident
in asserting the following:

I've been alive for a long time,

and I have memories.

Even though I may have

slept the sleep of death,

I still feel like I've been living

424 years

give or take

a century.

Really:

I showed up during the Rennaisance,

or that's my earliest memory,

right now.

This doesn't mean 

I don't have earlier memories.

No.

Check out my recent entries on Ancient Greece.

Yeah.

And while you're at it,

check out the postings

I'm about to make 

from recent news.

There's a strange coincidence

going on right now,

and it's oh, so bigger

than me.

http://cricketsong-lunarwisdom.blogspot.com/