scar tissue

art journal rain drops

As I’m writing this on Thursday night, it’s much cooler than it has been lately, and a soft rain is falling. I love how much it reminds me of fall. (And these introductory sentences don’t have much to do with the rest of the post, but I just felt like sharing.)

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about tenderness, and vulnerability – especially since my former boyfriend visited last weekend. Nobody’s asking, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the reasons why I’m not in a relationship right now. And I’ve been thinking about how I would explain it. And about how messy that story is.

A big chunk of it has to do with some events very early in my life, I’m sure. And when I think about how those experiences shaped me, or left their imprint on me, I imagine a scar. And not a little scar, either. Have you ever see burn victims with injuries so severe that their skin didn’t look human anymore? I’m talking that kind of scar. Thick. Inflexible. Painful.

But then I think about the work (The Work) of Byron Katie that I’ve been practising lately, and I’m not sure I can be sure of the scars, anymore.

I am scarred by my early experiences. Is that true?
I’m not sure.

Can I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m emotionally scarred?
No.

How do I feel when I believe the thought, “I am scarred by my early experiences”?
Um, sad. Unlovable. Like a freak that people just want to back away from. Alone.

Who would you be if you couldn’t believe that thought?
I would be lighthearted and joyous, like a small child. I would be open, and smiling. I would be curious about the world, and interested in other people.

I’m not scarred by my early experiences.

I look forward to feeling scarred by my early experiences (because they lead me to this healing work).

I scar others by hanging onto this faulty belief.

Are you hanging onto some faulty beliefs?

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Detail from the art journal spread Rain, December 29, 2011. Poster paint, marker, wax crayon and collage on paper.