Monologue 3: Love and Light, Sister

“Love and light, sister. If that's what you're gonna choose to do, love and light.”. That’s what he said as he left. He sneered it through his teeth, shaking his head and kind of half smiling, with pity in his eyes. Every inch of his sinewy, yoga-body was saying ‘I am better SO much better than you. I am SO much more evolved. I pity you.’ 

And the thing is, if I was super evolved and zen, then things like that wouldn’t bother me. I’d let it roll off me. But he looked disgusted. Utterly repulsed. Like someone had presented him with a piece of cat shit right under his nose, and it did get to me. It really did. I don’t want anyone to think badly of me, but he did, and he’d just given me a list of all the reasons why. 

I just wouldn’t do what he wanted me to do, is all it was. I said no. And he ‘knew’ that what he wanted me to do was at a much higher vibration than what I was doing already, so that makes me bad, doesn’t it. Or at the least primitive... In his eyes. God, no he wasn’t asking me to…nothing like that.  I mean, I’m not trying to paint him as some kind of evil pervert. He had his reasons, you know? He felt justified. They wanted me to leave the house I was renting, and, when I didn’t - because we’d got an agreement and they’d just decided to break it, and I was mad - when I didn't, he felt justified to break into that house and lock it from the inside so I had to smash a window to get back in, and then get someone to fix the damned thing, and Christ, it was so complicated. So unnecessary.

And what gets me is the irony of it. I’d sat next to this guy in a ceremony the week before. We’d shared sacred tobacco and we’d all sung medicine songs together and at the end of it, we were all one with each other and sharing the beating heart of the universe.  We were all ‘familia!’ and ‘hausch hausch’ and ‘you’re beautiful, sister – such a beautiful heart’, which is fine when you’re still buzzing and hugging everyone, but then someone takes the wrong water bottle home, or goes against the flow of this particular spiritual river and all shit breaks loose. 

See, normally, when something goes tits up, people argue, or shout, don’t they? Or have a proper go at each other or even just say what they want with varying degrees of force, and then it’s out and it’s done and.. But as soon as we get all ‘at one with spirit’ and strive to be better, as soon as we set some kind of bar that everyone has to get their chin over to get into our club, we’re setting a standard to compare each other to, something to fall short of. 

But instead of saying that, or admitting that we might be all one but I hate your face right now, we’ve learnt that anger and stroppiness and accusation are the opposite of spiritual so we sit on it, and it’s like water pressure building up behind a hose. We put it in the dark and project out love and light and the shadows it creates are the biggest, scariest demons you’ll ever see – much more damaging than a healthy dose of fuck you delivered loud and clear.

So here we go, Mr I’m-More-Spiritual-Than-You, with your pitying eyes and your gentle voice and your pious, caring face: fuck you.

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Prompt: "Love and light, sister" and just to buck a trend, this one is actually mostly real, and just a rant.