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At the risk of my siphoning off words into this post that could go into the section of book writing I am working on right now, I want to spill out some words here about making conscious choices in childhood – or in adulthood, for that matter.  In light of this topic, I will revise my thinking by refraining my statement:  I CHOOSE to spill out these words here.

I don’t actually have any shortage of words.  It’s not like I have to go out into the hinterlands and hunt up some more because I have consumed them all already.  There are plenty of words to go around, plenty of words to serve my purposes – both on this blog and in my book writing.  So what do I fear?  I fear I am going to miss something important in my thinking, ‘waste’ an insight, miss an opportunity to state something in the middle of my childhood life story by hiding the thought over here instead of putting it clearly and boldly exactly where that insight belongs:  At the point where my inner life changed when I was 10 – yet changed only for a very, very brief period of time.

I will be writing about the single span of perhaps 3 seconds that maybe did change the course of my life from that time when I was 10 forward.  But this part I will ‘save’ for the book section I will move from here to there to write today – after I do my 45 minute walk about, after I spend some time exercising all of me at my keyboard practice, after I summon up a different kind of willingness to move forward in my story for the book that I find is VERY different from the willingness I use to write in circles over here on this blog.

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What I am narrowing my focus on, like a gliding bird of prey with its eyes open, talons adjusted to grab and fly with my newest food for thought, is this question:

“At what point is it a natural growth ability of a human being to CONSCIOUSLY make a choice that then follows into a consciously-inspired action?”

Thanks to this book journey I am, the journey that requires of me that I put all the dissociated single BUBBLE memories of my abusive childhood into the best coherent, linear, this-followed-that format I can manage to accomplish, I am learning new insights about my self.  Learning about one’s self is NOT easy in the midst of a childhood of violence, oppression, terrorism, loneliness, and trauma survival.

The kind of abusive infant-childhood that I had happened because my mother was a mentally ill psychotic Borderline Personality Disorder woman.

I didn’t know that, of course.  Looking back through the filter and lens of my own mind today – using every bit of scientific information I have accumulated in preparation for my task – I realize that my mother probably never once in her life past age five had the ability to clearly and consciously weigh her thoughts, emotions, desires along with those of the children she came to be responsible for raising so that she could exercise true compassion and wisdom in her life.

Making conscious choices is not something we are born able to do.  We have to grow a body and brain that THEN has the physiological abilities to come to consciousness.

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I just mention all of this because in my book writing I am about to cross a threshold in my own human development that would have happened sooner or later in one way or another no matter WHAT the experiences of my childhood had been – benevolent or malevolent:  On May 13, 1962 I made a conscious decision.  I made my first conscious choice.

In my book writing I will (because I can and want to) return directly inside the body of myself at 10 ¾ on that day so that I can re-experience this life-changing moment.

That it happened once, that my choice and decision reaped for me dire consequences, that after this abuse incident that lasted at least three concentrated weeks I have no memory of making such a higher-level conscious choice again until I-don’t-know-when, is another matter.  Degrees of wisdom of the decision doesn’t matter.  The fact that I had physiologically developed the physiological powers to make a decision of my own – FINALLY – matters more than I know right now.  I will know the rest of it when I write it – elsewhere.

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Trauma that passes itself on down the generations in families has great, great power that should NEVER be taken lightly to remove from ‘the contaminated’ victims of repeating traumas the conscious power to recognize these massive trauma-based patterns that continue on down in families.

These patterns appear in trauma drama.

The trauma itself usurps the consciousness of the actors and players in the dramas.

Untangling the icky sticky puppet-string threads that steal people’s free-conscious-choice and decision making away from them is not easily done.

It takes, I believe, a level of conscious choice and dedication to this difficult task for any of us to be able to separate what happened to us through the trauma dramas of our families (and nations) to find OUR OWN CONSCIOUSNESS in the midst of the trauma dramas that seem to run our lives – and often the lives of those we are closest to.

Because my theory for myself states that for every memory of abuse I retained for my self over the span of my lifetime contained something extremely good, and therefore redeeming of ME — as a person separate from all the trauma drama of abuse that was done to me — I am prepared to work toward viewing my age-ten self from this gentle perspective.

No matter how ‘dumb’ my May 13, 1962 decision and choice was, it was an act of creation equal to or surpassing anything else I may have accomplished in my lifetime.  For that moment I WAS ALIVE as a human being!!  And for the very first CONSCIOUS time.

More than anything that fact triggered such an aftermath of horrific abuse perpetration in my mother that I would have dissociated and forgotten that any of this ever happened – EXCEPT FOR THE FACT that there is something embedded within this experience that is of such value to me that I would not be the person I turned out to be without it.

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