God does not speak poison

         Is that a shape moving in the shadows? It cannot be; he cannot be here... Naomi stood on the deserted beach wearing nothing but a white bikini. She felt afraid and her head swivelled around, but there was no one else there. She looked back into the cave, but there was nothing. I am seeing things again, losing it. She calmed down and went to the water for a swim. Returning to her beach towel and lathering up in Blue Lizard factor 50 suncream, she lay on the warm sand, closing her eyes while the gentle breeze from the sea caressed her body.

         She reflected on her appearance in the mirror from this morning in her five-star hotel bedroom, fresh out the shower, I look dam good right now. The gym, a good diet, and now a tan. This is peak me; too good for mortal man. She laughed inside.

         However, she was unable to fully relax. The divorce still pressed on her mind. Her husband had not been a bad man; he had not beaten her or slept around with other women. That did not stop her from hating Tom, however. Her heart was a seething mass of resentment and anger, and despite repeated retreats to healing centers, she could not shake the violent feelings he stirred in her. Why do you haunt me? she asked herself. I got my payout from the divorce case. I am now richer than you, so why do I still resent you, still hate you...

         She remembered Tom's roving eye checking out other women, and her anger flared. She knew that all men are attracted to beautiful women, but the counsellors had shown her that this became a real problem when she started using sex as a weapon against him. Giving or taking to get her agenda done. It had been easy to control Tom with his desire, and so she had. She had gotten into the habit of using the possibility of sex to manipulate him. But such machinations destroyed intimacy, and she regretted how she sabotaged the possibility of connection and, indeed, of joy.

         Her anger was older than her love and hate for Tom. Born of dysfunctional parents, she remembered them always yelling at each other or sulking in silence in feuds that lasted days. She brought that generational trauma into her marriage, that toxicity, that rage she could not control, always bubbling like lava beneath the surface.

         Endless counselling sessions endeavoured to unpick the dark pathways to her rage. To identify the roots and bring them into the light. It was easier simply to blame Tom than face such darkness. Yet, despite the beauty all around her, she was now feeling guilty too. The courts had played the law perfectly, stripping Tom of pensions, assets, and income, leaving him an impoverished and humiliated echo of his former self. It was all legal, all correct in the eyes of the law; however, Tom's words echoed in her heart, disturbing her peace. "My wife commits the sin of divorce, the law rewards her with riches. There is no justice in Germany." It was the last thing he had said to her face. They only communicated sporadically on WhatsApp or email during the separation about money matters or legal issues. Since the divorce, there had been total silence.

         But why did such thoughts swirl in her head in this place? She opened her eyes. The Kelingking Beach on Nusa Penida, Bali, was one of the most beautiful places on earth. The whole island on which it was situated was a nature reserve, green and vibrant with life. High cliffs on every side of the secluded cove added to the beauty of the place. But the dark cave behind her worried her. She got up and looked again into its darkness, remembering that she had walked through it just an hour before, that it was empty, and that there was nothing there.

         Her parents had named her Naomi, which meant gentle and pleasant. What a contrast that had been to the way that they behaved toward her. Yet most people regarded her as a nice and friendly person. It was only Tom and her parents that got under her skin and stirred the monster within. It was only they that released the real Naomi. The trip to Indonesia was meant to be therapeutic, to help her forget. Bali was all about beauty and peace; at least, that was what the brochure said. She loved that Tom's money now enabled her to choose such holiday destinations. He had always been too careful with money, hoarding it for some future goal or plan that was always years away. That was not living; careful cost control and budgets bored her and seemed more like a cage than a platform for living. She loved how the courts enabled her to spend his money on her holiday.

         She'd come alone and was alone on the beach, yet she could not shake the conviction that someone was watching her. She felt hunted by shadows and tormented by whispers in the breeze. She screamed inside her, get out of my head, leave me alone. But the shadows did not listen to her, and the breeze continued to taunt her.

         Tom's Christian faith was a source of tension. She preferred to regard religious people as hypocrites, and even though he was a preacher, well regarded in the church, she screened out his words and listened instead to the commentary of rage that her heart supplied. He looks at other women, he does not listen to my complaints and filters me out, he talks about love, but I do not feel loved. He has no right to stand there and preach to me or anyone else. Time to knock him off his high horse.

         Is this the reason I cannot talk to God? Is this the reason I have to pay for endless therapists to listen to my darkness, to make some sense of it? She stirred uncomfortably, looking up into the clear blue sky. A beautiful white bird with a black beak flew over the beach. She watched it head toward the cliff and then land there.
Tiny mouths reached up for the food their mother brought them. So simple, so real. Why can't my life be like that?

         Bali has a magic of its own, even though I am alone here and not ready for new romances. Then, a thought hit her like a painful jolt from on high. An electric shock that paralyzed her consciousness for a brief moment and then left her with the feeling that all her mental furniture had been rearranged. Maybe God does not speak poison. I cannot speak with Him because that is the only conversation I want to have.

         Words from her husband came into her mind. "Can't you say anything positive? Is the glass always half empty for you?" Is that why he screened me out? Maybe he just did not speak poison. Her heart was disturbed; the anger, resentment, and guilt bubbled to the surface. She listed off Tom's crimes against her, her neverforgotten litany of grievances against him. He was not perfect, he knew that. But then she thought, he wanted to be, he was looking upward while I wallowed in his sins. I have been swimming in cold, dark, dirty waters when I could have been here in the sunlight under an azure sky,..

         "Oh God, I'm sorry. Teach my heart to love again, open my eyes to the light." It was a simple prayer, but her heart felt lighter for having spoken the words out loud.

         Her heart opened to the heavens, and she started to cry. There were no words that could articulate her feelings, but the tears were better therapy than any psychologist could ever provide. For three minutes, she sobbed and shook on the deserted beach, and then she heard birds singing and the breeze whispering. The language had changed to one of compliments and poems about beauty and love. The world was transformed, and the beauty of Bali bathed her in a Divine light.


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