If you don't go to class you don't get the degree

Tonight is another meeting to unlock our intuitive selves. We were supposed to watch the Other Boleyn Girl and monitor our chakra's reactions to the movie. The meeting was almost cancelled because two attendees decided not to come. It doesn't matter what the reasons were, both being valid, but it does matter that these two do it all the time and we are all being held up because of it. But it's frustrating because when the class gets cancelled it messes everyone up. This isn't like school in the sense that everyone else has to be in class whether or not someone else is sick or skipping. It's, as i said to Verta, the "Weensiest bit frustrating".

And I need to know why it took me three days to get back to normal, two to quit shaking and one day to breathe. This movie messed me up more than any to date. and I don't know why. It's the damnedest thing. I knew Henry the 8th was an ass. He was beheaded on Jan 27th... my birfday.(smiley face for the day and the beheading) I just didn't know what all went on behind the scenes in terms of the human carnage. And that's exactly what it was. Carnage.

Carnage. Betrayal. Avarice. Deception. Egalitarian machinations. Brutality. Human trading.
Anne and Marie's uncle traded them like cattle at market, or worse, like Africans in Dutch markets. No wonder so many rich people could think nothing of slavery. They sold their own children for houses and seats on privy counsels. They were the worse kind of flesh peddlers. Just thinking about it makes my whole body hurt all over again. I wonder if my aversion to marriage and "official" relationships has something to do with having been sold in a prior life. I certainly was examined by my mother in such a fashion to suggest she had the same social networking goals for us as children. i did not provide suitable raw materials to allow for advancement so I was ignored.
It makes my mother's running commentary about my sister's actions all the more sinister. Had she really thought to perpetrate so devious a plot on her children? Were we really nothing more than raw material with which she had hoped to build her own empire? I am glad that I was not the "Beautiful" child while my mother wielded her checkbook and influence with impunity. I think I can now relish Jerry Hartl's assertion that I was the Gorgon Medusa. I am attractive enough now in my adulthood, despite the rosacea, that I do not feel I should wear a bag over my head. And it comes at an age where I cannot be, as I would have as a child, vain about it. I am what I am, no more, no less. I think I can appreciate me now.
And I am thankful that I wasn't pretty enough to bother with. My sense of identity and purpose would be totally skewed if I had mom's persistent lecturing about the "right" this and that. I might accept these arbitrary lines as solidly immutable and correct instead of transparently unstable and false.
Time may not heal wounds, but its does give enough distance to gain perspective. All the slings and arrows hurt so much because of a past life I didn't know; I am certain of that. In the grand scheme of things, those things hurt less because I had a buffer. I was outside the social circle. And as lonely as it was, I was safer than being part of it.

One step closer to my degree in Cosmic Humanities.