Stealing Home

Pulled into Nazareth, feelin’ bout’ half past dead. Just need some place; where I can lay my head. Hey mister can you tell me; where a man might find a bed? He just grinned and shook my hand; “No”, was all he said. – The Weight – Robbie Robinson

Two perfect pre-pubescent tits on my breakfast plate this morning; soul-enriching farm-fresh eggs from free range chickens on the family farm of my soul-brother from another mother, the impassioned Braveheart; Double G. He snatched them warm from the chickens ass not thirty minutes ago solely for the enhancement of my morning sustenance. The yolks are as golden as an Arizona desert sunset; the whites as pure as the Virgin Mary’s nightgown – the taste; primal, life affirming; nectar of the gods; glorious.

The past six month blessing of organic food, REM sleep, exercise therapy and exposure to pure nature has soothed the savage beast anger; erupted in me from a nasty dose of betrayal trauma resulting from my ill-advised journey from the luxurious California Bay Area to Mayberry USA. I had hit, I’d thought, a home run, was rounding third for that imagined oasis, heading home; only to find when I arrived; someone had stolen the plate.

The key difference between traditional post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and betrayal trauma is that the former is historically seen as being caused primarily by fear, whereas betrayal trauma is a response to extreme anger. Fear and anger are the two sides to the fight or flight response, and as such are our strongest and most basic psychological emotions. A real grievance can be resolved; differences can be resolved. But betrayal has a special bite; it’s invades from inside a Trojan Horse using your trust to arrive with great stealth. It’s a wound from which the inflictor and the afflicted can never fully recover.

Neil Young famously sang “only love can break your heart.” Likewise, though less poetic, is the axiom that the path to betrayal is bricked with trust. Ergo; hypocrisy is the root of betrayal and the deepest wound because to be betrayed we must first trust.

As I watched my so-called family descend into a contorted kabuki dance of professional victimization and act out a formalized pantomime of faked sincerity soon after I arrived, I heard the echo’s of the REDBELT philosophy; “there is always an escape; insist on the move”. Heeding the call, armed with a lifetime of resilience training, I employed my flight response; disengaged, declare victory and departed the field.

I suppose mine was not as profound as the Jesus/Judas, Caesar/Brutus, Mafia/Valachi, Nixon/Nation, Japanese/Pearl Harbor, Benedict Arnold/America or Pederast Priests/Children betrayals, and to be fair one must decide to be voluntarily vulnerable to be betrayed; yet the moral and psychological conflict produced from this trust breaking violation realigned my allegiance of loyalty to that previously considered sacrosanct institution called family. It’s not blood that makes a family; its love, and for that, my friends and I, from here on; will provide for each other just fine.

Though this treason at first seemed a set back, when the clouds open to show the true sky; it always leads to a better place; freshly armed with the knowledge that we all must live with what we do. Maybe more importantly, the thing that makes my tribe most uniquely strong, resilience; will see this enlightening wound close, scarlessly, like water. Strike some men and all you do is hurt your hand.

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About circusinpurgatory
Nick Masesso Jr’s fictionalized short stories, poetry and prose have been published in the Starry Night Review, Elegant Thorn Review, Language and Culture.net and Vagabond Press; the Battered Suitcase. His latest book “Armor of Innocence” and first book “Walking the Midway in Purgatory, a Journal” are available on-line and through bookstores.

4 Responses to Stealing Home

  1. Paulie O says:

    I like your point that family is based on love, not blood.I find that to be true. African American culture has such a splintered family structure that often neighbors, godfathers, etc end up being closer to family than blood. Hope Roy is happy up in Vallejo. Rents have spiked up in the area, averaging over $2,000 in Oakland.

    From: “Nick Masesso, Jr.” To: orngard@yahoo.com Sent: Wednesday, June 3, 2015 6:35 PM Subject: [New post] Stealing Home #yiv0280297165 a:hover {color:red;}#yiv0280297165 a {text-decoration:none;color:#0088cc;}#yiv0280297165 a.yiv0280297165primaryactionlink:link, #yiv0280297165 a.yiv0280297165primaryactionlink:visited {background-color:#2585B2;color:#fff;}#yiv0280297165 a.yiv0280297165primaryactionlink:hover, #yiv0280297165 a.yiv0280297165primaryactionlink:active {background-color:#11729E;color:#fff;}#yiv0280297165 WordPress.com | circusinpurgatory posted: ““Pulled into Nazareth, feelin’ bout’ half past dead. Just need some place; where I can lay my head. Hey mister can you tell me; where a man might find a bed? He just grinned and shook my hand; “No”, was all he said.” – The Weight – Robbie RobinsonTwo ” | |

    • Yea; my resurrection from that meat grinder was like Uma Thurman clawing her way out of that grave in Kill Bill. I’m happy you and Roy are connected. I’m sure he likes the place.

    • James Mcfarland says:

      Happiness cures all ills, certainly kills the beast. A physiological journey into azure ether. Need to stop by for breakfast. Gotta try those eggs.

      • Correct wise one; happiness kills grief. At our noblest, we announce to the darkness that we will not be diminished by the tragedies of our lives. When it comes to grief, the normal rules of exchange do not apply, because grief transcends value. A man would give entire nations to lift grief off his heart. And yet, you cannot buy anything with grief, because grief is worthless.

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