As I read Dan Wetzel's story on the guilty verdicts for Sandusky, my heart openly sobbed. Wetzel's piece drives the point home about Juror #4 taking eight minutes to enunciate each of the counts and guilty verdicts against Jerry Sandusky. The story then continues on and describes the reactions of the Sandusky family, the victims and the jubilation reverberating throughout the courthouse. Most profoundly moving was the regret of the victim that did not come forward sooner and by doing so may have prevented more victims from abuse, the frustration of the police with the District Attorney and the Assistant Coach that turned it over to Penn State to handle to learn that they didn't.
I sobbed for the victims, the jurors, the town who in some ways must feel violated and betrayed and the mother who forced her son to continue to go back and now suffers immense pain for only wanting a father figure for her son. She was not wrong, she too, was betrayed. After I read Wetzel's article I felt incredible pain for Sandusky's Soul. The man stood there without emotion. His family sobbed and were horrified at the jury, yet, he stood there as if he had no feelings. Perhaps he was emotionally prepared or he is still in denial.
Above all, my heart bled for humanity. How many people will rejoice at the loss of life? How many will take the seat of Judgment and spew forth their venom? How many will support Sandusky's lifestyle choices?
As a victim of sexual crimes, I know what Jerry has done to his victims and I know their scars. I wonder what his wife must have thought when she knew she was not allowed in the basement during those times he was with a victim. What about his children? Could none of them see the pain or shame in the eyes of the victims? Have we as a whole quit looking into the eyes, the soul of others? Is it much easier to not see than to live a life of love? Will they begin to question the past or their actions?
I do hurt for Sandusky. He has lost his soul or at the very least his Ego has cut him off from it. How dark it must be to be able to use a charity to find a pool of vulnerable victims. How lost is his Soul? How far removed? Is it possible for Sandusky to touch it again, to retrieve it? Can he ever know his Creator? Will the darkness that permeates his Being ever allow him to feel again?
Will we as a whole be able to pray for all of the victims and all affected by this wake of truth? Can we find it in our hearts to pray for the family of Sandusky and he himself? What does reaction say about us as humans? What does our most inner knowing, our Soul compel us to do?
Sandusky's behavior is not condoned, nor is the choices made by those who chose not to see the truth. I do not believe that they covered up for Sandusky, I believe that the truth was too ugly and it was much easier to believe Sandusky. How can I say this? I lived it. In all truth, I lived it. Glory to the Coach who saves children, it must be a witch hunt. I lived the frustation of the victims. The point is I am not taking Sandusky's side, nor approving his behavior.I am not persecuting those who should have done something and didn't. What is important is what they do with what we have all learned from this story. What each walks away with from this story and what we will or will not choose to see and hear from now on is important. We are the victim, the town, the assistant coach, the D.A. and in some small way when we ignore the pain of others, we are Sandusky. We are One.
The first red flag at the hairdresser's should have been the fact the guy had too many time slots to choose from at the last minute, the second should have been that he turned my back to the mirror. I walked in a blonde and came out a bozo doo brunette and all my mind can come up with is either he is color-blind and helpless with scissors or he is a sadist toward women. Considering how hard he yanked on my hair with a comb pulling handfuls of hair out, as well as the painful shampoo followed by a cold rinse, I am leaning towards the idea that he does not like women.
I truly blame myself. No, I am not a victim or taking any blame off the cold, giant, color-blind hairdresser. I should have held him at scissor point and forced him to rinse the goop of death out of my hair when I discovered that he had applied it to most of my hair when I only came in to have the gray roots treated. I should have taken control of hairdresser's chair when he turned my back to the mirror and he began to beat my hair and head with his brush of toxic chemicals. So, why didn't I? Why didn't I jump out of the chair and rip that brush out of his hand and challenge him to a duo?
Old habits of being a maker of peace die hard. Forty-two years of conditioning and brainwashing cannot be un-learned overnight as much as we wish they were. Loving oneself requires being gentle, understanding and patient. Being your own advocate requires constant mindfulness to remain a self advocate. Most of the time I can remain aware of myself, my need to stand up to adversity in flesh form. The Attack of Hair Monster was not one of those times. Sometimes, I feel like the rat who has successfully jumped out of the maze and fell back in for a momentary dose of yesteryear. A dose of chaos. Chaos can be extremely motivational.
According to ancient mythology, Chaos gave birth to Gaia and Eros without a mate. Gaia (Earth) gave birth to Uranus (heaven or sky). Gaia, Eros and Uranus- All That Is. Chaos gave birth to all that is. Chaos still continues to sweep in to our lives taking charge of things and re-directing our plans for ourselves. It has been chaos that has forced me to follow my path, my purpose. I imagine it is pretty much true for most of us. No one has ever woken up on a bright, sunny morning and said, "Wow! Life is grand. It is without pain, detours and problems. I think I will work on being a better person, making better decisions, walk with God." No, pretty much, we have to feel pain to change. This is none of those things thrown right at you. Thank you, Chaos. Another curve ball.
I cannot say the ditsy, brunette doo itself was and is entirely painful. Not being listened to, asked, consulted or pampered was painful. Truthfully, no one pays big money to have their hair done without expecting to be pampered, otherwise they would do it theirselves. I would do my own doo if it were not for the pampering. What will my inner Goddess do now? She likes herself just the way God made her, but without gray roots.
My Inner Goddess is going to ride shotgun with this strange brunette woman over to the salon next week on the one and only day that the owner is in. Before my Inner Goddess allows Bozo the Brunette to leave the house, she is going to remind her of how the Giant Bully tried to charge her for blow drying her hair as she stood at the counter with a dripping, wet fro. Just before she opens the salon door to meet the owner, Bozo the Brunette will look at a picture of herself with blonde hair giving her all the strength and couage of David. My Inner Goddess has fallen in love with my power, my self-perseverance. She knows that if I am going to continue to become strong in myself, if I am to re-claim my power, I have to address the "little" issues as well as the big bullies. I really like my Inner Goddess. No, I love her.
