On Kindness...

I have been inquiring why it is that I am feeling so tender, that my heart is breaking, over and over, about what is happening with my beloved neighbors. Why I wake up crying in the morning, and walk around with tears in my eyes all day. Why this is shaking me up at my core, inside my bones... I have been feeling like I have no right to feel all these feelings, to add to my sisters' pain, as this is not happening here, right? 

Perhaps what adds to this is the fact that my big brother would have turned 47 this month. That I am now older than he is when he died. I am not sure. But it is triggering so many things inside.

I would like to share something very personal with you...

I was born and raised in a very rigorous faith where diversity was condemned. Although all races were considered equals, women were considered inferior than men. And everyone who were not of this faith, who were 'in the world' were sinners and therefore condemned to an eternal death.  Homosexuality was considered one of the biggest sin, a depravation.

I was the kind of child who smiled all the time (which, for some reason, would embarrass my mother), and who used to see 'light' (but I was smart enough not to tell anyone). At 13, as my circle of friends expanded, which was not really permitted as I was not supposed to be friends with anyone outside this faith, I started questioning things. Who were we to judge people and decide whether they were deserving or not? How were we to judge anyone?  I remember walking one day,  looking at the splendor of the sky as the sun was setting, and thinking how all the myriads of colors, the mixture of light and dark, was truly magnificent. That diversity was a strength, not something to try to annihilate.

At 14, I became anorexic. They could control a lot of things, but they could not make me eat... And they addressed this by threats of consequences, extending to my mother... so I turned it the other way around.  It was a blessing that I was never able to make myself throw up. (Years later, when my first daughter was born, she also brought with her the healing of this attack of myself against my body... I now consider my body as a great ally and listen to the wisdom of its messages with deep gratitude).

At 16th, I rebelled hard. I never drank, never smoked, never slept around. But I would walk up to the elders and confront them with their homophobic views. This is where it hurt me the most. I remember asking my mother, in tears: if I were lesbian, you would no longer speak with me? No, she said.

I left this faith in my early 20s, and publicly at 27. I know many of you will wonder why it took me so long.... I knew that, the day that I announced it, I would loose my family. My father, the only person who was not of this faith, took his life when I was 26. He is the one who gave me the wings and the courage to live my life without a mask, no matter the consequences.  Do not live your life for anyone else, Isabelle.... I heard him whisper on the wind a few months after his passing.

And so, I left this faith.   Was rejected by my family.  They would have no more contacts with me.  For years, I had nightmares about the 'end of the world' they predicted would come, and of me dying forever, as they believe we have no soul.  It took me years to feel worthy enough to address the Universe (to this day, I am unable to refer to any higher energy by the term 'God', as this name brings forward a vengeful, uncompassionate entity).

And then, I discovered Yoga.  And my heart opened to a feeling of expansiveness, of Love, of Unity with All, above all I had ever experienced.  Along with the many gifts of yoga, I also discovered SoulCollage and tapped into the necessity to recognize and give space and voice to all parts of self in order to be whole and receive the wisdom that is held within.  The next year,  I delved into art - Mandalas first, and then painting Muses. And by painting, I was healing parts of myself. Re-choosing.  Telling my story and reframing it in paint, light and shadows, symbols and affirmations.

My mother and sister came back into my life when my first daughter was born 9 years ago, to leave again this Summer, for the same reason they had cut contact with me initially. I received this news with an email from one, and a text message from the other.  Somehow, this pierced me at an even deeper level, because it was not just me now that they would hurt, but my 5 and 9 year old daughters (how can you explain this to a child?  I am still looking for the words...).

The hurt and rage that I felt within took my breath away.  While I had 'understood' when they cast me away years ago, this time, part of me was bleeding raw.  I felt betrayed, because I learned, as they mentioned in their messages, that they had only come back into my life in the hopes that I would go back to this faith, for the sake of my children.  I had welcome them with wide open arm, always respecting their faith.  Because I respected them and the choice they made, I took special care to never speak about anything that could make then uncomfortable, such as Soul or Yoga.

And part of me became what I had always been against: someone who held such hurt against the consequences of the choice others made, that my heart was closed to them and those of their faith.

I don't want to stay there.  I don't like this feeling of separation. Because, ultimately, I believe that we are all from one Source.

I can feel the hurt from their side.  I know my mother is hurting.  I know writing this message was probably one of the hardest thing that she had to do in her life.  I know she does not understand why I did not reply to her last email, when she was cutting ties with me. Why I did not tell her that is was 'okay', that I understood, as is in my nature.  I couldn't. Because I did not want to respond from a place of rage and hurt, I couldn't.

So, what are we to do?  How can we stand for our belief, and more importantly, stand with the women, the LGBT community, the people of all faith, race and color, and at the same time, keep an open heart with those who view things differently?

I never saw my brother before he decided to end his life 5 years ago.  He was in that same faith, a respected elder, and never contacted me again after I left.

This morning, driving my daughter to work, they asked me about my brother.  They never knew him. His name.  How old he was when he died.

They do not know the story - not of his suicide, nor of the religion. One day I will tell them.  When they are older.  But I just want to protect them a little bit longer from such sadness..

I told my daughters that I gave the eulogy at my brother's funeral. (Because he ended his life this way, in the end, he was looked down upon by the people of his faith. No one wanted to speak at his funeral.  I did not feel right to me - not for him, not for my sister in law and my nephew, not for my mother and sister.  I offered my sister in law to give the eulogy.)

And I began to sing them the song by Jewel that I sang, in the rain, on that day:

If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after
We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
We are God's hands
We are God's hands

In the end, only kindness matters.

 

May I allow kindness to pour from my heart, and extend it to all, whether I understand or not. For it is not my place to judge.  The only thing I can do is to hold them in kindness, while standing firmly with those who are persecuted, ostracized, diminished.  As most of yoga practices end: Namaste: the divine in me recognizes the divine in you.

May we keep our heart soft and our resolve strong.  

May we see the light in all, and hold them to this light.

The Heart knows