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It’s a rare occurrence for me to pick up a book and read it, but one of my sisters has not only highly recommended this one, but has sent me a copy —
The Memory Palace: A Memoir by Mira Bartók (Aug 9, 2011)
This is a memoir written by a woman raised by a schizophrenic mother. I am immediately touched by the author’s sincerity, humility, honesty and compassion.
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I told my sister that I remain standing still in the middle of a crossroads regarding the writing of my own book. My hope is that by the time I finish reading this book I will be able to move off of this point of dead center myself. Time will tell…..
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In the meantime I am preparing this morning to go off on a small adventure as I accompany a friend to his doctor’s appointments in Tucson (about 90 miles north west from where I live). I rarely have an opportunity to travel anywhere with anyone, and this person is becoming a dear friend. Being in his company is like basking in gentle warm sunshine. I look forward to the day.
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I also find myself thinking about a ‘spiritual discourse’ conversation I shared yesterday with another friend for a few hours. Lately I have been thinking a good deal about how early infant-child abuse and trauma affect ALL areas of a survivor’s life. Our spiritual life and perspective is NOT left untouched.
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I still have the written copy of my response to an assignment that was given to me about ‘my spirituality’ when I went through my 7-week alcoholism recovery in-patient treatment program half my lifetime ago. It strikes me when I read it how distant those words were from the reality of my heart.
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In other words, it really has taken me another thirty years to begin to bring my own spirituality home to my heart. It is what God, my perception of God, FEELS like to me that concerns me now — not what I THINK about God.
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The friend I was conversing with yesterday has been on a spiritual pathway of seeking and finding her own truths for all of her life. She is in her early 70s, and I can say to myself that this woman seems to understand the LOVE of God for humans and the possibilities of human LOVE for God in return better than anyone I have ever met.
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She spoke to me of how in her life God is her Daddy. Yes, God the father is a familiar idea in Western culture. But for my friend it is God the Daddy that has brought her love relationship with her Creator into a soft, warm, trusting, sharing, safe and secure focus.
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I immediately thought about my own pitiful father (my perspective). He took a role like I mention in this story throughout my entire 18 year infant-childhood of being abused by my mother: *AGE 7 – MUD PUDDLE INCIDENT
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In sharpest contrast I look at my father holding me in his arms when I was one month old in the small black and white picture that is attached at the top of one of the pages in my baby book. In THIS picture I see my Daddy. His face is absolutely radiant with love as he holds me so tenderly.
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What DID happen to THAT Daddy of mine?
He disappeared. Somewhere in the midst of being my very sick mother’s husband, in reaction to her abusive psychosis about me being not human but the devil’s child, he forgot that he was my Daddy. He forgot that he loved me.
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Yesterday was the first time in the 60 years of my life that I was able to begin to open my heart to the probability that the God that created me, my soul, absolutely DELIGHTS in my existence. This is the first morning that I have awoken to my world realizing that Daddy love DOES exist — and that I can experience that love not from a human man who lost his way and made mistakes beyond counting.
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There is a BIG DADDY who loves me. Today I will begin to experience what that love feels like to me. An adventure I cannot yet imagine……
Pardon the paragraph spacings – wordpress seems not to be able to maintain them correctly this morning! Nothing that a little * or two won’t fix!
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Stop the Storm 
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