Are You Afraid?

 

Are You Afraid? 

And if So

Why and What?

Why are You Afraid?

and

What

Precipitated Your Fear?

Is the Fear “Rational”?

And/or What

Makes it “Irrational”?

If, I or Others

Deem it So?

-

Fear Can be Particularly Intense

When

One – has been

or is

Deeply Traumatized

To be Paranoid

For Example

Can be a Result of

Historical Trauma

The Trauma of

“Ones People”

or

Ones’ Memories

Imbedded Deeply

Within Oneself

of a Tragic

Horrific Experience

-

My Wounds date from

Being Bullied

by three Older Boys

and

By Not

Having a Solid Emotional Connection

with

An Adult – such as

One of my Parents

My Lack of Deep Awareness

of this,

It not being Processed

Within me

Through the Significant

Therapy

I Received as

an Adult

made it

More and More Difficult

to Unpack

Until Recent Years –

As I approached Age 70.

For Me

Much of this Fear

Was Genderized

as I Rarely

Trusted – more than Superficially

Fellow Male Peers

My Unpacking My Fears

Oft Times – is

Much Easier

for Me

Than for Another Individual

I care for Deeply

‘Cause

Their Fears

Their Feeling Afraid

Is Horizontally Deep-

So Many Slices

Each Adding More

and More

Within Them!

Today I see a World

In So Many Ways

Torn – Upside Down

The Fearful – in Some Areas

Are so Often

Systemically – and Personally

The “Oppressors”

Trying to Beat Down

Those

Who – Authentically

Could be Characterized

As “The Victims”

and / or

The Strong

Really are

Not – Who

On the Surface

“Should”

Be Strong

and the Weak

While they Wreak

Havoc – Upon Us

Are Both –

The Dictators We Face

Threatening our Well Being

and

Really – Not – Strong

At all

-

More and Less

Personally,

I don’t feel a Lot of Fear

I hope – not because I am

In Denial

But – as I see things

Because – I have a lot of Hope

in the Midst

of the Chaos and Breakdowns

of So Much

Around and even Within Us

I Feel a Sadness

as well as a lot of Madness (Anger)

It tisn’t Fair

The World – this Country
isn’t Fair

So Often

-

Meanwhile

So – So Many

Care Much, Much More

About

Who will Win or Lose

The Super Bowl

Which will Start

Less than 48 hours from Now

Does their Seeming Apathy

Towards

What You and I (may) Fear

Come – out of = Self-Protection

Denial,

Ignorance

Or What?

“The Other”

Is Deeply,

Deeply Feared

by Some

While I Try – to Build

My Hope –

In the Middle of My Clear

(I think) Knowledge

Of How Horrible

and Destructive

This All Can be

And Really Is

For So Many – So Many – People

I can not – Understand

What I Can Not – Really See

-

The Others

I Care About

Including – Those Deepest

In My Heart Felt – Self,

As well as Others

I may know Little, if Anything

About -

I Try to Hear

And Have Empathy for

And support

Through Deep Listening

Reflecting Back

(Generally) Compassion

When I’m Getting It

And Curiosity

Trying – to Allow – Connection

When I Lack – the Insight(s) -

Curiosity – Being Outwardly

Spreading – Towards Them

it

Can be (seemingly) Impossible

(for them)

When the Trauma

Is Too Deep and/or

Too Present

Within Them

-

Is it Enough?

Is it What I can put Forth?

Or – Am I delusional

And/or Not Really There

At All?

-

I try to Understand

I try to Feel – Deeply

I Try to Heal – Myself

Through – My Trying to

Deeply Listen –

To Be Present

Now – and Beyond

(February 7, 2025 – 5:49 pm – I think) (concluded 2/8/2025 – 9:45 pm)

 

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Big Girls Don't Cry

BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY My father (Menachem) Imanuel Marx died Friday, November 13, 1964, when I was 13 years old.    My mother woke my brother and I up with the news early that morning.    We went to the hospital and saw him for the last time. I didn’t cry then.       Daniel and I went to school that day.   I didn’t tell anyone. Two days later at the funeral, I was still being “a man” (i.e. not crying).   Until I was in my second men’s group around age 31, I didn’t allow myself to cry .    I rationalized this by saying to myself:   “ How does x compare with the death of my father ?”. I am self-identified as a   Jewish man .    Growing up that meant being intellectual and not emotional .    Our Sabbath dinner was the only time in the week, when we couldn’t read at the table.    While I was “schooled” on feelings through my men’s work (, most significantly through helping co-found M...
Read more

Table of Contents and More

  Table of Contents and Much More   PARTIAL  - TABLE OF CONTENTS + More https://www.georgemarx.org/ - My Personal Blog https://www.workingtowardsendingracism.org/ -  My Anti-Racism Blog https://www.wm4j.org/- ( White Men 4 Justice )  My effort to help white men tie in with and support the efforts of others (as well as ourselves) working to build a loving, just world https://joinmerj.org/  -  MERJ - Men for Equity and Reproductive Justice Caring White Men Sharing Together  - http://www.caringwhitemen.com/ EXCELLENT FREE VIDEOS https://www.georgemarx.org/2024/03/excellent-videos-no-cost-to-watch.html -- A.    P E R S O N A L     W R I T I N G S   1.  B O O K   (+ MORE)   R E V I E W S  -   R A C I S M http://www.workingtowardsendingracism.org/2023/04/resources-updated.html 2.   R E P R O D U C T I V E    J U S T I C E htt...
Read more

Daniel Marx - My Brother

Image
  July 23, 1953 - April 22, 2024 My brother died last evening officially at 7:57 pm in the Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital in New Brunswick, New Jersey.  I was the only one in the room to see his journey move forward.    I wasn't the most "with it" of kids!   When my mother and brother came home from the hospital I evidently said:  "Who's that woman?" to my father.     In 1956, when Daniel was three we moved from Ann Arbor, Michigan to West Lafayette, Indiana.   We lived the first year in a university owned house near the intersection of Happy Hollow and North River Roads in WL.   A year later our parents bought the house at 122 North Street, across the street from Morton School where we grew up.   The upstairs apartment's living room was our bedroom, and the bedroom was our parent's bedroom. My brother was always closer to our father, and I to our mother.   In the second grade (I think Mrs...
Read more