These are three letters to the Masons I have written recently. The first is a letter to my friend Mason, imploring him to seek professional psychological help and generally deal with his issues of abandonment, betrayal, and identity. The second is a direct appeal to the Freemasons I wrote, asking them to meet me. The third is a letter to my family, the Masons, about some recent family drama. It should be noted that none of these letters was effective and each recipient has ignored my efforts. Alas.
My dearest Mason,
When I first met you, you blew my mind. I remember I read
your tarot cards and somewhere you got The World reversed. I remember being
given the interpretation that you turn people’s worlds upside down. You
certainly did mine one of the earlier times we hung out and you talked about
how if you wanted to celebrate your straight, white, manhood you had no outlet.
I had never considered this about your demographic because as I saw it, every
day was straight, white, male day, and I said so. You came back at me in a way
that made me think, and question my assumptions, and just generally rocked my
world, and I have enjoyed that about you ever since.
However, when questioned about your assumptions, when
I ask you to think, when I try to rock your world, you are so
very, very resistant. It is disheartening to try to expand a cognitive capacity
that challenges me in such a way that itself will not be challenged. I love
talking to you and hearing what you have to say and seeing thing through your
eyes. But rarely do you actually ask about me. We hardly ever discuss my
reality, my true views, what I know. And really, what do
you know? And not only what do you know, what do you know to be true?
Empirically? What have you actually experienced? I do not know the entirety of
your life, but I know you did not really finish high school, you did not go to
college, and I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned being out of the country. And
while, granted, you are extremely intelligent, I’m afraid you misuse this great
gift God gave you because you did not experience these.
Have you truly, truly sought out the truth about the
human condition, beyond your own experience? What do you know about different
nations, religions, genders, life paths, levels of intelligence, classes,
traditions, foods, philosophies, archetypes? About what it means to be
alive, why we are even here, what the penultimate life even is;
how humans were humans in the past, what they believed, what motivated them,
what they loved, what they feared, knew, felt? Because there is a whole universe
out there beyond what is on screens or in books or even felt with our five
senses, one lived from every time, angle and facet of experience. I fear that
you do not truly know this, and that you do not know that you do not know, but
you think you do, which is limiting and dangerous, especially with a mind like
yours.
This lapse in judgement about yourself does not stand alone.
You once told me that you had never done anything which you would consider
amoral, or which went against your personal code of conduct, or something to
that effect. And you really seemed to believe that. And this, while maybe not a
lie, is certainly an illusion. I find such a sweeping statement of dichotomous
thinking about a life half remembered (due to intoxication) completely null and
void. You see, Mason, you are your own paragon. And in so being, you are
disillusioned and nearly delusional at times. You make questionable choices,
give yourself too much slack, and your logic and judgement are not sound at
times, and you do not even seem to know this about yourself. It is my belief,
Mason, that you lie to yourself, or at least refuse to look at the truth,
all the while, claiming to be the zenith of human experience, like an
existentialist.
For example, you knew, for years, that I had feelings for
you. I told you explicitly that Ariel was not good for you after reading your
cards on your birthday that time. While I understand that that may not have
meant much to you at the time, I think you see now that this was one of those
truths you refused to see. Do you know how different your life would be if you
had had the courage to leave her and be with me? I’m not saying we would have
“worked out” or that your life would be “better”, but it would certainly be
different. But instead, you waited until I finally told you what you
already knew: I wanted you, body, mind, and spirit. I suppose you could have
not found me attractive or enticing or worthy in those early years when you
were with Ariel, but I do not believe this is true. And so, I am led to believe
that your powers of judgement and decision making were/are lacking. Not to
mention, you obviously lack confidence and conviction. What kind of man doesn’t
make a move on a woman like me when he knows she’s into him? An insecure one?
This is my conclusion overall. You did not have the wherewithal to take me,
even when you knew you could, because, deep down, you have no foundation of self-love.
I understand your father left you and women used you for
money and Ariel abused you and the cops set you up and whatever else. But you
have not really dealt with any of that, Mason. I do not think you have
processed even half of that. You, yourself, have said you drink to forget your
problems. You drown your mind and body and spirit in poison, to avoid the
poison within you? What is this? I cannot comprehend your logic. I
cannot see why you choose the things you do, do the things you do, say the
things you say, other than that you do not know any better. But you will not
even admit this to yourself, let alone others. You go around, offering
“advice”, “saving” people, making apps to “help” people, when it is you, Mason,
who needs advice, help, and saving.
You get so upset: when we call you baby Mason, at Applebee’s
that one time with Travis, just now. You cannot handle much emotionally and are
so quick to run. You are so fragile, and yet you feign strength. You are so
ignorant, and yet you feign knowledge. In many ways you are empty, and yet you
think yourself so full. You’re without, Mason. You’re without a plan, clear desires,
your own home, intrapersonal skills, interpersonal skills, an education, or a
functioning spirituality or satisfying sexuality. The fact is, you don’t even
know what you stand for. You don’t even know what to do. I’m convinced more and
more that you don’t even know who you are. And that’s all ok, no one has it all
figured out, but you act as if you do, and you convince other people
that you do, and they sometimes listen to you and follow you and work with/for
you, but for what? To what end? If the whole world followed you,
Mason, where would you lead it?
Now I know that I could be talking about myself here, but
the fact is, I know what I stand for, I usually know what to do and if I don’t,
I’m usually guided to the right path. And I know who I am, for the most part.
But I had to leave you and your “friends” to find the greatest part of that. I
have a lot I could tell you, Mason. There is a lot within me, and I’d love to
share it with you, with everyone, but you must be willing to listen, and
integrate, and change, as I did the first time I met you. You
must stop lying to yourself, deal with your trauma, and learn to love yourself.
You changed me that moment when you said you had no way to
celebrate who you are. Now, let me change you, so I can
celebrate who you are, so you can celebrate who you are, without
pretense or posturing or fabrication.
I know you will take umbrage at all this, but at least I
took the time to tell you what I see, to consider you as a person, beyond what you
can do for me. Believe it or not, I am trying to help you. I care so
much about you, Mason. Even when we were apart, I still wanted to acknowledge
your birthday. You represent a part of me and the world and men at large that
has so much potential, is gifted and skilled and blessed with bounty
beyond what even you or I can fathom. I know that you are a good person,
that you mean well, that you are a good father and a good friend. I know all
that. That is why I am taking the time to write all this, taking the risk that
you’ll shun me forever for telling you how I feel. YOU ARE SO WORTHY, MASON.
You could do the most amazing things, if only you stopped lying to yourself and
started loving yourself properly. But you have so much hurt and trauma and
illusion to work through first. And you’re not doing it. You’re running from
it, smothering it with drugs, pushing it down into the shadow. You create walls
and shells and draw lines in the sand to avoid dealing with anyone who would
tell you this; and so you waste away under the weight of your disillusionment,
floundering, projecting, rescuing everyone but yourself. And it kills me.
There was a time when I was attracted to men in pain. I
thought that broody, moody, mutilated thing was so hot. But now I see that all
that pain is just wretched, heavy, forsaken bullshit: for them, for me, for
everyone. I learned that being hurt is not cool, not being able to deal
with your emotions or your past or your own head space is not beneficial or
sexy or romantic. It just cripples you: it limits you in ways you don’t even
know until you deal with it all and are whole and free and unafraid. Don’t you
want to be free? Don’t you want to not be afraid to be sober, or alone with
your thoughts and emotions, or not in control, or to lose occasionally? Because
when you deal with your pain and trauma, look at your emotions
and feel them instead of drowning them out, when you control your
thoughts and refine your logic, you will be free to function at your
highest capacity and I will dance for joy with you on the grave of your former
self. You will be whole and safe and well for yourself and others and the
world. But if you don’t deal, your bad feelings and wayward thoughts and
tired trauma will get louder and more insistent to be dealt with, and if they
remain unacknowledged, they will manifest in your body as tumors, and disease,
and all manner of ill adapted life.
In short, you need help, and I know, because I’ve been
there. I know that hole, its desperate depths and sad station, and in
writing this I am jumping down into it again to be with you, because I know
the way out. And if you prove to be too much for me, at least I pointed you
in the right direction. But I know I can help at least as much as I can. You
should definitely seek professional help, but I have had a lot of that, too,
and kind of know how it goes. Please, please, please Mason, for your sake, for
my sake, for Maitland and Ariel and everyone you ever cared about, choose
differently. Instead of smoking or snorting or drinking; instead of pushing
me and everyone else away; instead of isolating and building walls and staying
inside your broken shell, choose a different reality. You told me you
were once at a meeting of yous and it did not go well. Well, be someone
different. Make a new choice. Instead of thinking you know all the answers,
admit that you have blind spots, like we all do, and make an effort to look
at your shadow, so that it does not rear up and ruin your life any more than it
already has.
Turn from your doom, your listlessness, your provocation,
and create a new life. One where you aren’t haunted by a father who left
you, because you have fully felt those feelings of shame and abandonment
and loss and have put them to rest. Create a new life where you are in
control of your mind, and your logic is sound and whole and just, and you are
unafraid of your own thoughts or past or emotion. Be the father for your son
that you should have had and heal yourself of that ancient and terrible wound.
All you have to do is try. All you have to do is admit you need help, that you
don’t have all the answers, that there are some things you don’t know, the
knowing of which could change everything.
And be ok with that. This is life: we do not have a
road map so it’s not weak to say “I don’t know” or “I need help” or “I’m lost”.
I have. We all have. Its part of growing, becoming enlightened, getting past
your shit. I’m not saying I know everything, or that I don’t need help, or even
that I’m not a little lost, too. But I know some things, and I care about you,
and I’m willing to go through the shit with you, if you are, because I
believe in you, Mason. I believe in your tenacity, and your brilliance, and
your incomparable spirit. And I think we make a good team (platonically) being
that we share a name/neighborhood. So don’t push me away because I challenge
you. Rise to the challenge. Be a better you. Seek a new world. Create the life
you always wanted. It starts with revelation, humility, and commitment, not
defensiveness. It’s going to be hard, it’s going to suck for a while, but it’ll
be worth it.
Dear Clever Foe,
You know you lie to yourselves, your wives, each other. You
know all your money can’t buy friends, lovers, or children. You know all your
stuff is just heavy. You’re scared of death, each other, and me. And you know I’m
not scared of you, you know I don’t take the easy road, and you know I’m well
supported.
I also know you know I’m tired. I’m broke. I’m “lonely”.
There are more of you than me and while you can’t exactly stop me, you know
you’ve made it sufficiently annoying for me to keep going. And so I am asking
for parle. Side bar. Confab.
I’m not even sure what your end game is. Men on top, women
slaves, both mentally and physically, children what? Dead? Enslaved? Mutilated
in body and soul? Broken people running broken people? An asteroid? AI takes
over? Like what, exactly are you doing? Where, exactly are you leading
us? And why?
Do you honestly believe women are what? Incapable? Stupid?
Bad spacial awareness and no upper body strength? Were all your mothers cunts?
Obviously you’re missing something, because I’m here.
You know what I want: Pax. Freedom. Respect. For everyone,
everywhere, forever. But you fools have made that institutionally impossible.
And so yes, I have fought you, for years. You have cut women out of the money,
the power, and the sex. And in so doing, you have cut yourselves out of the
enjoyment of those things. And you know it. No Yang without Yin or you die on
the battlefield, we know.
But I know that for all your money, power and sex, you’re
unhappy. You’re miserable. Because though you gained “the whole world”, you
lost the ability to enjoy it. You lost what’s inside. You lost what I have. You
see me, destitute, unable to get a job, barely able to get laid, at war with
the whole world. And yet, you see me smile, laugh with true mirth, feel all my
feelings gladly. You see children drawn to me. You see people love me for who I
am, if only for a night. What do YOU have? Money? Dicks?
But instead of kicking a dog while he’s up/down I think
maybe its time we learned from each other. You’ve seen God work in my life,
probably in ways I don’t even know. I’ve seen the beauty of Satan and the
brilliance of his tricks. We’re both stagnating, in need of revitalization.
Let’s see if we find it in each other. After all, Satan is merely God
pretending not to be God. Let’s just stop pretending.
Our world is in shadow. Now, a shadow does not have
substance, it is merely a lack of light. However, you all have made darkness
visible, given flesh to the shadow and have perpetuated this evil for
generations. I am not going to say I am the light that will dispel your shadow,
but you know I will try.
Because one day, you’ll die. Before me, I presume. And when
you die, you’ll have to face everything you’ve done in this life. It’s been
terrible, for you, for them, for me. CHOOSE DIFFERENTLY. I know you all are
bound or whatever, but let’s try to talk. You know you want to. And you know I
want to. We’re practically twins. We owe it to each other and to ourselves and
to our respective overlords to try.
Let’s be like Jack and Liz and work together. I am sorry I
came at you at first (and all these years since), but you can be really, really
terrible and that’s all I saw at first. Your selfish, hedonistic, INSIDIOUS
greed that damages everything it touches, especially women. But you know now,
as do I, that “things” aren’t it. Evil is not satisfying, it does not lead to
peace, and you will be unhappy forever and pass on that unhappiness to your
brethren so that you are not alone in your misery unless you meet me.
I will love you, as I love my imperfect self, if you but let
me. Yours Truly, MM57.
Dear Masons,
Do you even know that we are Freemason Royalty? Two
Freemason Brothers who are brothers, named Mason, take over a
town that was supposed to be named New London? Did you know that Atlanta lies
on the 33rd parallel and that the number 33 is sacred to the Freemasons? Did
you know gold is the masculine metal, because its molecules are shaped like
suns, the “masculine” planet, and that really no other building has a gold
dome, like the Georgia state capital does? Did you know, that if you look at
the United States overlayed by an x,y axis (Cartesian Coordinate Plane), that
Georgia lies in the bottom right, or the masculine sex corner, according to
traditional interpretations of direction (wherein left is feminine, right is
masculine, up is the intellect and down is sexuality)? Did you know that
Freemasons engage in homosexual acts as ritual to “worship their deity” (the
dick, pleasure, masculinity)? That is why there is a statue right in Midtown of
a bunch of naked dudes holding up “the world”: this, as all art is, is a
representation of a colloquial ideology: that men rule the world, hold it up,
and are naked together. That’s part of the reason why gay men are attracted to
Atlanta. It is a hotbed of male-sexuality orientated folks, in part because it
is in the bottom right of the country, it is on the 33rd parallel,
and its capitol building is coated in gold. Not to mention it is the only state
starting with the Freemason letter G, which can be found in the middle of their
symbol and is a reference to the Summer Solstice, or exaltation of the Sun, the
masculine planet, as it is the longest day of the year and therefore the male.
This, in part, is my problem with Gary. He, his magic (which
is really just symbolic manipulation of energy [and can range from something as
simple as knowing which kind of plant to use, to something as complex as what
the grain of that type of woody plant means for the energy you’re going to use
it for or what astrological happenstance aligns well with a tree’s magical
profile]), and his energy are oriented towards men, their growth, their seed,
their pleasure, their money and power and all else that the Freemasons, Gary
and Wayne represent… It’s just too much MAN. You know one time at an event, I
saw Aunt Anne standing next to a cake, looking at it longingly, because she
couldn’t even say she wanted a piece. Uncle Wayne comes up and literally tells
her to step away, that she does need it, and to follow him. This is too
much man, literally: Wayne’s body is corpulent! Anne is so thin her
bones are at risk! Let the woman have a slice of cake! Let all women all
have a slice of cake! Let me have a slice!
Gary has mined Teresa, literally, and all the women in our
family, until now only his is the fruitful branch. Has anyone ever wondered
what is going on with those arrows and such over Teresa and Gary’s fireplace?
It’s cast in iron (I think), it’s a custom job, and it’s main feature is the
arrow, or a symbolic phallus. Now, I believe this arrow situation could be
interpreted according to my aforementioned theory about different corners of a
representation being assigned values according to their manifestations of
gender, intellect, and sexuality. I bet the left arrow (feminine) on this
custom made fireplace, is pointed toward the right (masculine) in some fashion.
I don’t know, but I’d like to know if it’s down. My point is, Gary is in
control, in more ways than one, through use of more than he leads on to know.
And it affects us in ways we cannot perceive without knowledge that he, and
Wayne, and their ilk have denied us.
I recall a time I was at the Waters residence and Jessica
had had to cut off her hair because she had dyed it blonde and it had needed to
go. She wore a beanie hat to cover this fact up. Gary told her to take it off,
“joking” or whatever. She refused, he insisted, she refused. He proceeded to
chase her around the kitchen until he caught her and ripped her hat off her
head himself. He then ridiculed her in front of me and their family… This is
the “holy man”. This is your patriarch, and this is how he treats a woman who
is his own flesh and blood. And this is just what I saw, I have heard there was
worse between Jessica and Gary. And who knows how he treats women whose lives
he has no stake in? Because Gary’s father taught him the same. I recall a story
told to me, about Bettie and Tom Waters. At some family function, Bettie had
been sitting in a chair, minding her own business, when Tom came up and
insisted that she relinquish her seat (and station and security) to him. He did
this in public. As if it were right, ok, and laudable: something his sons
should see; something some of you had to see and deal with inside your own idea
of what a man is and what a woman is. This is how Gary, and indeed, Atlanta,
grew up.
Let’s examine these instances symbolically. Jessica had
tried to lighten her hair, which is a symbol of the past, specifically your
past thoughts. It resulted in damaged hair and the loss of same. She attempted
to cover up this “mistake,” with a hat. A hat is an interesting symbol. It is
first and foremost a covering for the head (thought shield), it is also phallic
in form (one of the reasons Abraham Lincoln and his cohort wore “tall hats”),
and represents the efficacy of our thoughts: how well we wield our mind to manifest,
and our mental agency in general. Gary removed this protection, defense against
shame, and agency of thought from Jessica, symbolically, when he tore this hat
from her head. He then made fun of her. In front of everyone.
While Tom, when he forced Bettie to relinquish her chair,
wasn’t maligning her with words, like Gary did to Jessica, he was taking away
her comfort, her position, and her support, things a “hat” can provide. Gary,
when he stole Jessica’s hat, was taking away her agency, her ability to think
for herself, and her ability to reconstruct her reality with her own mind when she
decided to leave her past (hair) behind. Not to mention it embarrassed her,
invaded her space, and laid claim to her body/goods/mind. And this is all a
reflection of his relationship with Teresa. Except now there’s sex and
money and trees growing in the earth, sucking the natural resources from the
soil so that they can make wood. And it is ever thus: Gary makes money
for “himself and Teresa”, by tending to the trees that they grow year after
year, tree after tree, soaking up all that WATER, life, and resource from
Mother Earth (aka Teresa, her heart, mind and body, and, to some degree, all
our hearts, minds, and bodies.)
And they live in Hartwell. He got his puppy from Hoo Doo
Mountain. His fireplace has arrows, cast in iron, pointing different directions
(not to even mention the symbolism of what’s going on in the driveway or what’s
up with the fish). He rips off Jessica’s hat, Tom steals Bettie’s seat, they
grew up on Greystone Drive or something like that, even the fact that Gary was
a firefighter: it’s all dudes, and they fight FIRE (sex), and now he’s
“programming” that sexuality in his bedroom with these arrows on his
fireplace (and on the driveway, and with the plants in his yard, and…). It’s
just not cool. It’s clever, inventive, I have much more respect for Gary as a
person now that I see what he’s been doing all these years; but the fact
remains that we’ve been hoodwinked.
Gary has profited off Teresa, her care, her body, her mind,
all the while serving his pleasure, his idea of what should be, what should happen,
to her, to us, to him. And it’s not just Teresa, what he does with Jessica,
Tenley, Kensie, Me, Caitlin, Mom, probably Tina and Brooke, it’s all symbolically
sick shit. And even if you don’t understand/believe in/feel this “symbolism”,
you know what I’m talking about. I remember one time he grabbed my hat at the
cook out and asked me which store I stole it from. This was when I had just
started working at Nordstrom, and I assumed he was attempting to knock me down
a peg by implying I was unscrupulous at my new job. As I snatched my hat back,
I told him that a guy had given it to me, and officially got the better of him.
Something similar is happening here. Gary (and Wayne), for far too long, has
symbolically, spiritually, and mentally ruled over our family with ritualistic
acts like stripping hats, taking chairs, and touching asses (not to mention all
the physical mirror magic anchoring this selfsame power). He has taken, like
his father before him, women’s resources, their sex, their inherited and
inherent prosperity, and turned it all into profit and a legacy for himself and
his male heirs. In short, Gary’s tree was draining our collective earth that is
naturally rich and ancient and, truly, royal.
And so, in light of his actions and my realizations, I wrote
him a letter. This is it (I kept a copy):
RAT! [In the fashion of Holly Golightly] I read your receipt
and so do in fact know you are [I understand that the party line is that the
receipt I stole from Gary was, in fact, from an employee]. I know what Jessica
13 means, [Jessica is an adaptation of the name Jezebel, or Biblical prostitute;
the number 13 is Jessica’s birthday as well as the number OF the
prostitute], why there was a mouse under a piece of wood in your front yard, [a
mouse is a symbol of dark magic, something the Universe was in the process of
teaching me/confirming at the time this happened; wood is masculine and sexual
and, well, WOOD; and the front yard is, well, THE FRONT YARD] and why your
front yard tends to have flowers on the right [flowers are the sex organs of
plants, that’s why they’re such a THING and why girls want them. Their being on
the right side of the front yard is like saying all the sex in 40 Regans is for
the man there]. I know why you named your dog Hoo Doo [another named for Voo
Doo], why you lost your house [because worshiping masculinity {which is what Freemason’s do
and I believe Gary is Freemason adjacent with his Monday evening men’s meetings}
leads you to lose more than you gain in the end]. Then something about a Visa
number which “I guess” isn’t accurate, if that is indeed the truth and not a
lie you all rallied around to protect your patriarch.
Then I say: You are selfish, dishonest, and a failure. (This
is all accurate, from a certain point of view: mine, non
threatening, and dispassionately expressed.)
NEVER TOUCH ME.
This concluded my letter. Here we have come to the main
point: Gary, in touching my ass (a symbol of shame), was performing a symbolic
action (akin to pulling off Jessica and my’s hats, or Tom taking Bettie’s
chair) that I believe was intentional, if not premeditated, given Gary’s use of
symbols to engender a feeling of fear and control by the men in our family,
especially when it comes to sexuality, shame, and agency. Gary, in touching my
ass, was putting me in my place by engaging my shame principle, with what is
really a ritualistic action: showing me (and everyone) he was in charge of my
body, my shame, and my sex, by touching me in an inappropriate way against my
implied will. The men do this all the time to each other: in the Freemason
temple, on and off the football field, and in fraternities with all that
spanking, patting and towel snapping they do. It doesn’t matter if he grabbed my
ass, or smacked my ass with a plate, the effect was the same: I felt infringed
upon, in more ways than a few, as it is MY ASS, and so I reacted,
as I am wont to do, with magic and symbols and arcane, erudite observation, to
castrate Gary magically, upend his power, free us from his mind control, and reclaim
our sexuality, shame, and prosperity principals.
I was trying to help us, the Mason women (and truly the men,
as well, as their power over us is not ultimately beneficial), evolve past the
patriarchy, where Mom isn’t “Lips”, and I can rest assured Jessica and my hat’s
are safe, and Bettie has a chair, and Kensie and Tenley grow up knowing they
are respected and safe and unavailable for Gary’s machinations because he no
longer holds sway over any of us, in any way that is inappropriate or
harmful! Because why should an old white man ever be allowed to reach out and
ever do anything to a younger woman’s butt ever, but especially
on Easter (in his house, surrounded by family and kids who are all watching
everything, learning how to be, about their roles as men and women and the ideal
way for these to interact), but even more especially in MY
case: where I’m “crazy”? What’s the pay off, for Gary, for grabbing/tapping my
ass? Seems like a big risk, if you think about it. Turns out it was. Because I
know why he did it, and I’m telling you all.
Our family is in the land business, but beyond that, we are
in politics, with roots reaching back to Sheriff of Centerville and Ivy Lee,
inventor of (a type of) Public Relations, at the time of corrupt corporations
who would pay someone like Ivy Lee to find a way to spin stories (like their
having murdered an entire town of dissenting miners during a strike they were
having protesting the unfair and unsafe conditions of the mining for which they
were paid irrationally little). We are related to the man who turned
this intentional mass murder of the little guy into the first (I think) press
release given by a corporation to “spin” it in their favor. And thus it has
been, men covering for men of unconscionable conscience, corrupting our land, bewitching
our public, telling only half the tale: HIStory. Two Freemason men named Mason,
brothers, who conquered the new world (New London) along the axis of that world
dictated by the number held most sacred by the Freemasons (33), in a “Phoenix”
town named after the long lost land of our ancient past, Atlantis, in a country
created by Freemasons in an attempt to build a superior society based on
the ideas of freedom, succor, and religious rights…but mainly for white men.
All I’m saying is, our story, our family, my life, as the
firstborn of the “firstborn”, what I do and say and what it means, affects
people beyond our family, as is truly so for all people and families, but
especially ours. Beyond the local pedestal we are on, in the cosmic sense, we
are all one: we ride through life tethered to one another. It is as if we
are all vegetables in a stew, and the broccoli were too strong, and was
outshining all the other flavors, and infecting all the other vegetables
with their ideology. To intentionally mix metaphors here, as we ride together, some
have decided to ride ahead, change the path, and increase the chains on the
others, especially those who dissent, or are weak, or vulnerable.
That is why I am so
concerned about our collective energy, be it sexual, mental or spiritual, and
why I am willing to sacrifice so much for what I believe is right. Because in my
putting Gary in his place, when he has tried to put me in “mine”,
I am changing the way women relate to men everywhere, and not just in the dynamics
of our family, because a change anywhere is a change everywhere (metaphysics,
quantum mechanics, chaos theory). And so, please excuse me for frightening
you all. It was not my ultimate intention although it was anticipated, and
that is why I went, willing, into the valley of death, where God had
laid a table for me in the presence of my enemies. I met my former self, a
projection of my ex girlfriend, and my “injured shadow self” in the psych ward,
and we ministered to each other, and we found comfort in each other during our
time of trial and we are trauma bonded for life now. And so, truly I thank you
all, for playing your part in the story, and gifting me these new friends,
important pieces of the puzzle, and opportunities for me to heal my past, present,
and future. And please, forgive me for playing my part, the indigent
heretic dragon, in my attempt to clean up the world Papa and the men left us.
Yours Truly, Sincerely, and Always,
Macy
