Evil is real. Evil is real but it’s not born of a horned being with a pitchfork. Evil is born of deep hurt and wounds. And, so, even today when I’m reeling from weeks of dealing with evil wrought by aggressive hostility, manipulation, and vindictive actions, I feel some empathy for the perpetrator. I am exhausted and bruised by the actions and words of the emotionally wounded perpetrator and will be cleaning up the destruction wrought for some time yet.
Whether I start from anger at being mistreated or am releasing tears that cleanse my body of the evil, I end up thinking about the trauma or wounds that can lead a beloved child of the Divine One to manifest evil. Praying, connecting with the One I call God, I feel sadness. I yearn to clean and wrap the wound. I wish I could kiss the broken spirit’s boo-boo and apply a cartoon band-aid.
But the wounded one clings to the pain and violation — whatever it may have been — and resents any attempts at healing love. The wounded one blames and points fingers even when objective facts contradict. In the smoldering pot of evil soup she concocts and lashes out at those who will not eat her food with a subservient smile.
What kind of pain, God?! What kind of violation of spirit did your beloved suffer that would lead to denial of your divinity within? What kind of hellish violation of soul makes the wound the only thing a person feels can be called her own?
What pain is so traumatic that love is rejected? What is the boiling soup that burns and scalds made of?
And so I protect self and flock to the best of my ability. I pray. I cry. I lick a wound or two. I toss and turn at night and I scream out to God in the shower!
I lament the evil soup that bubbles over. I lament the human condition! I hurt. I hurt for myself. I ache for those victimized. And I pray for the soul who clings so tightly to the wounds and says no to the love to which she is worthy.