Living with a volcano….
He provides for us.
He keeps us well fed, terrified,
emotionally famished.
The volcano explodes
often and unpredictably.
Then just as suddenly,
an eerie calm as if nothing happened.
When will the volcano erupt?
There’s no way to know.
It just explodes.
And then nothing.
Lava bombs fly
and some reach orbit.
When and where will they hit?
There’s no way to know.
After ten years, the volcano quits drinking,
but still erupts with rage.
Mom begins her excessive drinking
and her own eruptions increase.
The volcano buys expensive gifts for us,
then destroys them with rage.
Again and again, he confirms
his hostility towards us – and himself.
I have lived with this volcano.
I have learned to live in terror.
I have learned to be nervous.
I have learned to hide.
After two decades, the volcano goes extinct.
He has exploded his heart.
I’m now free from the eruptions,
but the lava bombs still fly.
I don’t know who I am.
A religious group finds me
and indoctrinates me into their circle.
With youthful zeal and innocence, I join.
But they are secretly another volcano,
mostly inactive for now.
They fake friendship and love.
They pretend to care – until they don’t.
One day, they explode on me
and spew their judgmental sludge.
I clearly see their hatred and arrogance.
They leave me devastated beyond description.
The magma now rises within me.
I have a few of my own eruptions.
I embarrass myself.
I know I must be careful.
I’m invited to a small group
who accepts me
and teaches me a new way –
the twelve-step way.
Slowly, slowly, day after day,
I climb out of the bottomless pit
which was dug for me by others.
One step upward at a time.
I discover my inner child
and my inner loving parent.
I continue my climb.
The lava bombs still fly.
Mom erupts and rants for hours
about how she hates men.
I’m held captive in her car
during my last long drive with her.
Years later, my wife gives birth to our son.
I want to protect him from what I’ve experienced.
Over the phone, I discuss my concerns
and set boundaries with my mom.
She dismisses my boundaries, as expected.
I write a painful letter,
knowing it will not be well-received.
Mom goes silent for nearly ten years.
Another lava bomb hits
thirty-five years after the volcano’s extinction.
My brother has just chosen to escape
his personal hell – by suicide.
The scream within cannot be expressed.
I would need the Richter Scale for my scream.
I find another small group
and my healing journey begins all over again.
This time, I write.
I write my trauma.
I write my healing.
I write my heart.
I write well and poorly.
I write for myself.
I write for those who are silenced.
I continue my uphill climb.
Are there any more lava bombs?
I don’t see any.
Healing Heart Warrior (Tom M.)