Tag Archives: mysterious

Cutter

Cutter: (n) a person who repeatedly inflicts self-injury by cutting the skin, as to cope with negative emotions.

Her mother told me that Denise was “a cutter.”

Mother asked me if I knew what that meant. I did.

But it didn’t deter her from continuing to explain—vividly—the numerous times that knife went to flesh, carving out a hideous landscape of despair.

She tried to explain the diagnosis and the opinions the psychiatrist had for the source of the grief felt by Denice.

I listened. Well, no. I actually didn’t.

I was polite.

The reason I didn’t give much heed to the conversation was that I have learned a valuable lesson:

The power of “I don’t.”

  • I don’t know what I’m doing.
  • I don’t understand, even though I’ve been educated.
  • I don’t have the power to save people.
  • I don’t have sure-fire solutions to motivate change.

I don’t know what to do to stop a lovely young girl from defacing the beauty of her earthly canvas.

She likes to cut herself. She says it relieves tension and guilt.

It gives her a sense of temporary redemption from the screaming demons in her soul.

I don’t have the cosmic energy to take this damaged child of God and lift her out of her anguish.

What I have is “I do.”

I do have the possibility of screwing her up even further.

So I sat down and talked to her for about five minutes—mainly about myself. She even seemed somewhat interested. She was perplexed—because I’m sure she thought I was just another “healer” who had come to try to rescue her from herself.

I wasn’t.

You see, I do care. But I don’t have miracles.

I do love Denice as my fellow-traveler. But I don’t have magical potions or mysterious words to break the spell.

Sometimes it’s just good to know how limited we are so we can avoid the need to prove a point, and instead, emotionally embrace those who are hurting and hope—yes, hope—that some of the virtue of affection transfuses.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Aerie

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Aerie: (n) the nest  of a bird of prey, esp. an eagle, typically built high in a tree or on a cliff.

Am I being too needy when I say that I take great comfort in the fact that an eagle is considered to be a rather regal creature, even though it is bald like me? (Of course, lacking feathers, an attractive beak, and not to mention, the ability to fly–at that point all similarities seem to cease.)

But there is something wonderfully intriguing and even mysterious about the eagle, soaring high into the mountain, nestling itself into a home far from the jungle and the maddening crowd.

There is something here to learn: I need an aerie–not to remove myself permanently from humanity as a grumbling objection to the insanity being proffered, but rather, a place where I can escape at times and get a little higher so I can see a little clearer and gain some perspective, instead of touting how wise I am, with the evidence of how cynical I’ve become.

  • What passes for philosophy nowadays are actually jaded observations from those who have embraced sarcasm and abandoned solution.
  • What is pushed forward as government is an exclusive club of politicians, who get together to advertise favored causes, which most importantly, contradict the views of their opponents.
  • And what is passed on as communion of spirituality is either a narrow-minded God who’s pissed off with mankind or some benevolent hippie juiced up on weed, who loves everybody, no matter how miserable they are.

Fly a little higher.

Find a place of seclusion every once in a while, where you can clear your head.

In so doing, you might be surprised, like the eagle, at how God will give you new ideas … and expand your bird brain.