On the Rocks:
In my thoughts, I'm on the rocks
staring out across the bay
and nothing breaks the stillness
of a perfect summer day.
My heart is filled with turmoil -
there's a constant sense of dread,
and I can't shake the feeling
that there's turbulence ahead.
My feelings are conflicted,
I'm uncertain of my fate -
the answer's surely coming
but it's agony to wait.
With eyes closed I'll imagine
that I'm sitting in my spot -
the calm lake lies before me;
the sun shines bright and hot.
It's an odd coincidence
what memory unlocks
when winter winds have chilled me
and my heart is on the rocks.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 2007
Somewhere on the shores of Lake Superior, there's a moss covered rock that looks out on a shallow bay. It sits near a rocky promontory - a place where the weather has a tendency to suddenly change. It provides a panoramic view of an uninhabited island - a place that (to me) still signifies the unknown. Maple Island still shows up in my dreams - and it's always a place of possibilities.
This moss covered rock sits on a bed of flat slate. In our family we referred to this rocky formation as "the point". We played there as children, dubbing it "the hotel" and dividing its various levels into individual rooms, the largest and flattest being "the ballroom."
As a teenager, going to the point became a private pilgrimage. The moss covered rock became my personal sanctuary. It was a calming place to sit and think - or conversely to cleanse my rattled mind of excessive thoughts. I practiced my own personal rituals there, writing down wishes, and names of those I was thinking of - rock on rock - on the stones with a slate "pencil". Perhaps a few were hidden well enough that the name Trevor is still occasionally spotted, or a simple statement like, I WANT TO WRITE! is dislodged by the footfalls of someone on a pilgrimage of their own.
I don't know exactly why I did this, but locating a skinny rock to use as a pencil and writing messages on the slate that nature provided was a bit of family tradition that I'd simply modified. Somehow by writing down those dreams I was making them more real - more attainable - and by writing down the names of those who were in my thoughts I was inviting them into my private communion.
My life feels a bit chaotic and uncertain right now. Nothing is happening fast enough. I don't feel well and I'm mentally and physically exhausted.
My personal frustrations in no way compare to the news out of Orlando, Florida these past few days. Unspeakable horror, hatred and bigotry. Terrible and tragic losses to families. Senseless deaths - of people like Trevor. Conversations become arguments all over social media. What fueled the shooter's rage? Was it based on less than loving ideologies? Was it based on his hatred of the LBGT community? Did he have secret desires of his own that led him to manifest self-hatred by opening fire on the group he wanted to be part of? Who do we blame for creating this monster? Religion? Guns? Ignorance?
I have no answers.
Still, in the midst of all the debates circling 'round me, a few lines from a hymn have echoed in my head:
"No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging.
Since LOVE is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?"
My song at this point may not be joyous. It is, in fact, much more of a lamentation; a mournful melody. It is a funeral dirge for those cut down in youth by hatred of one sort or another. I'm tired of trying to definitively label exactly what sort of hate motivated this crime.
But somewhere in the midst of all the mourning I can still see my moss covered rock. It occurs to me, that sitting on a singular rock evokes one image - that of faith. Maybe it's faith in God, or a higher power. Maybe it's an abiding faith that goodness still exists in humanity, or in lofty ideals - truth, justice, liberty... Right now I'm choosing to believe that instead of flinging rocks of accusation around, we should be clinging to the rock in the hymn.
"Since LOVE is lord of heaven and earth..."
It's funny how the image changes when the word rock is pluralized. To be "on the rocks" is to be in peril. It is to be in danger of being bashed on stones and broken. I know from my forays to "the point" that it's easy to loose your footing when you're walking on stones. I know that rocks get slippery when they're wet. My fascination with lighthouses has given me a good understanding of rocks in water and the dangers they pose to ships.
None of us want to be "on the rocks", right?
Yet it occurs to me that while I sat on what I considered to be one rock - it was really rock on rock - like the messages I left on the slate. Fear and faith were always there - one atop the other. Does it really matter whether I sat on one rock or two? The important thing is that I found a place that felt safe, even though the winds could begin to whip around that point at any moment, signalling a swiftly gathering storm. I found serenity in a spot where nature was unpredictable. (Go figure!) I gave that rock meaning, and I gave those rocks meaning.
So I will give the rock, and rocks, meaning once again, as I round the point one more time. I will spell out my point clearly, in writing.
Love and faith are always there - even when misery and brutality seem to be getting the upper hand. In spite of the fact that hate invites monsters among us, love endures.
If I close my eyes for a moment it isn't because I'm in denial. The terrible realities in the world aren't so easily shut out . If my eyelids drop for a moment I'm just feeling a bit overwhelmed by harsh realities that are crashing to shore right now, roiling the sand and trying to erode the rock. The stones are continually shifting and I'm trying to keep my balance.
I will close my eyes and go back to my quiet place - where I am sitting on a moss covered rock, on top of a flat sheet of slate, and looking out over calm waters and islands of possibilities.
I will cling to the rock of love and still feel lulled by gentler waves.
Tuesday, 14 June 2016
Thursday, 2 June 2016
The Other N Word - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
An Ode to the Quintessential Narcissist:
There's comfort in delusion -
I know this much is true.
I've come to this conclusion
because I've studied you.
Your narcissism frees you
to spin webs of deceit
'til no one really sees you
through veiling that's complete.
The tales you tell are fiction -
you rewrite history
and every contradiction
compounds the mystery.
Fresh falsehoods I'm discerning
each time I hear you speak -
your arguments I'm spurning;
your logic is too weak.
I can't feed your illusions,
collaborate your lies,
or aid you in confessions
my conscience would despise.
Your drama doesn't move me -
I know you over-act,
and kindness can't behoove me
to use half-hearted tact.
I simply won't be smitten
by whisper-thin facade -
the fiction you have written
has left me under-awed.
So please don't call upon me
to write up your review -
I see through you completely,
the truth I will not skew.
No words would I be mincing -
your fiction was a bore -
your acting - not convincing -
and I could not ignore
the magic tricks attempted
that faltered and fell flat.
(The rabbits were exempted -
none came forth from the hat.)
No accolades I'm heaping
on narcissistic head.
Your secrets I'm not keeping -
I'll broadcast them instead.
I am not your acolyte -
you can't bedazzle me,
and fiction isn't what I write -
I write the things I see.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 2016
Yes, they're strong words, and no, they're not directed at any one individual, but rather an amalgamation of the many narcissists I've encountered.
We've all met "those people" - the ones who are never wrong. The ones who are self-absorbed, self-obsessed and generally selfish. These are people who excel at self-promotion and believe all of their own press. These are people who want minions more than friends - people who sought "followers" long before the internet existed.
When I was in my late teens, I encountered a girl who was popular. She carried herself with a confidence that I initially envied. Everybody seemed to really like her, but she left me completely underwhelmed. Something about her didn't ring true. I got the sense that she didn't like me much, and I think it might've been because I was born completely devoid of the suck up gene. She didn't crave friends, because she didn't need to. Most of the people she met gravitated toward her carefully crafted persona.
One of my friends once gushed, "I'm so lucky that she's my friend!"
To which I responded, "No, she's lucky that you are her friend!"
Then I gave my friend a pep talk about what a great person she was - how anybody would be lucky to have her as a friend. I don't know if she believed me, but it was true. The really incredible people that come into our lives are often the ones who just don't understand how wonderful they are, while the ones who show up waving a banner that proclaims their incredible awesomeness are fairly likely to disappoint - in my opinion.
After knowing (but mostly ignoring) me for a year or so, this girl suddenly started paying attention to me. She wanted to "hang out." I wasn't terribly flattered by her attention, but I spent a couple Friday nights in her company. My social calendar wasn't that packed, and I was willing to entertain the notion that she might be an okay person somewhere deep down. She tried to impress me with the number of people she knew by talking to, and waving at, all her "friends" while we ate outside on a patio. (An interesting side note - I hate eating on patios at restaurants. I'm kind of freaked out by the birds that hover anyplace food is served outside. And obviously she never asked me where I wanted to sit or anything.) She talked all about what she was doing and who she wanted to date. She critiqued my outfit and made all kinds of helpful suggestions about how I should do my hair, and dress, so that - wait for it! - I'd be more like her! But I didn't want to be like her; I was fine with being, well, like me.
And that's when it hit me that all of her friends became essentially her clones, a little army of moons all circling and trying desperately to reflect her "greater light". About that same time it occurred to me that I had something she wanted, and the sudden interest in pursuing a friendship was motivated by more than a desire for my scintillating company. So I didn't play along. My Friday nights became busier, and her disinterest in me resumed, and gradually escalated into full blown war. It wasn't pretty. What really stung is that when she began to treat me badly, nobody even noticed - except me. Everybody else seemed to continue basking in her glow. To me, she embodied the N word.
Most of us have encountered a narcissist or two along the way. Someone who lays on the charm in hopes of bedazzling you. Someone who wants something from you. Someone who doesn't really value you as you are, but sees you as someone they can re-create - and probably in their own image - or at least into a less real version of the person you want to be. (Not that it matters one iota what your idea of the perfect "you renovation" would be.) If you find yourself harshly berated for expressing a contrary opinion, or notice the relationship shifting - because you stand up for yourself, or voice even the gentlest criticism - then you might be dealing with someone who can be described with the N word.
Another friend that I made in my thirties became hostile when I saw her in a vulnerable situation. In her eyes, I was the weaker one, and the friendship couldn't survive a role reversal. She couldn't need me. I was the person she saw herself as mentor to. She was superior - and when I criticized an action she took, she told me in no uncertain terms that our friendship was over.
Things like that can happen when you're missing that oh-so-vital-to-a-narcissist "suck up gene".
Every day of my life I'm grateful that I have this genetic deficiency. It acts as an egotistical BS deflector and a lie detector. It makes me grateful for the people in my life who value me as I am. It helps me discern ulterior motives and avoid the company of soul-sucking individuals who want to keep me in what they perceive as my rightful spot - front and center in the audience of their one-man band or President of their own personal fan-club. It keeps me from becoming a nice, pliable piece of play dough that can be molded to suit their needs.
Beware of those who try to impress you with their flash and dash. Be wary of anyone who wants to make you their project. Avoid anyone who treats you like you should be honoured to be part of their entourage.
You were born to shine your own light. Remember that.
There's comfort in delusion -
I know this much is true.
I've come to this conclusion
because I've studied you.
Your narcissism frees you
to spin webs of deceit
'til no one really sees you
through veiling that's complete.
The tales you tell are fiction -
you rewrite history
and every contradiction
compounds the mystery.
Fresh falsehoods I'm discerning
each time I hear you speak -
your arguments I'm spurning;
your logic is too weak.
I can't feed your illusions,
collaborate your lies,
or aid you in confessions
my conscience would despise.
Your drama doesn't move me -
I know you over-act,
and kindness can't behoove me
to use half-hearted tact.
I simply won't be smitten
by whisper-thin facade -
the fiction you have written
has left me under-awed.
So please don't call upon me
to write up your review -
I see through you completely,
the truth I will not skew.
No words would I be mincing -
your fiction was a bore -
your acting - not convincing -
and I could not ignore
the magic tricks attempted
that faltered and fell flat.
(The rabbits were exempted -
none came forth from the hat.)
No accolades I'm heaping
on narcissistic head.
Your secrets I'm not keeping -
I'll broadcast them instead.
I am not your acolyte -
you can't bedazzle me,
and fiction isn't what I write -
I write the things I see.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 2016
Yes, they're strong words, and no, they're not directed at any one individual, but rather an amalgamation of the many narcissists I've encountered.
We've all met "those people" - the ones who are never wrong. The ones who are self-absorbed, self-obsessed and generally selfish. These are people who excel at self-promotion and believe all of their own press. These are people who want minions more than friends - people who sought "followers" long before the internet existed.
When I was in my late teens, I encountered a girl who was popular. She carried herself with a confidence that I initially envied. Everybody seemed to really like her, but she left me completely underwhelmed. Something about her didn't ring true. I got the sense that she didn't like me much, and I think it might've been because I was born completely devoid of the suck up gene. She didn't crave friends, because she didn't need to. Most of the people she met gravitated toward her carefully crafted persona.
One of my friends once gushed, "I'm so lucky that she's my friend!"
To which I responded, "No, she's lucky that you are her friend!"
Then I gave my friend a pep talk about what a great person she was - how anybody would be lucky to have her as a friend. I don't know if she believed me, but it was true. The really incredible people that come into our lives are often the ones who just don't understand how wonderful they are, while the ones who show up waving a banner that proclaims their incredible awesomeness are fairly likely to disappoint - in my opinion.
After knowing (but mostly ignoring) me for a year or so, this girl suddenly started paying attention to me. She wanted to "hang out." I wasn't terribly flattered by her attention, but I spent a couple Friday nights in her company. My social calendar wasn't that packed, and I was willing to entertain the notion that she might be an okay person somewhere deep down. She tried to impress me with the number of people she knew by talking to, and waving at, all her "friends" while we ate outside on a patio. (An interesting side note - I hate eating on patios at restaurants. I'm kind of freaked out by the birds that hover anyplace food is served outside. And obviously she never asked me where I wanted to sit or anything.) She talked all about what she was doing and who she wanted to date. She critiqued my outfit and made all kinds of helpful suggestions about how I should do my hair, and dress, so that - wait for it! - I'd be more like her! But I didn't want to be like her; I was fine with being, well, like me.
And that's when it hit me that all of her friends became essentially her clones, a little army of moons all circling and trying desperately to reflect her "greater light". About that same time it occurred to me that I had something she wanted, and the sudden interest in pursuing a friendship was motivated by more than a desire for my scintillating company. So I didn't play along. My Friday nights became busier, and her disinterest in me resumed, and gradually escalated into full blown war. It wasn't pretty. What really stung is that when she began to treat me badly, nobody even noticed - except me. Everybody else seemed to continue basking in her glow. To me, she embodied the N word.
Most of us have encountered a narcissist or two along the way. Someone who lays on the charm in hopes of bedazzling you. Someone who wants something from you. Someone who doesn't really value you as you are, but sees you as someone they can re-create - and probably in their own image - or at least into a less real version of the person you want to be. (Not that it matters one iota what your idea of the perfect "you renovation" would be.) If you find yourself harshly berated for expressing a contrary opinion, or notice the relationship shifting - because you stand up for yourself, or voice even the gentlest criticism - then you might be dealing with someone who can be described with the N word.
Another friend that I made in my thirties became hostile when I saw her in a vulnerable situation. In her eyes, I was the weaker one, and the friendship couldn't survive a role reversal. She couldn't need me. I was the person she saw herself as mentor to. She was superior - and when I criticized an action she took, she told me in no uncertain terms that our friendship was over.
Things like that can happen when you're missing that oh-so-vital-to-a-narcissist "suck up gene".
Every day of my life I'm grateful that I have this genetic deficiency. It acts as an egotistical BS deflector and a lie detector. It makes me grateful for the people in my life who value me as I am. It helps me discern ulterior motives and avoid the company of soul-sucking individuals who want to keep me in what they perceive as my rightful spot - front and center in the audience of their one-man band or President of their own personal fan-club. It keeps me from becoming a nice, pliable piece of play dough that can be molded to suit their needs.
Beware of those who try to impress you with their flash and dash. Be wary of anyone who wants to make you their project. Avoid anyone who treats you like you should be honoured to be part of their entourage.
You were born to shine your own light. Remember that.
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