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Betrayal Is Sacred When the Heart Can Encompass the Whole
By Nancy Wait

Betrayal Betrayal Betrayal Betrayal
Is Sacred Is Sacred Is Sacred Is Sacred When the Heart the Heart the Heart the Heart Can Encompass Encompass Encompass Encompass
the Whole……………
Heh-hem, excuse me, but what does that mean? Yes, pray tell, what does it mean? It all sounds very well…. Very well and good, but what are you talking about? Explain, please. We don’t have a clue, clue, clue, clue….. Alright then, (sing to the tune of Doe-a-deer) Let’s start at the very beginning….. Be-tray-all, is what you don’t want, no, you certainly don’t….. It is awful, so terribly bad, you never want it to happen…. But, what if it does? What if it does? What shall we do? What shall we do? (Play on switchboard) “Smile, when your heart is breaking…..” by Nat King Cole *** Okay, let’s start at the beginning again. What is betrayal? This is what my dictionary says: To deliver up to an enemy; be a traitor to, to prove faithless, to disappoint, to deceive, seduce, and desert. See synonyms under deceive…. (Sound of booing) Booooooo…… boooooooooo! Okay, wait! There’s more. Where did this word come from? What is the origin? We have to look at that too. It’s from the Latin, tradere – to deliver, give up.

2 Give up. Did you hear that? The word betrayal comes from the Latin – to give up. Which is another word for surrender. Surrender, surrender, surrender surrender. Oh, no! Say it ain’t so! Shhhhh! Wait! But doesn’t that mean that someone else, not you, gives you up to the enemy? Surrenders you? And that’s where the deception comes in? The betrayal? It’s not like you surrender yourself, or something like that. I know! That’s what so odd! How could it have these apparently two diametrically opposed meanings? But, never mind. We won’t concern ourselves with that for the moment. Let’s look at it this way. The feeling of being betrayed is one of the worst feelings you can ever have. It means someone you trusted has let you down, big time. As a result, you may never want to trust again. This is a natural outcome, but still, we are only hurting ourselves when we’re unable or unwilling to trust again. Trust is so basic. Yet it has to be learned. We come into this world expecting to be taken care of. Expecting that we will be taken care of. All babies are like that. Then, if our needs are not met, we cry and whine and plead until they are met, until we’re given the nipple or the bottle, or changed, or rocked, or just picked up and burped or cuddled. That’s when we’re babies. When we get older we just learn to cope. I’d like to read you a passage from Mitch Albom’s, The Five People You Meet In Heaven: All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair. The damage done by Eddie’s father was, at the beginning, the damage of neglect. As an infant, Eddie was rarely held by the man, and as a child, he was mostly grabbed by the arm, less with love than with annoyance. Eddie’s mother handed out the tenderness; his father was there for the discipline. On Saturdays, Eddie’s father took him to the pier. Eddie would leave the apartment with visions of carousels and globs of cotton candy, but after an hour or so, his father would find a familiar face and say, “Watch the kid for me, will ya?” Until his father returned, usually late in the afternoon, often drunk, Eddie stayed in the custody of an acrobat or an animal trainer.

3 Still, for countless hours of his boardwalk youth, Eddie waited for his father’s attention, sitting on railings or squatting in his short pants atop tool chests in the repair shop. Often he’d say, “I can help, I can help!” but the only job entrusted him was crawling beneath the Ferris wheel in the morning, before the park opened, to collect the coins that had fallen from customers’ pockets the night before. At least four evenings a week, his father played cards. The table had money, bottles, cigarettes, and rules. Eddie’s rule was simple. Do not disturb. Once he tried to stand next to his father and look at his cards, but the old man put down his cigar and erupted like thunder, smacking Eddie’s face with the back of his hand. “Stop breathing on me,” he said. Eddie burst into tears and his mother pulled him to her waist, glaring at her husband. Eddie never got that close again. Other nights, when the cards went bad and the bottles had been emptied and his mother already asleep, his father brought his thunder into Eddie and Joe’s bedroom. He raked through the meager toys, hurling them against the wall. Then he made his sons lie face down on the mattress while he pulled off his belt and lashed their rear ends, screaming that they were wasting his money on junk. Eddie used to pray for his mother to wake up, but even the times she did, his father warned her to “stay out of it.” Seeing her in the hallway, clutching her robe, as helpless as he was, made it all even worse. The hands on Eddie’s childhood glass then were hard and calloused and red with anger, and he went through his younger years whacked, lashed and beaten. This was the second damage done, the one after neglect. The damage of violence. It got so that Eddie could tell by the thump of the footsteps coming down the hall how hard he was going to get it. Through it all, despite it all, Eddie privately adored his old man, because sons will adore their fathers through even the worst behavior. It is how they learn devotion. Before he can devote himself to God or a woman, a boy will devote himself to his father, even foolishly, even beyond explanation. That was Mitch Albom, writing in his book, The Five People You Meet in Heaven. He doesn’t say anything about girls and their fathers. Or mothers. He speaks about an angry, violent father. There are a lot of those in literature. I was harmed by my mother. There are a lot of crazy mothers in literature too, and in plays and movies. Children who have had bad fathers, crazy mothers, or any kind of damaged childhood in one of the myriad ways a child can be damaged, often grow up to write about it. Writing is one way to demystify the beast. Writing about it gets it out of your system. And if you can make art about it, take it to that other level, bring it into the arena of communal observation and participation on a vicarious level, so much the better for you. Because it doesn’t stay silent in you and fester. But still there will be a festering going on, if the writer only regurgitates and repeats the events. Sure it might be taken to the level of art, but if the pain is still there and not worked

4 through, not taken through the doorway to absolution and forgiveness, and possibly even to Grace, it will remain un-transformed, un-transcended. And nothing will have changed. Change is what we want. A different scenario is what we crave. Our questions may vary from Why wasn’t I seen? Why wasn’t I acknowledged? Appreciated? But there is only one question, really. Why wasn’t I loved? I went to a past life regression only once. It was many years ago. A group session, as a group was cheaper and I didn’t know how good it would be so I didn’t want to plunk down any more money than I had to. It turned out that I saw what I needed to see, what I was able to see at the time, and what I was shown, what I was reminded of, was how excited I was to be born. Thrilled, would be a better word. Over the moon with the thrill of having a new life. Maybe that session was the beginning of helping me to see why I was so disappointed. Because the life that I had was often gruesome and crushing. Yet isn’t that the way a spirit is forged? In those alchemical fires where reality meets expectation and something has to give? Carolyn Myss once chastised her audience for wanting the Divine without being willing to make the journey. The journey is everything. There is nothing else. A sacred betrayal is one that has been made holy. How can this happen, you might ask? How can betrayal ever be made into something holy? Someone else may say why should anyone even attempt such a thing? Those are the ones that want to stay in their anger. In their righteous indignation, so they can feel how hard done by they were. They might feel that the next stage to go through—the sadness—would kill them. Finish them off. So rather than feel sad they feel angry. Anger does move us along. And sadness can keep us in that wallowing place where nothing new happens. But if we keep moving along we can arrive at understanding, compassion, and forgiveness. And from there, the sacred is only a blink away. Grace, in the blink of an eye! Sometimes it can feel like a very long wait for the blink. You don’t want to close your eyes just yet. You’re afraid to let go. You’re still wary, on guard, on the lookout. Making differentiations. Willing to love this, but not that. Having conditions. Making judgments. You don’t want to be small again. You don’t want to feel that helplessness again. It almost destroyed you to feel so helpless; why on earth would you want to go through that again? Well, that’s why the concept of service was invented. So we wouldn’t have to feel small or helpless again. Wait! What was that? Service makes you big? Makes you feel big? How is that? Well, how can it not? When you are serving someone you are giving something to them, hence you are bigger than them. You have something to give. All they’re doing is sitting there receiving it. You’re the active one, the doer. They’re the passive one.

5 I used to be a waitress so I know. Those people wouldn’t have had any food or drink if it wasn’t for me. They needed me to bring it to them on my tray. I was the bringer of nourishment, of treats. And when I was a salesgirl I was the intermediary between customers and what they wanted. They couldn’t just walk out the store with that stuff, they had to go through me. And if I was busy, they had to wait until I had time for them. Some people are what’s called in the service, meaning they are in the armed forces. Willing to sacrifice life and limb for God and Country. And when you’re in service – without the the, just in service, that means you’re a servant in a big house where rich people live—people that couldn’t function without you because you’re what makes the house run. But all these are only occupations. Jobs, where remuneration is expected. Being in service to the soul is different. It’s full of intangibles. There’s no bartering or exchange going on. There’s not even any expectations. So there’s no disappointment either. No possibility for being let down, let alone betrayed! How can your soul betray you? It can’t! It’s on another level entirely. I didn’t invent the expression, Betrayal is Sacred. But I thought of it. And then I googled it and saw a lot of other people had thought of it too. I didn’t think of it until I came full circle. And everything bad became good. Or it just became experience, without judgment one way or the other. But I was able to transform what I perceived as negative experiences, into positive ones, when I saw that they had made me into the person I was, at that moment. And the moment was good, therefore I was good. And everything was good. Everything was good and positive and moving forward. And the burden of having been betrayed and not knowing what to do with it – was lifted from my shoulders. I became lighter. I felt lighter and I was lighter. Because my heart had been activated. The mind remembers all the hurts, all the disappointments, all the sadness. The heart says it doesn’t matter. The heart can see deeper and further than the mind, and all that the mind remembers. That’s why I say, betrayal is sacred when the heart can encompass the whole. My heart opened when I was 37. It seemed to happen suddenly, but there had been quite a long process going on. I got there through painting pictures. Which is why I’m so keen on the idea of “artists and ascension.” Anytime you engage in art—of whatever kind, you are taking thoughts and feelings to another level. Another realm. And this is done in a conscious, waking state. It’s to the realm of ideas, or abstract thought. Or it’s to the emotional plane. Or all of these together. Anyway, it becomes outside of you. What was inside, a feeling or a state of mind, is now out there, outside of you. So art becomes a release. An awareness, and then a release. Or, you could just breathe.

6 Whatever it takes to find peace, to be at peace, to be at rest, so the heart can keep expanding. So the heart can encompass the whole. And then the emotional body will be in the flow. Moving undisturbed and unperturbed over the rocks, which may have once been jagged, but now are smooth. They have been worn smooth by the constant flow. They are slippery too, allowing Nothing to cling to them. And nothing can cling to them, because they have been worn smooth. It’s the smoothness of nonresistance. Betrayal is sacred when you can see past the betrayal. See past far enough so that it is no longer in the realm of judgment or hurt. Because you have stopped resisting. You no longer close off your heart, or falter when love beckons. Your eyes look out now, not within, at your own pain and suffering. They look out. They look out and see and understand the suffering of the one or the ones who harmed you. And you wish them peace. You wish them peace because they have made you the way that you are. They have brought you to this place. Where you are at rest. Where you are as smooth and fine a stone as ever there was. And you love nothing better than to let the stream flow over you and tickle your sides, as you stare up at the bounteous sky. ***