me and “The Shining”
Buddha teaches that our suffering imprisons us, but that we can release ourselves thought by thought, feeling by feeling, memory by memory.
I watched Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining” again this morning. I’ve watched the movie many times but realized I have never seen or felt it until now. Actually, I had no recollection of many scenes. I must have slept through them every time as I have through many movies when I could not handle the emotions it was stirring up.
This time though I remained focused all the way through despite it triggering a stream of memories of my family. Full of intelligence, warmth, and humor, we too were torn apart by crippling karma and the violence it engendered.
Some might call it neurosis but Western Medicine misses the point of our mental suffering. Karma is not an illness to be treated by medication so that we can “function”, but instead a manifestation of longstanding familial demons that must be embraced and understood to be overcome.
The Shining has many levels, but at its center is the story of a violently abusive father and his terrorized wife and child. Watching Jack chase his son Danny with an ax through the hedge maze, I was brought back to one of my parent’s fights on vacation in Florida. It was a dance of escalating violence, Mom pushing Dad’s buttons.
“Stop it, Louise! You know what you are doing! Stop it!” screamed my father.
But she kept poking him, flaunting her power. Eventually, he erupted, chasing her around the resort cottage throwing punches while us four kids stood watching.
Family vacations were the only time my parents spent together: New Hampshire. Florida, France, Greece, East Hampton are all memorialized by fights etched in my mind. The first and worst was a mid-70s summer trip to a ski resort in New Hampshire.
I was around ten, Cathrine seven, Kermit six and Lizzie four. Dad had rented a log cabin in the woods. Outside my window, pitch black was pierced by a terrifying cacophony of whistles and screeches. Dark shadows stretched up the walls to the ceiling.
I lay in bed listening to my parents talking in the living room when suddenly the conversation turned into a loud fight. I heard them start to run around the room. I went over to comfort my brother and sisters, and then out to the living room to find out what was going on.
Dad was chasing Mom around the living room brandishing a knife
Mom screamed at me, “Tell him to stop!”
Watching Danny being chased by his Dad this morning, the terror of that distant night long hibernating in my body suddenly rose up to my consciousness. I started crying. Dad once told me Mom could make him feel like a king, but just as easily tear him down. In his mind, she made him lose control and hurt her. Growing up she could do the same to me but I would just shrivel up and hide until it felt safe to crawl back and beg her forgiveness.
Unlike my father, I eventually learned the distinction between someone else’s action and my feelings. When I lose control of my emotions, instead of looking for someone to blame, I look inside for the deeper emotional memory that has been triggered. This simple process requires self-love, patience, and honesty; three flashlights that can shine a light on the often terrifying sources of our karma.
It works. Over the last five years, I have slowly but steadily escaped my inherited baggage and begun to discover my own life’s path. More chi! Train harder!
Hong
