Vesuvius is quietening down.
Let me do a post-mortem.
Father hatred leaves me flat, unresponsive, shallow in my compassion. Hindus call that state of mind thamasic, lethargic.
In my everyday awareness, I can feel it only subtly, as a slightly negative attitude towards everything – not skeptical but pessimistic. Disbelief, despair, depression.
As I said earlier, I have two movements going on in my life at the moment: (A) Coming out of my shell and allowing out the inner capabilities that will allow me to do the work that’s being asked of me, and (B) the eradication of this root vasana (or core issue) of father hatred which arose in opposition to my intention to come out.
The two are related.
I was beginning to go inwards in response to an inner pressure to allow out some of the capabilities that I, and all of us, have brought with us. In taking those steps, I ran smack into the boulder of father hatred, barring the way of my further progress. No-one-gets-by-me sort of thing.
So the two are interrelated in that father hatred blocks my attempt to release myself from down-pulling forces. It is protecting its own existence, understandably.
But, having identified it, I’ve now asked for its removal and I expect that spiritual technology to work. I have also experienced myself as winner in the contest with my Dad to see who could dominate with hate. I won.
I’m astonished to see how important to closure it was to declare myself the winner. I hated the most. Ridiculous statement, eh? Who said vasanas were logical?
And with that declaration, I could put the sword away. Vasanas are idiosyncratic. They’ve no other rationale than the mind connecting events in a certain way. A dog once bit me. I am scared of dogs.
Even once the vasana has been eradicated, work remains.
There’ll still be habitual patterns of behavior and trains of thought that I’ll need to wean myself from.
But this vasana has to go. With apologies to everyone affected by me struggling with this. I’ve more or less walled myself off from the world.
With habitual trains of thought, I can simply stop them when I see them. Just let them drop. End of story. That’s the easy part.
The wordless, habitual patterns of behavior are more difficult but easier the more aware of them I become. They can return me to the vasana through sheer repetitive reactions.
They may require patient reparenting. All do-able, with Vesuvius quiet.
If I don’t also eliminate the habitual patterns, I can still end up becoming a cardboard man nattering about something, his consciousness dulled by decades and decades of father hatred. Passed along, passed along, passed along.
(1) The pessimistic view is, no, it’s just the latest vasana to surface. More are sure to come. The pessimistic view is that my anger seems never-ending. That’s the way it feels when I’m in the thick of it.