Little Red Riding Hood; Is That Really You Grandma?
MODE of Cosmic Therapy: How To See Through Our Self-Limiting Personality Masks
We all want to believe a lie; that is what makes us so incredibly vulnerable. We can't or won't accept the blatant truth when it stares us smack dab in the face. We look at a cat and call it a dog. Our visions are colored, our memories distorted and our sincerity convincingly, shiftless. In other words, our convictions run as far and long as we are vested, interested and concerned for them at the moment. IF the occasion is to our preferential liking, we may, IF it so suits us, make a stand. IF not, we'll simply jump tracks without anyone noticing.
We never intend to make a scene unless it places us in a favorable light. If we see no immediate advantage, we'll pass it up for another day when we will have more influence. We shift quickly on many occasions, conveniently when we are otherwise engaged, and as inconspicuously as possible when we are not interested. That's simply how it grows in the land of the Tulip Rows. Yet, we are known for creating such stirring such emotional scenes when it fits our needs. WE frail, wail and trail off in these long elaborate episodes of how much so and so meant. Ha!
It means as much as it means, when the satiated wolf is in the forest and we're safe at home in bed. But, when he shows up at the door, it's an entirely different story. His intent is to devour, destroy and eat us up as far as he can, so we do a triple take in our usual' docile demeanor. We evaluate the situation, determine what needs to be done and carry out the program with little or no regard for how we come across. Some may call this the art of survival. I call it honest revival of an indigenous repressed talent. We can automatically become whatever the hour calls for in the blink of an eye.
We can pretend, oscillate, flatter, lie, deceive, corrupt, beg, praise, impress, and/or attack IF the circumstance warrants. Yet, all the while, we tell ourselves how none of these devious attributes exist inside of us. We have been redeemed and absolved! Not so much. We walk around in the run of the day, covered by a thin transparent veil of falsity. Any little offense can send us ripping defensively from behind its insincere protective veneer. Embarrassed and sometimes, humiliated, we apologize for our inappropriate outbursts, declaring coyly, "We have no idea where that came from."
No mystery; it came from inside of us. It was/is there all the while. We just need a suitable occasion to let it out. We'll blame it on whatever situation occurred on the outside of us; usually in the view of how tired, stressed out or out of sorts' we've been. Then, we'll go into a song and dance' of apologizing, defending, excusing or explaining. Now, that's a pitiful insincere site to behold.
We really have no wayto gauge the barometer of stuffed rage until it explodes unexpectedly. It surprises us and others. The delicately gentle humored caring interested loving grandmother nature quickly turns into the demonic wolf. How we deal with the truth of the outrage determines the next theatrical appearance of the disguised wolf. Unless we decide to investigate the real nature of our suppressed desires, in addition to our aggressive urges to bring the latent talent to surface, we will continue to be sorely dishelved and rearrange anxieties.
Experiences with the ravenous wolf are designed to elicit action from us. But, we are never to try to explain their unfortunate uprisings as if something out of order has occurred. The flag of vehemence is distinctly on time, specifically made to order' for/to/by us. The particular place, where this surging apparent angry energy surfaces, is where we need to pay acute attention. Self-awareness has been brought front and center.' IF we miss it, it will appear again with more force and reluctance to be denied.
We are so identified with a false showing of our true expression that the crack in the superficial armor bids us to lay low the imposters.' When we are so consumed with keeping up a front of appearance simply because it's the one everyone is familiar with, it's time to turn the tables over.' Clean house! Stoic attitudes and frigid ideas are up for inspection, regeneration and disposal. Major life changes (seasons) are taking place and we must pay heed to the messenger hiding in the wolf's skin. A more resolved and complete merged character of our truest identity emerges in these times of crises.
We each possess a genius of sort who must be activated in order to serve and fulfill our connecting purpose on earth. We are none here isolated or without guidance. But, this celestial direction comes through the demasking of our ingrained wolf nature. Did not the Master Jesus himself turn the tables in the temple, cursing and driving out the money changers? We must do the same. We must drive out of ourselves the superlative superficial grand schemes we invent so as to come across as so nice, kind, benevolent, interested, endearing and helpful. When we allow the natural antipathy to be set free, we will be authentically real and compassionate.
WE are not fixed. WE are forever swirling in a sea of ever repeating cyclic changing energy. Changing in the sense that it moves through various layers: birth, life, death and changes into another form of the same cosmic gaseous mixture. We do inhabit a masculine force that must be reckoned with. It can not nor will not be denied of its demonstrative creative expression. Call it wolf or call it a sheep in wolf's clothing, "grandma", they exemplify both. Grandma has always been inestimably fiercely independent. She examines, determines and courageously speaks her mind. Do we do the same?
She knows what the diverse situation calls for and will do whatever is necessary to get the job done. Grandma is not afraid of the big bad wolf. He knows that! Little Red Riding Hood may simply be a figment of our imagination, who is temporarily lost in the woods. She is quite adept and capable of handling whatever she faces, too, since she is both the wolf and "Grandma" orchestratively composed.
Little Red Riding Hood; Is That Really You Grandma?
By: Paula Andrea Pyle, MA
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