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Carmen Ruggero

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Member Since: Nov, 2002

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I No Longer Live in The Assassin's House
by Carmen Ruggero
Rated "G" by the Author.
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This is not a short story. It is not an article. It's simply me, letting it rip... so I'm calling it prose.

I No Longer Live in The Assassinís House

 

 

It was a strange dream I had Ė many years ago. I, along with my father and my youngest sister, were traveling in a subterranean train. In the dream, we were strangers to each other and didnít speak. There were only a handful of passengers in the dingy-yellow lit car.  We all were silent and kept our heads bowed.

I had discarded the dream as nonsense and not thought about it again. It wasnít until I started writing on the subject of leaving the assassinís house, and began to give it serious thought, that I remembered the dream.

Towards the end of the journey, a man brought each of us, my father, my sister, and I, something that looked like a napkin. He gave us each a pen and asked us to sign our names on the napkins. Our signatures were not in a comprehensible language. The writing looked like hieroglyphics. Garbled, as it would if it were a sum of signatures; one on top of the other.  When we arrived at our destination, we all went our separate ways. The subterranean station was dimly lit. The walls were lined with people sitting on their knees, like maimed beggars. They were dressed in black and they were pointing at us and calling us in a strange language.

The title of this piece is written in the form of an affirmation. An affirmation is only as good as our ability to accept the idea enough to carry it out.  Some say it requires faith. I think it requires the ability to let go; to reject whatever it is we affirm weíre no longer a part of. But let go of what, I wonder, when perhaps what weíre fighting is a ghostly shadow of ourselves from way back as if our names were only translations of hieroglyphics.

And I can affirm: I no longer live in the assassinís house, but IT is the ghost. It lives through us, through our children, and our childrenís children. It has been with us through generations. The ghost has lived through my grandparents, great-grandparents and their parents before them. It was my fatherís spirit, my motherís submission to it. It was the love/hate syndrome passed on to each of us; a tradition passed on through generations. A behavioral glitch. Accusations, misconceptions, arrogance, and the ability to express opinions about you, but always behind your back. Misinterpretations of love, specifically: I hit you because I love you. I lie to protect you. I blamed you so I could save myself. Anger sets in and one day becomes an uncontrollable desire to destroy. I destroy your credibility so that I may appear to be credible. I destroy your goodness, so that I may be the good one. I kill your creativity, so that I may shine. I point to your imperfection, so that I may be PERFECT, PERFECT, PERFECT!!!  And the ghost, like a maimed beggar on a subterranean station, keeps calling us in a strange and distant language.

The assassin is my house, my flesh, my spirit, and it has made its own affirmation; one that is so much a part of me, it is hard to rebuke. It tells me: I AM THE ASSASSIN.  And I donít know how to be otherwise, though I may try because I know my actions are wrong and self destructive. They hurt others as well as me, but there should be no mistake about it, the assassin is also known by my sisters and brotherís names. It bears my childís name because I taught her with the knowledge passed on to me through generations of those who skillfully assassinate the spirit. And the train continues to pick-up passengers.

So I can affirm repeatedly, but I donít know how to leave the assassinís house without leaving ME behind. I donít know how to separate from that which has always been pain and comfort, love and hate, hunger and feast; the reason to live, and to die.

When I feel that I want to destroy myself, it is because I donít know how else to leave the assassinís house. It hurts me, but it is in my heart, my mind, and my spirit. It has been my sight and my breath, since birth. It hurts me, and I so much want to leave it, I affirm: I no longer live in its house, but thenÖ where do I live?  I canít tell us apart. To destroy the assassin, I must destroy myself Ė thatís what I think. Maybe some day, when I understand how to split us apart, I will have learned to think differently than Iíve been taught, and then, I will leave the assassinís house.  And on that day perhaps, my name will no longer be an ancient hieroglyphic, a trademark of the past, but simply Carmen, or better yet, my mother had named me Isabel. My father and his mother didnít like it and when mother woke up, they had changed my name.

Carmen Ruggero ©2006


 
 
 



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Reviewed by William Bonilla
An outstanding and profund write Carmen
Peace be with you

Merry Christmas
Love & Peace
William & Norma
Reviewed by Kate Burnside
A stunning unravelling of self and interpretation of a meaningful dream that leaves me breathless, Carmen. What you have managed to elucidate here and diagnose is wonderful psycho analysis as well as character study. Can soooooooooooo relate. I once had a "prophetic picture", of me going into a far-flung shed at the bottom of my garden, and not being afraid to lift the lid on a huge old trunk that, for me, contained all the family secrets that I was scared would destroy my knowledge of and understanding of self. I have been investigating "true inner reality" for about 3 years subsequent. I understand completely about the Assassin's House. Thank you for sharing this most meritorious prose. I am sure it has delighted and comforted many. Bless you. K xx
Reviewed by Andre Bendavi ben-YEHU

"I No Longer Live in The Assassin's House" has showed the power of the author's Quill, and has delivered an excellent literary page to enrich the library of the twenty-first century.

I salute You Master Carmen Ruggero.


Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
Reviewed by Lori Moore
Let it rip! As always, outstanding work.
Reviewed by Helga Ross
Wow, Carmen,
This piece speaks to me.
This is a powerful message concerning deep material:US.
Excellent. "Know Thyself". I'd say you do. In that self-knowledge, kill the assassin with self-love.

Hugs,
Helga
Reviewed by RD Larson
Wonderfully said and so true it hurts. What a brave wonder you are, Carmen.
Reviewed by Phyllis Jean Green
Knew this would hit a nerve! Can't say enough good about it.
Unfortunately, I just 'reviewed' at length your last {fantastically helpful} article about health and medical issues, having failed to check if I had already done so. Color me DUH. I do N O T regret for a nanosecond having re-read the article!!! I recommend that everyone read and re-read it!!! Just. . .can't do this one justice, so I will leave it at E X C E L L E N T. Sensitive & perceptive in the extreme.
Always, and Then, 'Pea'xxxxxoooooO
Reviewed by Cynth'ya cynthyaspeaks@gmail.com
Saved this one Carmen. You've got my number Sis!
blessin's, hope your move brought you all you hope, especially being near family.
love and peace, praying for you always,
cynth'ya
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Very intense, amazing the power they hold..
Reviewed by jude forese
brillant! we are the assasins of our own nature ... we destroy ourselves in order to reconstruct the boundaries we have created ...
Reviewed by J M
Some dreams I agree we never forget and sometimes it is good not to forget them. This is a powerful pen ... PS I have had some horrific dreams and I was also aware of things from them that came later in life. Sometime I have to wonder dream from some over exposed food I ate before retiring or a heavenly vision for later. Thank you for sharing this one. Carmen.

Light & peace,
Joselyn
Reviewed by Nordette Adams
Powerfully penned. You "let it rip" quite skillfully. I'm saving it to my den library. ~~Nordette
Reviewed by richard cederberg
Some dreams we never forget. They seem at times as building blocks or directions, or maps for us in our waking hours. There is a strong tenderness in this write that is appealing.

Light and Wisdom ...
Richard Lloyd Cederberg
Reviewed by Hariharan Balakrishnan
These are words from a sensitive soul, if they are meant to be autobiographical. Teh elusive Peace may come from leaving "house" at least for a while, and find a "home" to reflect in that period. The two terms are different. Time is the great healer. It always ahs been.
This a rare piece of wonderful prose. Congrats.
Reviewed by Peter Paton
Carmen

The way to slay the alter ego...is by loving ourself first and foremost, and conversely being prepared to sacrifice ourselves over and over again, for the well being of others..

Rivetting prose, straight from the heart..

Blessings

Peter
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
Very deep insightful offering!!

Love tinka
Reviewed by Regis Auffray
A deep, thought-inciting account, Carmen/Isabel. Thank you for sharing it. Love and peace to you,

Regis
Reviewed by Joyce Hale
A deep insightful write, Carmen/Isabel, that probes the darkness and memories that probably lurk in all of us. I can only hope that you/we discover how to separate the darkness from the light, and go on to show it to those in our lives.

Peace. Joyce Hale
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