Tijdens een meditatie, luisterend naar een lezing van Neville Goddard, kwam een oude schaduw naar voren: schaamte over mijn tijd in de gevangenis.
Wat ik dacht dat mij gevangen hield, bleek niet het verleden zelf te zijn, maar mijn hechting aan het verhaal erover.
Hier volgt een ruwe, eerlijke vastlegging van wat ik die avond zag, voelde en inzag.
While meditating, I felt it; I saw it: the thing that I thought used to hold me to the past.
I had shared before that I felt ashamed of my time in prison. While repeating this story several times over the years, someone once corrected me gently:
“Adilson, why are you ashamed of it? You did what you did. I am not ashamed of what I have done; I am no longer doing those things.”
At that moment, I felt a mix of envy and realization. He was right. It is the past.
And I saw that I was holding onto the role of the victim, the one who needed to keep repeating his regret.
Listening to Neville’s lecture during meditation, I heard the story of a woman who kept confessing the same sin to a priest.
When the priest asked, “But my darling, you have already confessed this many times,” she responded, “Yes, but I like talking about it.”
I saw myself in her reflection.
I realized that I was staying attached to my old story because it gave me identity. It allowed me to remain small, regretful, safe in guilt.
As I sat there, another deeper thought emerged:
Was I truly free from that shame?
Had I ever shared the full truth?
The surface story shocks some people: I went to prison.
But the deeper story is quieter and more confronting.
I was part of a criminal setup, the last piece (disposible) in the foodchain, what in the Netherlands they might call a “katvanger” (someone that is used to pick up stolen goods).
There was no violence, no gun to my head.
Still, I complied.
The so-called friend I trusted asked me to pick up stolen gold.
I failed the first time because I had the wrong details.
And then, still fearful, still submissive, I went back again, corrected, compliant.
No one forced me.
My body obeyed because my inner voice had long been broken, even before I met that “friend.”
In truth, I realized:
It was my own weakness.
The story I told myself.
The smallness I had accepted long before the crime.
As I type this, another image came to mind:
Is this how some victims of deeper violations feel too, when internal fear is greater than the will to take action, even when no physical violence is present?
This moment, this reflection had me in a moment of silence.
It humbles me. Its easy to think that when you can talk, you have learned to speaker up Yet, many who have never learned the power of their voice. Playing small under the shawdow of their culture, parents and surroundings. And ultimatly staying in the shawdow of their potential.
Tonight, I see:
There is a power to the voice, a voice that is channeled from Truth. When taken a moment, you can do to. We all have seen and lived in the shawdow to some degree, so make yourself known. We are here.
As for myself, at this moment, I realize:
I do not need to confess anymore.
I do not need to carry shame as my badge.
I am free to walk now and without explaining.
And so I do.
Would you like to walk with me?
