Got slapped around again on an e-mail list today. The post is full of lies — there was one post from me, and it wasn’t a slam at all, wasn’t anonymous. . .
But that’s not the point, I know. The point is simple: what people say tells much more about them than it does about their presumed target.
And that’s why I had to be attacked. This person let her pain slip, and I let her words speak for themselves with a two questions to put them in context. Then she got wound up towards the wrong target, spewing venom towards them, and felt I should have stopped her.
In the end, my one list post (and a few clarifiers when attacked by her) triggered a reaction from her that showed her so naked that it demolished a functioning e-mail list and tranny center.
Yeah, that’s what I know how to do: ask just the wrong question, the one that lets in the light.
And today that venom came out again, characterizing my choice not to enter open battle as pathological, ignoring more than a decade of tranny support, and just generally slamming me. It shows how the defenses grew back around the wound, driving this person into the warm arms of the separatists who like to be able to draw a barrier between the sick and the healthy. The “sanctification of rage & expulsion” as Chris Hedges says.
You know what I say: There are two groups of people, those who like to divide everyone into two groups, and those who don’t. And it’s the dividers who cause the problems, you know like a president who is sure he can tell who is evil and who is good, and knows that anything done by a good person, even if it’s unconstitutional, is good.
I know, I know, I know that this is not really about me and my behaviour. This is about pain, about someone who floated on the surface of a big pool of rage, and who was angry when I spoke in a different way than my upbeat old stuff, the only stuff she knows me from. I spoke of sickness and dysfunction, and that upset her: she wanted gloss.
Me, well, I think the only way out of hell is though it. You gotta drop into that huge smelly trough of pain if you really want to get centered. You can’t just figure out how to draw lines between the sick and the good, because only sick people need to deny connection and “continuous common humanity.”
That knowledge, though, the knowledge that it isn’t about me, means that I need to just move past the basic instinct to savage and hurt someone else. I do know how to use words to wound, believe me, but I also know that if passing the pain is going to end, it has to end with me.
That knowledge has to disarm me, and that disarmament is often seen as passive-aggressive behaviour, deflating the balloons of pain and rage with just a bit of light. It makes people crazy when you won’t “fight fair” and engage their sickness, because that fight is what validates their own aggression. I learned to call it akido, using their own energy against them simply by moving sideways as they lunge, or reflecting their rage back in a way that illuminates it.
I know that when someone acts out against me, it says more about their pain and hurt than it does about me, and that means I can’t just savage them.
But it doesn’t mean that the attack doesn’t hurt me.
Not at all.