Eve, be gone!

My story is as old as Eve.

“You  are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from  the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you  will certainly die.”

Here’s an ancient story of a woman. And she’s told that she can have paradise. And she’s told precisely how.

The  Biblical authors were literary geniuses. Right in the middle of  paradise there’s a tree. There’s something that looks like what I want   and is quickly taken  in hand. They’re saying I won’t notice that it’s  nasty and deadly. That I can’t cross from one side to the other of the  garden (or any situation) without having it in view. And they’re saying  I’m being lied to. Constantly.

They’re  saying that these little lies, little suggestions, are putting into  question the character of the Gardener.  And that maybe this really is  the best option for getting what I want.

And  then, “This shouldn't be happening to you. This is totally unfair. It’s  heartbreaking what you have to deal with. He doesn't understand you.  Punish him. You hate him. He's an idiot. He's a terrible father. He's so  immature. He's the most sensitive person in the world. He makes it  impossible for you to be who you want to be."

It’s a brilliant story. It got me every time.

“Take the fruit.”

I took and I ate.

I  took and ate the shortest route to my desire: criticism, un-forgivness,  complaint, demand, control, self-pity, judgment, hatred, resentment,  bitterness. I hated my husband in moments with a burning hatred.

And I just didn’t even make the connection that the fruit I was biting into was poisoning me. I was about to die.