Last night, Sister Felicity showed up in my dreams. I'd gone to bed thinking about how I felt when months ago, I read her obituary. Reading it, I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. My anger remained alive and well even though she no longer walked this earth. Troubled by such ancient anger, I feel asleep thinking about how to let it go. My waking self didn't have many answers but my sleeping self was busy working things out.
In my dream, I'd heard some of the Sisters, including Sister Felicity were going to be in town. I dressed up in a habit even though it was long after I'd left the convent. I wanted to flaunt it just to irritate Sister Felicity. Initially, it did but soon, I discovered that one of the Sisters for whom I always had a special place in my heart, had suffered a traumatic brain injury. She was left with the mind of a two-year old. She was with Sister Felicity and her small band of nuns. I took the injured Sister out of church, where she was misbehaving and took care of her just like I would have taken care of my children when they were young. In caring for her, my anger left me. I forgot about my personal vendetta and became very interested in what was being done for this Sister, now child.
At the end of a long dream, I bid them all a sincere goodbye and asked Sister Felicity to have someone contact me now and again to let me know how they were all doing. She looked at me, with the face and mind of 30 years ago, smiled and said, "Yes, I'll be happy to do that. Take care, Carol." Sister Felicity and I finally established a truce for a greater good.
Anger still burns within my human side. There are things worthy of good clean anger. Yet, anger is a two-edged sword that can easily slice into one's peace of mind if it is allowed to get out of hand. Anger often tells us something is wrong. It causes us to rally our defenses against a perceived threat. It can energize and motivate. It can fuel a passionate intensity that can burn brightly and light the way for others. It can also destroy much of the good we humans carry within us. It can interfere with our sense of justice and reason. It can blind us to the unpleasant truths about ourselves. At its worst, it can cause us to implode and block us from achieving what we were created to achieve. It can fuel a fire within that makes kindness and gentleness kindling, leaving only a bitter old shell of what we might have become.
Anger itself is not bad. It simply is. How we allow anger to transform us makes all the difference. Letting go of anger is one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do as a human, especially a human coming from a long line of rather dour German American descendants who show anger more easily than any other emotion. The Sisters themselves were largely from a very similar background and mind set. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was a standard practiced in their homes when they were children. They were a product of their environment.
Stepping outside the box each of us was born into is no easy task. Opening our minds to other ways, new ideas, causes us to leave our comfort zone. We desperately search for something familiar to grasp. Opening one's mind and broadening one's world, considering other ways of doing things is not for the faint-hearted. Giving up is easy. Clinging to one's believe system with a blind fervor that views differing viewpoints as a threat betrays fear, fear of the unknown and unfamiliar. It's very hard to let go.
Last night in my dreams, I understood how hard it was for these women to change. I was almost impossible for them to consider alternatives. They had too much invested in the way things were. They were filled with fear. This fear could only be calmed by adhering to a rigid belief system, a belief system that had clear enemies. To them, I must have been perceived as a threat. Playing a scapegoat was familiar to me. I also had a terrifying habit of asking "why" and wanting to understand. Questions in a closed system pose big problems. Questioning authority is an even more dangerous thing.
Sister Felicity wasn't evil personified, although there were moments when I actually wondered if she might be. She was a product of her environment. I was perceived as a threat. Eliminating that threat wasn't as much a personal reflection on me or my worthiness, it was a reflection on her and the system. I couldn't see that then. It was too close to me. I was too hurt and angry.
Last night my anger dissolved when the Sister I had admired had become a child that needed me. Children make mistakes but we love them anyway. Last night as Sister Felicity walked in my dreams, I came full circle. My experience in the convent makes a lot more sense to me today, long after I had given up on trying to understand it. Thanks, Dream Sister. I hope you slumber well in heaven. Prepare a bunk some where near for me.
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