Don’t talk to anyone about personal things.
Don’t share your problems.
Don’t ever talk about money. That’s impolite.
Keep it to yourself.
Be strong.
Don’t show weakness…ever.
Don’t ever cry in front of others.
Pray. Ask God for help.
Sin? Ask God for forgiveness.
Always listen to your elders.
Be silent unless spoken to.
I know, I’m not the only one who grew up like this…
Gotta say, though, being an immigrant (born in the USSR to a Russian dad and Egyptian mom) certainly didn’t make it easier to communicate my truth.
I was always different. Different food. Different language at home. Different parents with “weird” accents. Different clothes (always hand-me-down’s from church.) Different ideals, values and more.
When my car accident happened on my 14th birthday, I became different once again. So I tried to become the same as everyone else, and I quit talking about it.
Now, many many years later, it’s affecting me in ways I can no longer hide. Renal fatigue for months, patterned with huge physical limitations that affected me my whole life but are now manifesting in physical issues I can no longer pretend aren’t there,… nor do I want to.
I was granted a second chance at life is so that I could share my story, share the therapies and modalities that have kept me active, alive and faring far better than every single doctor’s prediction.
Instead – I hid behind the cloud of sameness, even though I would never be the same.
At one point in my mid twenties, I started to blossom and reflect my true inner self, specifically spiritual realizations and beliefs I had come to. I started talking and stopped hiding. Instead of being accepted, I was banged upside the head(emotionally speaking) for exposing myself and my truth. And so, I hid again. It was familiar territory, after all. A deep, well-worn groove, which left me uncertain, with very little inner confidence for many years to come.
I could support all the world around me…and I could do it very very well. But I couldn’t support myself. I hide no more.
A TRUE STORY ABOUT HIDING and HATING, and the SIMPLICITY and POWER OF SPEECH:
It was probably 2001 or 2002, and I was walking to Shiva Rea’s 4:15pm Tuesday yoga class at Sacred Movement. It was a hugely popular class and I liked getting there a bit early… I was running a tad late, and decided to cut through the alleyways to get there quicker…
Venice has always been filled with homeless guys. I kinda like them. They reflect all the things that most of us wish weren’t right in front of us. Rarely, do I feel threatened by them.
So this homeless guy up ahead of me kept turning around, looking right at me. He didn’t feel dangerous, and I could tell he wanted something. Wonder if he’s going to ask me for money, or a smoke, or something…I thought. I was about 15 feet away when he turned, stopped and stared right at me. I caught his eye and nodded.
“Can you stop walking behind me?” he said.
“Sure,” I answered, “no problem. How about I walk next to you, is that OK?”
He nodded. We walked in silence for a few feet. “I can’t have anyone walk behind me,” he stammered, “after the war…”
“The Vietnam war?”
He nods. “I just can’t.”
“That’s OK,” I answered. “I’m happy to walk next to you.”
“I did horrible things,” he says to me.
I just look at him.
“They made us to horrible things. I’ll never forgive myself. I did horrible things to women. To children. I hate myself for that. And when someone walks behind me, it brings me back to that place. I just can’t…”
He starts to cry, then stops himself.
“That’s OK,” I answer. “It isn’t your fault. That was in your past. They made you do it.”
“But you don’t know what I did…”
I begin to be grateful that it’s still daylight and not dead of night. I maintain my steady pace and maintain eye contact. “I don’t hate you. And I know God doesn’t hate you.”
“You think so?” He’s wiping away tears.
“I know so.”
“You believe in God?” he asks me, “with all the evil in the world…”
“Yes, I do.” I answer. “Not the God I was taught to believe. Not the God of the Bible, of Christianity, but yes, I believe in a Creator, an Intelligence, a Universal Force.”
“And you think God will forgive me?”
“I’m certain of it.” I smile, look down at my watch. “I’m sorry. I’m late for a class. Do you mind if I walk in front of you? Is that OK?”
He nods and I make my way to class…
We all have our demons.
We all have our mysteries.
Maybe it’s about time we all started sharing them.
P.S. – I’m super happy at all of you that have reached out to me these last few weeks. Some of you are students I haven’t seen or taught in over 14 years. Thank you for reading. Thank you for supporting.
And if these emails aren’t your thing., please, unsubscribe. You won’t hurt my feelings. Instead, you’ll simply de-clutter your life of information that isn’t relevant to you. And that is worth its weight in gold.