Judge, Jury and Joy

I’ve got a judgement revolution going on. Inside.

Friends. Family. Self.

There was a time when I stepped into my own head.  It had to be done. And it involved a keyboard much like this one.  Through the small letters I parsed out what I believed about being alone and engaging with others. About wanting and needing, which one was mine and which one I might tender from others. About boundaries that protected me and barriers that prevented me . . . from allowing.

I worked through the dull roar that invited me in.

And then I lived and lived and lived.

Contradictions worked themselves out. Theories were tested. I noticed, when what came back was not what I wanted.  But sometimes I just carried that.  After all, I was not slipping my needs into the pockets of others.

There were tendrils, though.  They were around, and I didn’t know how to exorcise them.

But then I watched those leftovers weave together, in what seemed like a falling apart.  Except that that in the anger and the fear and the discontent, it was all falling together.  I chose without knowing, and heard afterward.

And its the hearing that has allowed judgement to be revolutionary.  It’s only ok, because it was not ok.  I watched the jury box fill up, as I was thinking about joy.

So now judgement does just become my own, and I am not hanging myself for it. I see you, and I see me.  I might listen if you choose to tell me, and sure as heck you are lining up with your cards in hand.  Each one you lay in front of me says, “Oh yes! We know you are ready for this!”

I’m strangely eager for my next apology.