Last week as I prepared to go to Cotacachi for the day, I took a few moments to watch the river. For some reason, I was feeling a bit melancholy walking to the bus. I prayed for Mali’s safety while I was away, something I always do, not ever really comfortable leaving her behind. This mornings emotions (I learned as I sat with my thoughts on the bus) have much to with Miss Mali, or at least she seemed to trigger them.
As we walked back from the river that morning, I watched Mali in her attempts to join the frolicking play with the other dogs. For me this is such a beautiful thing to watch because when we first arrived Mali still had not experienced being part of a pack, did not understand having a “dog” family. It was not until we were winding our way through the mountains, the reasons for my melancholy became clear, triggered by a simple moment in time. It seems the mountains always inspire deep thought, as if the canyons below me reflect how deep I must go to learn the truth about my past. How so many events large and small have affected my ability to remember, this appears to be the purpose of these tranquil journeys. Similarly back home long drives would often inspire such thoughts, helping me to find balance as I worked my way through the complexity of my life.
Often, I am able to feel others emotions, animal or man, as if they are my own. The iridologist explained this is due to my high sensitivity, something I often compare to Deanna Troy’s abilities. If you have watched Star Trek, The Next Generation, this character will be familiar to you as well. When Dr. Willard explained this gift, it came with a bit of a warning because I often cannot recognize the feelings as belonging to someone else. It was his concern that I learn to recognize the difference in order to save myself being overwhelmed by the consequences of carrying the emotions of others, assuming they belong to me. The stronger my connection to any given person or animal, the stronger my ability to feel what they feel, so it was not a surprise to me that I was picking up this feeling of being outside, trying to be inside from my great companion Miss Mali.
When I was forced to come to Canada, live with a family that did not love me, the shock of being separated from those who did love me was very great indeed. To be so isolated at such a young age, incredibly difficult, the confusion overwhelming, I believe. As the years passed, the memories fading with the realization I would never be going back to my real family, the effort was made to fit in, to be inside this new family rather than outside looking in. Mali’s attempts to join in seemed to fall away as she realized she was not really part of their family, she was an outsider. They continued on past her, not letting her join, yet not being cruel to her or pushing her away. They just do not recognize her as one of them, she is different, she is special – my relationship with her isolates her. I often see they want what she has, this strong connection, this great love that we share, a bond born of two souls who repaired the damage of their difficult past by joining together. That Mali has grown to this great extent from her journey here to want a family separate from our close one, is wonderful. But I feel her inability to understand, as she does not quite fit in – as she looks over at me, the confusion is there in her eyes. She is the outsider still, like a city person moving to a small town, allowed to live there, but not being accepted completely. You can be forever considered an outsider, no matter how much you participate, in such a situation. It was as though I myself, was experiencing her experience, something very difficult to explain.
In the Phyper family as I grew up, I was considered spoilt, the “Princess”. The expensive new clothes, the ballet lessons, the philharmonic, special allowances separating me from the other family members permanently. That these opportunities were not given to them, not something I understood, but their resentment towards me made the accepting of anything different or special in their eyes, very difficult for me. Just as the city person moving to the small town can forever be on the outside of the residents circle, so too was I condemned to a life of looking in, rather than being part of this family. I would never be one of them, never be accepted for who I was, their efforts to change me into what they felt I should be, painfully obvious. There was no pleasure growing up in this environment, the contrast of my past to this future, very stark.
My understanding for the recent anger felt, surprising me with it’s intensity at times, suddenly had an explanation. In essence, I am grieving for the loss of those I loved, who loved me, gave me a beautiful life for those fortunate first two years with them. Having only recently been given reason to grieve as the memories resurfaced into a coherent story of my past, such a relatively short time has passed allowing me to face the loss of so many good people. It has been only two years since discovering the identity of my parents, allowing me to claim the connection to them at last. Until this connection was forged giving me my true identity, the ability to grieve was also on hold. The pressure has been slowly released, the anger a step in the right direction.
Yes, I am angry – for the life they forced me into, for the brutal way in which they changed all of our lives, robbing us of our right to continue being a family. Why could they not have left me alone? I was happy, I was loved, I had a beautiful life with a kind and loving couple who were willing to risk everything for my safety. My sorrow as deep as the canyons beside me as I watched my world go by, the tears sliding down my face with the realization of how much was stolen from me. There can be no justification for such acts, I will never be able to understand the thoughts of men who have such cruelty in their hearts. Will the releasing of emotions heal the wounds enough to guide me towards forgiveness? If the amount of anger is an indication of how much resentment I carry for their actions, then it seems likely letting the anger surface for as long as it takes, will allow me to find peace, forgiveness following.
The grieving process is difficult at best, mine was kept in a box in my mind for most of my life, the waves of emotional connection at last being given the space needed to release themselves. The attachment to such emotions not fully understood has literally forced my true self to remain in the box with the memories. I could not have one without the other escape into the open air. It is so difficult to not wonder what I could have been had me and my family been left alone to live our lives in peace.
My anger of late has caused me concern. I worried that a monster lived inside under the painted facade of what I was trying to be. For most of my life I have feared to really look at who I was, the idea I was born to a terrible man, gave credence to the idea I too was a monster capable of terrible things. I wondered if my efforts to be a good person, were an attempt to stop the monster from showing itself and often wondered if it would one day win. I have worried those who complement me are seeing the painting, not what may lie beneath what I have worried was the false image. This in part is connected to the source of my anger, that I truly do not know who I am, despite my saying otherwise. Although there are moments of clarity, I worry I am just trying to convince myself there is a worthwhile person under my skin. My life with the Phypers’, with Darrell, my first husband and Patrick my second husband, taught me to hate who I am, to always doubt.
I have a glimmer of hope now as I seem to finally accept the source of my anger, my fears and my emotional instability. It seems possible as I recall this day, the truth of who I am is not what I believed throughout my life, that perhaps those who like Marina, see a lovely person, may actually be right. I can only keep trying to let go of the stigma attached to me by those people from my past who hated who I was, who my parents were. My life here seeming to open the door allowing this change in perspective to happen. It is in the land itself, the memories of childhood experiences, and of my father whose life here seems ingrained in my soul, making the connection complete. The longer I am here, the stronger my conviction that I belong.
As I walked the streets of Cotacachi on this morning, I stopped in my tracks as I felt once more the wings of spirit touch my left cheek. Of course there was nothing visible there to explain the wing beats against my face, but I stopped and turned to look anyway. Our rational minds want proof for what cannot be proved. To believe in that which cannot be seen, has been condemned over the centuries, and strangely by those who claim to be closest to God. My belief in God encompasses the understanding that anything is possible, it is only our mind which prevents us from seeing this.
With the discovery of the source of my emotions, triggered by my ability to feel the emotions of others, have I found the key to unlocking my future as well? This seems likely to me as I gain strength in my conviction I have the right to be who I was born to be. This was taken from me, but I am earning the right to reclaim my birthright and though some may think this should come easy, it has not. Attached to my birthright is a lifetime of cruel intentions stemming from someone else’s fear. It is time for me to remove the painted facade and see for myself what has been hiding in plain sight. I continue…..one step at a time, one day at a time.