What I Meant to Say Was....



 



In a whirlwind of dysfunction, there is always a story behind it all.  If you're willing to listen to that story, to lay down your stones long enough to really hear, you will find that what you really want to offer is an open hand.  You will finally be able to see past the exterior, past a persons behaviors, to see the root of hurt in their lives. And it is there, you will find yourself a much more compassionate being.

To the macho misogynist there could be layers of rejection instilled by a father. 
For the hopeless and hungover, there could be tragic memories that swallow them alive. The only fix, although fleeting, is a bottle.
To the arrogant, a little child who was repeatedly made to feel stupid. 
For those entranced by pornography and lust, there is a desperation for intimacy and connection that no one in real life has offered to them except the woman on page 27.
For the abusers, they could have been so badly abused themselves, barely escaping death, and really truly ignorant of how to be good to others.
And the women and men who have given themselves to rented love.  The motel walls mock their worth and remind them of the molestation they've endured since they can't remember when.

The common, fragile thread is the pain and feeling trapped.  Everyone longs for some kind of connection, some person who will study them like a work of art.  Someone who will love them while they're unlovable....because that's really what pulls us from such dangerous behaviors.  In all of the wrong that people act out, what they really meant to say was.....God, I need you.  But instead, they just keep living in desperation.  A desperation you shouldn't demean with your judgements, but a desperation that helps them rise up and utter the words they really mean to say.