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Thursday, 27 May 2004

Epiphany!

This stems from the previous post, where I realized (as I wrote), that the birth certificate that's filed doesn't have my name on it. It has the names of the people who became parents, it has the name they gave their child, the date, etc., but you know what? It doesn't have my name on it.

In fact, Bonni Elizabeth Hall doesn't have a birth certificate or a Social Security Number (naturally, the other person, the one whose name is on the birth certificate, has a SSN). Bonni Elizabeth does have Australian citizenship, two Australian children, a valid marriage to an Australian citizen, an Australian drivers license, library card, credit/debit cards, Medicare number, tax file number, and eventually an Australian passport.

So, and I know this is going to sound weird to people whose minds don't work in highly symbolic ways, they're not my parents! Yes, I suppose if someone wanted to go to the trouble of looking up the court papers for my name change they could trace me to them, and naturally a DNA sample would show the biological relationship, I mean, I'm not totally insane about this, but really, Bonni Elizabeth has never spoken to either one of those people, never set eyes on them, never exchanged any sort of correspondance with them.

Basically, I've realized that they're NOT MY PARENTS. They were the other girl's parents, but they're not mine. I'm not her any more, so they can't possibly be my parents.

Like I said, I know it may sound weird, but I find it really liberating. I feel lighter and happier than I have in while, like a big burden has been lifted.

Happy birthday to me, then, in more ways than one!

Forty

Forty years ago today, my mother gave birth to me. She wasn't really there at the time, of course, since in 1964 pretty much everybody got "knocked out" to give birth. They did all the labor and hard work and then missed the best part. *shrug*

Anyway, I wonder if my mother remembers that it's my birthday. I doubt she knows how old I am, since she can't ever remember what year I was born (seriously, she can't). My father probably knows how old I am, but I dunno if he'd remember that it's my birthday or not. Maybe he would. I don't know. Even if he does, I don't know if he'd care.

I actually feel pretty positive about turning forty. I'm kinda hoping that my forties will be when I finally get to start to really use the strength and wisdom and experience and various skills I've acquired as I metamorphosed from who I was into who I am now.

So, hey, it's cool for me. I am sad that I've got this milestone birthday and my parents probably don't remember or don't care or both. Oh, well. Can't have everything. I accepted a long time ago that I have parents that don't care if I'm alive or dead, or if I'm homeless or sick or anything else. I don't know why I think about them on my birthday (and theirs). I think it must the the inner child, who likes birthdays a lot more than I do. That child still associates birthdays with the parents, it seems.

But, hey, my surrogate mother, my mother-in-law, will call Australia from England just to wish me a happy birthday, so there you go. I do have some parents that love me.

So happy birthday to me! Oh, and I just realized... the name on that birth certificate is NOT the name I have now. So, well, those people whose names are on there don't really have a daughter any more, anyway. That person hasn't existed for some years now.... Gosh, why does that make me feel so much lighter, like a big weight has been lifted... ?

Friday, 14 May 2004

Atrocities

I'm very, very triggered at the moment. I'm not sure what trigger it is. I'll have to calm down first, and it may be a while before I work out what, precisely, it is. I'm suspecting it's the "my pain is worse than your pain" one, or the "get over it, it wasn't that bad" trigger.

Anyway, it concerns atrocities of war. I keep seeeing people arguing over which act of barbaric cruelty is "worse" or "more evil" or whatever, and it's making me pretty damned sick (literally; right now I'm significantly nauseated).

As far as I'm concerned, ALL of the stuff we're seeing in the news right now is disgusting, evil, and beyond my comprehension. Torturing and sexually assaulting prisoners, hacking people's heads off, when does it end? There comes a point where the saturation of evil is reached, and I think we hit that a while ago...

But the thing that really, REALLY gets to me is people sitting around arguing over it, justifying one or the other, quantifying it, comparing and contrasting acts of horror.

You can't compare and contrast atrocities. You can't quantify them or measure them. You can't parcel them out or justify them, either. Evil is evil, and an atrocity is an atrocity, regardless of "who started it" or what sort of "revenge" it was supposed to be. Taking some sort of moral or ethical position on who or what is the eviler of evil evils is pure folly.

Arguing over the "degree" of evil is like arguing about how black something is. It's like, how much more black can it be? And the answer is none. None more black. (Yes, that's a Spinal Tap quote; even when I'm profoundly disturbed and upset, I can still find my bizarre and ironic and dark sense of humor, and that's part of how I survived my childhood.)

I can't begin to imagine the agony that literally millions of people are in, directly as a result of atrocities we're hearing about in the news lately (both sides, all sides, any side). The magnitude of pain and suffering - and not just of those directly involved, but of their friends, family, neighbors, countrymen, etc. - is too horrendous for me to even contemplate, and just thinking about it makes me literally nauseated. I really do find this entire subject completely and utterly horrifying in the true sense of that word.

How much more evil can it be? None. None more evil. Arguing about it may distract some people from the horror of it all, but it doesn't make it less horrible.

There will undoubtedly be plenty more to come. New revelations, new atrocities, new acts of barbarism. There's a damn good reason for the saying, "War is hell."

Friday, 07 May 2004

Extraordinary dream

I had the most extraordinary dream. It's still very clear (and fresh) so I'll record it.

I was with some other people whom I knew in the dream but on waking, I'm not at all sure who it was. Just some companions, dream style. We had somehow found this object that was an ancient treasure, much sought after, but no one had ever found it it. We had a special artifact, and object that was a key of some sort (not key shaped, though).

The treasure was a structure, about the size of a shed. It had the amazing ability to morph itself into different appearances and shapes. It was semi-sentient and you could tell it what you wanted and it would act on it, and also it would change something like a chameleon, only not just in color. The whole thing would change. For example, it could look exactly like a front porch, or like a pool house, etc. It adapted to its environment.

Well, my companions and I went into the structure and there were several doors we had to pass through, but because we had the "key" object, we got to the true center of the structure. It was one of those fanatasy/scifi type situations where something is bigger on the inside than on the outside, and there was this huge room that was full of gold treasure. You know the sort, cups, coins, jewels, the traditional "large piles of treasure" type thing. It also had windows that looked out but couldn't be seen from the outside at all, and since you couldn't get in unless you had the key object, we understood that it was pefectly safe inside and we could be completely hidden, and not only that, we could watch what was going on outside through the windows but no one would ever know where we were and no one could get in.

We had the means to transport the structure (I don't know how, but we did), and we considered taking off in it then and there, but we didn't have my cat, and I didn't want to leave her behind. So we went back out and closed up the treasure room and decided to make plans to leave later.

I realize now (when I'm awake) that the structure was sitting in the yard behind my parents' house (strong dream symbol right there). There was also a pool (another strong dream symbol).

There were a lot of people who showed up about now. I don't know who they all were, but in the dream they were various friends and acquaintances. The structure turned into a pool house with a shower for a while, and people actually went in and used it as such. I sat outside with my companions and sort of kept one ear on the structure but no one ever guessed that it was anything other than what it looked like.

I woke up about then, with a feeling of... I don't know, satisfaction, maybe? Peace, perhaps.

I think I can work out what most of it means.

The "parents' house" is my life with them. I've dreamed of it many, many times, and the house is usually haunted (i.e., there are still "issues"). Last time I dreamed of being in the house only the basement was still haunted, so that's a good sign (no, I have no idea what's in the basement, but past experience shows that the basement represents memories from when I was very young, the "foundation" type memories).

Anyway, the structure was part of their "domain" but not part of the house, so it represents some degree of "separateness" that I managed to establish at some point.

The pool is always, always a symbol of change, rebirth, etc. I used to frequently dream of submerging myself in a pool, and I came to think of these as "baptism" dreams. The symbolism of baptism is that you're changed by the experience, that your "old self" is washed away and you're "born again", and I wanted that very much for a long time.

The treasure house, as it were, seems pretty clear to me. I built walls around myself, around my "true self" many years ago, and I kept the "treasure" of my real self hidden from the world. I did sort of stay inside and look out, or I disguised myself as something else, something useful or otherwise appropriate for the setting. It was never the case that I was NOT the thing I appeared to be. If I "looked like" a typical student, that's what I actually was, but the "true essence' of myself was always hidden and protected, away from the eyes of the world. It wasn't that I was (or am) a chameleon, because I really became the things I was (or am). But always, there was a treasure inside, one people didn't even suspect was there because they were so convinced by the outside.

I think I did think of my "true self" as a treasure. I still do. I don't mean the outside self with all the flaws and human failings. I mean the real, true, God-spark (for lack of a better term) that I have always known I have. Buddhists call it the "Subtle Self", that which transcends the material. I have always thought of that part of myself as a princess (my grandmother gave that particular image). A smart, skilled, beautiful, strong princess.

She's still in there, by the way. She doesn't make an appearance on the outside very often, and when she does, people frequently fail to recognize her, but she's definitely in there. I've got a very clear mental image of what she looks like. I used to draw pictures of her when I was a child. She has a tower that she lives in, and she has a big loom on which she weaves things, pictures. And you know what? She's running this show, even if no one else can see her...

Perhaps the dream was just a reminder of that, or a reminder of how I managed to protect myself all those years and still keep the "treasure" of my heart and true self safe from casual observers and those who would do harm if they got too near.

And yes, it's all very metaphorical and such. I'm not actually actively dissociative in a "disordered" way any more. I do still perceive parts of myself in rather vivid ways, though.

Maybe I should just try to remember that there's a treasure inside somewhere, no matter what the outside looks like or how people perceive it or me...

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