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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Mimi Zhu
Read between
June 11 - June 21, 2023
Violence often happens behind closed doors because the suppressed anger misdirects itself toward the people we should be holding close.
Instead of demonizing or typecasting the rage of the survivor, it is transformative to listen to the anger that demands urgent accountability and change.
Anger is a voice that speaks for the pain of grief and the softness of compassion.
When anger is used as an action toward liberation, the intent is not just to destroy but to nourish the fertile soil that is left in its wake, blossoming into new loving ways of thinking, feeling, and being.
“This hatred and our anger are very different. Hatred is the fury of those who do not share our goals, and its object is death and destruction. Anger is a grief of distortions between peers, and its object is change.”
I keep returning to the Lama Rod Owens quote “Anger is the bodyguard of our woundedness” because I feel softened when I read it. I think of turtles with their hardened shells protecting their squishy bodies. I think of deer antlers and rhinoceroses’ horns, and how protection is a part of survival. I think of the thorns that prick up from the stem of the rose or the body of a cactus.
Karma is not the retaliation of nature, nor is it as simple as when one person does a bad thing and then experiences a bad thing as punishment. It is spiritually deeper than that. Karma is the idea that somebody must live with the pain and grief of harming someone, as harming others is ultimately a form of self-harm too.
Abusers hurt themselves when they hurt others. Violence is reflected within the fragmented soul of the person who perpetrates it. What one does to others, one inadvertently internalizes and does to oneself.
Many long-form documentaries about intimate partner violence almost seem to sensationalize the abusers, and they can be very difficult for a survivor to watch. Survivors are depicted either as helpless and pitiful victims of their own poor choices or as resilient troupers who make capitalist empires out of their pain.
These narratives seem to be fearful of shedding light on the nuanced aftermath of abuse because it is neither marketable nor “tragic” enough.
We need to move from a place of possibility instead of punishment. We need to believe that we deserve better and can do better. Though we were not deserving of our hurt, we are deserving of transformative continuance.
Our hauntings teach us that although we may be incapable of reversal, we are capable of infinite transformation.
My new home holds both the painful lessons that I learned and the divine love that allowed me to survive. I live with all that has shaped me, I love the shapes that I am, and I will continue to live, knowing what I have survived.
“No, it’s because it was that bad, I couldn’t leave.”
Shame triggers a spiral that leads us to detrimental self-punishment; instead of creating possibilities for change, shame makes us feel like everything is caving in on us. Guilt, on the other hand, is an uncomfortable awareness of our actions. It can drive us toward a recognition of our responsibilities and what we must do to atone for our mistakes, especially if we have caused harm to others. Guilt can bring us closer to facing the consequences we need to face when we have enacted harm.
It can help us create change, make amends, forge new patterns, invite openness, and do what we can to assist in healing the people we may have harmed (which can also mean giving space). It is important to listen to our guilt without becoming engulfed by it.
They deliberately tap into imaginary binaries of good versus evil and mass-manipulate people into believing that only some are worthy of abundance and resources, while others are disposable and punishable.
The core precedent of abolition is to always center and prioritize the survivor’s safety. Abolition calls for true transformative consequences while dismantling state-sanctioned forms of punishment.
Stillness allowed me to befriend my shadows, sit with them in solitude, and unlock a sense of presence. I noticed the pain that lingered and the heartbreak I harbored. And for the first time in a while, all this newfound time allowed me to notice my childlike curiosities, my quirks, my hobbies, my small pleasures, and my profound joy. Stillness opens an awareness of our aliveness. Presence allows us to remember who we are.
I realized that I could no longer hold on to this terrifying and beautiful relationship. Trapping the butterfly would not have honored her impermanence. I could no longer force the beauty of intimacy. I looked deep into the hypnotic waves of the ocean as she, too, said good night to the sun. X looked at me and was surprised to see tears streaming down my face. I had no control over the demise of our relationship, and I knew that it had to end.
Non-self does not mean that we cease to exist, but that we do not exist as isolated beings. Our individualistic self does not exist because it is intertwined with everything, and therefore it is not a single entity but part of a greater “One.” Impermanence is the acknowledgment that all things pass; it allows us to look toward grand perspectives beyond immediate feelings of pain. By accepting impermanence we free ourselves from the heavy binaries of life and death and save ourselves from constantly fearing impending doom. Doom passes too. All things regenerate. Interbeing is the acknowledgment
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Go to the ocean, the forest, the desert, and see how each lapping wave, cluster of moss, and rock formation is actively letting go. Not only are they letting go of themselves in every second that they live, but they are also welcoming each new moment with full embodiment. They know that they, too, will pass.
thought about the ways that we squirm at the touch of soil, how we have been taught to distrust the ground we walk on, and how concrete actively separates us from connecting directly to sacred land.
You will see how your heart beats, your lungs expand, and your breath swirls, and it will be as charming and miraculous as a swaying weeping willow or a flock of soaring doves. When you sit in silence, you will notice the sounds that reverberate within you and beyond. You will hear the song of interconnection. You will realize that you are never alone.
When we experience true presence, our memories reveal their interconnected relationships with one another. We are not time-traveling but being welcomed into an amalgamation of past, present, and future.
There is the sound of children’s laughter, lively applause, oohs and aahs of admiration, and the constant clanging of a gong.
We all sing our different tunes, though I hear our harmonies coalescing.
“Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.”
Sometimes different plants in our gardens encourage others’ growth and provide shade, protection, and nutrients. Sometimes plants suffocate one another or compete for light and food. In a garden, you can witness many forms of reciprocation, communication, and conflict. There, you can learn what it means to be in community with human beings and nonhuman beings alike.
Our networks are as intricate as the communities that grow in the earth, and as we explore our interconnections, we need to nourish our soil. We cannot be a sibling without a family, we cannot be a seed without a garden, we cannot be in communion without community, and we cannot be human without Earth. We cannot know of love without one another, so let us learn together.
Perhaps then we could see miracles on micro levels, and revel in the delight that they have a constant presence in our lives. Seeing miracles every day does not take away from the grand and unexplainable but expands our ideas of what miracles can be: every blossom of a flower, every push and pull of the tide, every time we breathe in, and every time we breathe out.
If we simply looked up, we would see so much. Without our curiosity, there is so much that we forget, and we become absent in our everyday lives. Realizing the precious nature of each passing moment reveals not only that you have survived, but that you continue to live.
