Betrayal burns. Guised in many cloaks, it steals our souls. And although sometimes we, the victim, are able to forgive the betrayer, I find it harder to forgive myself for having betrayed. In the veils of subtlety betrayal arises when I share information that poisons perceptions; such is the sin of scandal. My listener has no need to know what I so insidiously share; even if I am asked, "How's so and so? Have you heard from him or her lately?" Negativity not only adds to bad news, it makes stronger the sensibilities that impelled me to share salacious tidbits in my unthinking offing. Upon reflection, upon introspection, upon thinking about my thinking, I realize I am relaying the creep of crud. Yes, we best block it. We best not betray.
Perhaps i never should have been given the role of Judas. I was but fourteen or fifteen at the time, and the school play, a Passion Play, involved a whole lot of my school chums, way back in circa 1968. I wore a red smoking jacket, (a woman, 40 years later, reminded me). I danced a special Judas-dance, with a girl from Girl's High. (Perhaps the reason so many boys participated was because several girls from that school were selected to rehearse and perform with us.) The thing is, now, some 45+ years later, I realize how deeply my subconscious was affected. The character of the real Judas was hated. The perceptions of the real Judas was vile. And I'd been the one chosen to play the role. (I recall how very much I'd wanted to play the lead, Jesus.) And for too many times in the rest of my life, at some test of withholding onto sacred trust, or of having to disclose incontrovertible yet private truths, I've hedged and revealed and shared. And paid the price afterwards. Bitterness at the self is a hard pill to swallow.
So, in the psychogeometric proclivity of my squiggly line nature, I've guarded against the instinct to be free with my words, to be free with my revelations, to be free with my judgements and my want to ingratiate myself, puppy-dog like, with strangers. (And even more so, with those close to me.) No, it's better to cordon off loose-instincts with the square shape of promises to myself (let alone to others). It's better to contain the circle shape of trusting-integration within me to the square of expectation and loyalty. It's better to harness the triangle shape of my ambitions and self interests yet again within that square shape that has declared a wall against scandal, or of spreading rumours, or worse, of outright betrayal. And it's best not to be indecisive, rectangular, or wispy-washy with my commitments. Yes, the mind-shapes of triangle, square, rectangle, circle, and squiggly-line apply. If we were evenly balanced we'd be exercising 20% of each, but our predominant proclivity arises most of the time, especially when put to the test, and that'd make for at least 25% of oneself to responded to tasks, or to any crisis, from one's predominant 'shape'. (For myself, being a squiggly, my creative and flexible anything-goes nature can be a weakness. I can be fickle. I could betray.) Best to guard against that!
Our weakness can prove to be our strength, should we guard against it. We can temper our obstinacy. We can draw our boundaries more clearly. We can consider the sharpness of our impact on others more carefully. We can consider the effects of too much vacillation. And we can more considerately practice the need to commit, to see a project through, and to keep one's word.
Being Judas is different from playing Judas. When we play we are making choices. When we just let ourselves be, we dip into and exercise and do and perpetrate the predominant proclivity of our natures, and too much of anything tends to harm others, let alone ourselves. The life unexamined is hardly worth living, wrote Socrates. We come mostly from one of five minds, in fact, a psycho-geometric proclivity, purports Susan Dillinger. And to that end, being just a Judas, or choosing more carefully one's role in life, is hereby submitted as part of the juggling act. So may one affect one's very soul. Indeed in deeds. So may we give shape to our lives. Always.