She knocked on my door and turned my world upside down.

by compound complex 15 Replies latest watchtower bible

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  compound complex

  Greetings, Friends:

  Wishing you well and progress toward freedom.

  Comments from elsewhere on the vignette below have spurred me to share how the JW experience affected me. Basically, the jumble of emotions and thoughts - good and bad - pours out of me in story form. I loved Bible stories as a little boy, but then the Witnesses came along with their version. I went to where the need was greater and later to Bethel, abandoning my family on a number of levels. Seeking escape from life and its attendant miseries - the Truth offered no genuine solace - I sought that escape through flights of fancy while being held fast by my new religion. Vincent, a family name, is one of my many personalities, at conflict - what else? - with the hidden core personality.

  I posted this elsewhere and expect no comments given the bizarre nature of my stuff. My writing's an acquired taste, if at all. Nevertheless, the kindness of a fellow poster from another forum has encouraged me not to give up. Incidentally, I'm a tree hugger.

  This is how I really feel:

  I walked to the edge today and, as I peered downward ... downward, I wondered what might possibly await in the canyon below.
  
  Of course, when not attending to my brother, Vincent, and his growing emotional need upon me due to the pervasiveness of depression that's settled into his being since Father's death, I take time for myself (when I can pull away from duty) and fly above the cares, the worries of the day.
  
  That is why, when I come to the brink, such as I did today when walking along the ridge with Tahoe on the horizon, I take flight, soaring, soaring above the stately pines and interspersing copses of plump oaks that have, since childhood, been my constant companions.
  
  They stood by me when Vincent was away - far away - at the bidding of the church who said it was God. I believe in trees because they are there - immovable and majestic - but I do not believe in a god that takes away my brother to an ivory tower in New York to do the bidding of old men who know neither life nor love. Vincent said one day I would understand, but what I really think is that he was running away, running away from responsibility and, perhaps - I cannot put my finger on it - a secret that is not so much a secret but something shameful.
  
  Shame and guilt and fear are a product of what that lady at the door fed him and he believed and turned my world upside down. Why couldn't she have minded her own business? Vincent already believed in God - I know he did because he used to tell me stories from the Bible, and at that time I loved them, especially the story of Ruth and Boaz - Boaz the honorable and just. My Vincent was like Boaz. He was a man of honor and he cared for his mother and father and me. Then he left - not home at first, but his heart and mind abandoned me as I became smaller and smaller and felt as though I was nonexistent. To him, to his god.
  
  I stand on the edge once again and I look out toward the horizon, knowing somewhere there is love and acceptance for me. I cannot carry Vincent forever, though I truly do care for him. As I ascend higher and higher, I will find my own place in the sun ... but being mindful that I do not burn my wings....
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  compound complex

  I sometimes wonder who we are - Vincent and I.

  He looks into the mirror and sees me. Passing by a plate glass shop window, I observe the reflection of Vincent, his dreamy eyes in a fixed stare with mine. I am steel and am not unnerved by what is clearly my brother's psychosis; as I do care about his state of mind (we are linked, and one another's mental health surely affects the course - for good or for ill - that either of us embark upon), however, it is essential that a measure of balance be struck and maintained in order that I might carry out my duties relative to his care.

  Redirecting Vincent toward useful and healthy pursuits is my goal. Too much time is passed his staring into space, which inactivity creates a downward spiral into whose vortex my dear little man descends with no one the savior unless I reach out and snag him. He is docile but weak in mind due to what I consider irreversible trauma brought on by religious fanaticism and, of course, Father's necessary death.

  I shall muster the forces of Hell, if necessary, to assist in my quest toward reunification with my other half. Requesting Heaven's help has never been a viable option ...
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  nancy drew

  interesting

  It seems to me that when we are born the people who care for us and give us our first glimpse of life are not up to the task due to the same problem surrounding their birth. The only way we learn anything is through a series of mistakes that we make throughout our life. Nobody is handed a clear set of guidelines so as to be wise it's trial and error and we have to appreciate that's just how it works and not let it paralyze us. I just say to myself so i followed alot of crazy paths with the hope that i would find the meaning of life and every path so far was the wrong answer well now I can eliminate those ideas. Moving on to the next, understanding where I usually go wrong, finally seeing where those seductive ideas usually snag me always looking for what I want instead of what is true because what is true may not be what i would prefer. So now i'm evidence based and have wiped the slate clean and am open only what I can prove and realizing the dreamy part of me that wants peace on earth and happiness for all must stay in it's place and remind me that it's just a dream that may or may not be possible it's still sounds nice but it has led me astray many times.

  So now that we are into true confessions that's how I see it today and tomorrow is another day as we all head towards something that we haven't figured out yet.
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  Quendi

  As always, my dear CoCo, I appreciate these meditations that you share with us. I have two brothers whom I dearly love and am fortunate that they feel the same way about me. The JW religion did not dirve a wedge in our relationships, fortunately, but that was because I was determined not to let that happen. Now that I am in much closer physical proximity with both of them, we are catching up and making up for lost time.

  I hope you can help your brother and thereby ease your own healing. When we give love away, we get it back many-fold. I am sure you will do likewise. You have a direction to follow now, do so without fear and you will reach your destination safe and sound.

  Best regareds,

  Quendi
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  THE GLADIATOR

  compound complex Your writing is always enjoyable and stirring emotionally. Perhaps more substance by way of a plot that leads somewhere would hold the readers attention for longer.

  We need to see the character’s emotion manifesting in action; to see how his action is consistent with his emotion or whether his behaviour becomes contradictory when tested.

  I appreciate that you are only showing us glimpses of your work. I shall watch this space...
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  Pams girl

  What my pal Gladiator said

  I enjoy your writing style CC and like it that you hug trees
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  compound complex

  Greetings and many thanks, Nancy, Quendi, THE GLADIATOR and Pams girl:

  Your comments are both encouraging and helpful to me.

  Though a great deal of what I write is atmospheric, setting a mood, a plot to drive the story along would be helpful. I understand and appreciate that point. Perhaps it is a question of writing in the third person and employing the omniscient narrator, that and involving other characters off which Vincent's brother can bounce. It's clear, I believe, that he is intended to be shown as an unreliable narrator. Is he for real?

  Thank you!

  Till later,
• 

  compound complex

  It was my door, but I didn't want to knock.

  If forced to do so by Sister Elderette (uber pioneer), I would knock as lightly as possible while distracting my watchdog/chaperone with some contrived but sincere sounding Bible question. It worked - usually - unless there was a doorbell. That drear day there was a doorbell. She pushed and pushed on it till it retreated into its casing and stuck, like a scared turtle. That maniacal look on her face. Almost a gloat, in anticipation of what earful she'd lay on a potential new recruit. All I ever got to do was make an introduction, even when it was my door. I couldn't have cared less ...

  Needless to say, I was ready to run and never look back. I had no desire to save people of good will through an accurate knowledge of the truth - whatever that was. Afraid - always in fear of what others would surely be whispering behind my back - but more so, on this particular occasion, of Sister Psmith's evil eye. I stayed put and was rewarded for my standing my shaky ground for righteousness' sake.

  The bell wearied of its shrill and obnoxious demand that an irate householder come to the door and bawl us out. That is not what happened, however. I heard the shuffle of footsteps on the other side and a slow, uncertain grasp of the old brass door knob fitted loosely into a worn escutcheon. The knob - now fully turned and stopped - was pulled on by some inscrutable entity (how could I know at this early stage?) until - at last - a tiny boy peered through a vertical shaft dividing off my light from his darkness. A sweet lad with the most penetrating blue eyes and mop of sorrel hair showed his exquisite porcelain face.

  "What's your name, young man," grilled Sister P.

  "Vi ... Vincent, ma'am."
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  nancy drew

  At that moment a loud clap of thunder shook the house and rain poured down vincent was spared.
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  00DAD

  marking for later!