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Both the ART and the ARTIST

Writer's picture: dmzuco2@gmail.com Zucodmzuco2@gmail.com Zuco

Coming to the realization that the anger I felt and feel is a reflection of past pain and hurt. Not the moment or situation that seemingly triggered it. But how that action and interaction related to a deeper wound within me. Why else would I react?


I can point fingers at the person in front of me, at what they just did or said. I can rant and rave at how it all happened, came together, their part and mine. I could argue for my innocence and for the injustice of it all. How I am being persecuted wrongly by them. This person that I professed my love for, that a moment ago, I was sure loved me too.

Freeze frame. Stop the moment. Escape the present, leave the three-dimensional world for the higher state.


In other words, go from street view to satellite on maps. What do you see?

You were triggered.


And then again, your personality—who you are, who you have known yourself to be—screams out:


“But of course I was triggered! Don’t you see why? Don’t you see what they did?”

Calmly you ask, “Tell me why?”

And that part of you that you know as you answers back:


**“This is part of my pain and my suffering. It has always been this way. This goes back to the beginning. This is an original wound. Don’t you know? When I was first rejected, ignored, and accused of something that I did not do. When I was put down, harassed, bullied, and beaten.


When I was told that I was bad, wrong, and even that I was evil. As such, I will defend this pain. I will not allow this person or experience to continue to harm me, to put me down, to press on this open wound of flesh and pain. I will defend this pain that I feel, no one can know of. Because if they did, they might use it against me.”**


Then it became clear how I am the one who adjusts my reactions to them, to avoid feeling this pain. That I have been protecting this area of hurt by whatever means necessary.

Strangely enough, the people I love the most get closest to this spot. I hide it as much as I can, but they somehow keep finding a way to it, despite my best efforts.


I yearn for them to soothe it, to apply a healing balm, to embrace it, and not judge this festering wound I have been hiding from the whole world. Those who saw it before hated it. They hated me for it—or so it seemed to me. So I keep it a secret so no one could see it.


Better that way. Better to keep this pain hidden from view, with guards that are strong and tall and easy to anger.

Pointed spears appear to those who would venture too close:


“You don’t want to know what this is that you seek. Let it be. It’s not for you, it’s only for me.”

I speak to myself softly and persistently:

“Let me in and see what I can do. You’re safe now. Your guards are not present, and it’s just you and me. We are already before the wound that you speak of. It’s you that speaks to me, trying to conceal who you are, but in truth, you are that wound sharing your truth. What is the source of your suffering, and what can I do?”


In an instant of transformation, it all becomes clear. The voice—the being that I saw as myself—becomes what I have been so familiar with. A mix of memories, emotions, and longing that hides within it a vortex of depth that feeds on itself.

It seeks to be resolved but cannot, as it remains just out of the way of the light.


Always hidden, always in darkness. The sun’s healing rays can’t reach it. It does not allow anyone close to it. Those that have tried, it did not trust to help. The defense mechanisms in place were created before it had any understanding of the world or itself.

It’s primal in nature—mostly emotions, reactions, and suffering.


No logical reasoning to be found there. No amount of intellect would help. This was about emotions that have been caught in a time loop—energy that has become trapped in itself.


I resist every urge to respond with negativity. To respond with any type of judgment or reaction. To label it as bad, wrong, or out of place. To do so would only be giving in to its own view of self: evil, bad, wrong, and unworthy of love.


So, as I began to formulate the words I would use, inspiration struck me from above. A message came through:

L-O-V-E, love.


So I sang it a song of love that I knew. I kept singing songs that rang true. I soothed it, continued to speak softly to it, and kept up that pace.


I knew it was working because suddenly it showed me its face.

It was me, so long ago, innocent and young. Unaware of the world and what had been done.


I was suddenly surrounded by guilt and shame. Anger and resentment were the names it went by.


It continued on and on as the years went by. On and on it went, and there was no one to ask why.


I embraced it in my arms, bringing it close and hugging it tight. Even as it burned and felt like hot coals were burning my chest.

It tried to fight me off, cursing and shouting as it went:

“Leave me alone, let me be! I’m better off by myself!”


I held on more tightly to it, refusing to let go. Telling it that I loved it and would forever do so.


There was no longer a need to hide or to fight. In me, there was a safe place. At my table, it would dine. No longer ashamed or feeling the need to hide. I would introduce it as my own self, a part of the Divine.

Hello to one and all. Happiness and joy, this is pain and guilt, also known as shame and disgrace. Welcome it to the table. It may not look appealing or lovely, but behind its façade lies greater strengths that I have come to rely on in my times of trouble.


Within it comes resolve and a determined struggle to survive, to live, and to right every wrong. To soothe the pain of others who have never heard a good song. Though some see it as ugly and even a terrible being, they don’t see how it has healed others in trying to heal itself.


It only thinks it’s ugly and unloved. But it is actually love concealed and confused, waiting to be released and its power renewed.

Suddenly, this darkness and utter despair transformed into something so beautiful that nothing could compare.


All this time, it was hidden from view. The truest love of all was there waiting to be renewed—touched and healed by acceptance of self, bridging the gap between the self and the self.


A new light began to shine where there was none to be found. Where there was only darkness, now began a whole new series of beginnings and awakenings. Where there was no hope, there now became fertile soil where anything could grow.


Resentment was replaced with faith, love, and joy. Anger was replaced with happiness and longing for more. Pain was now understanding and wisdom.

Rage was understood to be a mask that was hiding pain.


Integrated into my being, we became as one. No longer ignored, shunned, or ashamed.

It was me all along.


Others call it integration. Some call it the shadow. I knew it as myself—a part of me that I had to accept, love, and embrace. A reflection of the pain that I held on to. A mirror image of the resentment, anger, rage, and unforgiveness that I clung to for so very long.


I began to see the patterns of that energy and those memories manifested in my life through the eyes of others. Lovers, friends, co-workers, bosses, siblings—all were reflecting it back to me, showing me what I was feeling, holding on to, and re-absorbing like leftover food that I insisted on eating, though spoiled it may be.


Experiences in the past, traumas that I blamed others for. Insults, hurt, and pain were all essentially self-inflicted. Though the action was done by another, I brought it on. I kept attracting it to me so I could become aware of it, so that I could address it, resolve it, and gain peace.


By virtue of my belief that it was what I deserved, who I was, and that the core of my being was unworthy, bad, and needed to be shamed. If I had only known that forgiving, understanding, and letting go of the initial pain was the key to my freedom.


That forgiving the person I blamed, and carrying that understanding forward through the eyes of a child but the mind of a man, would set me free. I could not see it then, but I did now.


So I began to let go, to forgive, to understand their plight as quickly as I could. To set forth to forgive, love, and embrace all that once hurt me—those I once blamed for all my pain. Taking on that responsibility and then forgiving myself for it.


Understanding that it was a process I needed in order to grow, evolve, and understand another layer of love—self-love that had escaped me for so long.


No one could love me as I desired them to. I would not allow it. In turn, I could never truly love another as they deserved because of the resentment, fear, and caution that I always carried around.


Love comes from within, not without.

How beautiful a lesson to learn: that even as I was torn away by force from that sweet, nourishing source of motherly milk of love, it propelled me to seek out my own source, which was always within me.


There is only so much a mother or father can do. Even if they are perfect in all that they say and show you, it will never be the love that you seek.


Even if your lover adores you and sees no flaws in you, in time they will reflect your own self-image back to you.


Even if the world sings your praises and sees you as the ideal version of what a human being can be, it means nothing unless you know self-love within the real you. Unless you can identify with it, see it, know it, and embrace it in you. No words of others will remain; it won’t ever seem true.


Self-respect, honor, awareness—the beauty of all that you are—lays within the soul and heart of everyone.


The process by which it is discovered is unique to every individual, just as every individual is as unique as their fingerprint.

There are beasts and dragons at the entrance of the cave that hide your treasure. Some are found within it. Some terrors await you when you least expect it. All are actually well-meaning and meant to help you grow stronger, more aware, and discover your true power.


That you are not who you think you are. You are so much stronger.


The greater the foe, the greater the ability within you to overcome them. That enemy is your own fear, mindset, anger, and resentment. It keeps you from being one with yourself.


Holding on to pain is like the person who holds on to the excesses of waste that have been created through life. As a testimony, proof that things happened, so others may see it and agree that they could do nothing but fail.


Most aren’t aware of it. So many of us do it that it seems like the natural thing to do. Why not?


When you are tired of being tired. When you are fed up with being fed up. When you are sick of being sick.


You’ll fight your way out of this shell of existence, into a greater sense of being, life, and awareness that only you can attest to.

One that liberates you, one that propels you forward, one that unites your strengths into something greater than their parts.

One that allows you to transcend your vision to a point where you once only saw evil; now you only see good. You no longer see darkness as it was, but as a potential for light and life.


One that gives you an understanding of the world, of life, of everything, and how nothing is ever wrong.


It only may seem that way for a time—until enough time has passed for you to see how contrasts created this beautiful tableau that you are now a part of, that you have helped to create, as at once the art and the artist.



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Philip Zuco

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