So. Why all this writing about innocence?
When I ask myself this question what follows comes to mind.
Through a strange unfolding or emerging based on spiritual practice, energy work, and connecting dots placed from a wide array or sources, including my own reflection, contemplation, and direct inner experience, I've come to strongly expect that I was molested as a child. It's so scary to publish this, I've never shared this impression (it isn't much more than an impression, meaning I can't and will never be able to verify the reality of this possibility, but I do have a certain confidence) I've never shared this in such a public way where my brothers who are very dear to me could read it. I'm not sure why, but sharing this with them would bring me to a place of more vulnerability than I've ever been to attain and brings an expectation of and, through the expectation, a direct experience of a dull but vivid pain and a deep, deep sadness to my heart that hurts tremendously. I become so afraid, and I have no idea why. Maybe it's because we've been in each others lives since the beginning of my life, they are so close to me in a bond of blood and shared experience and love and I fear they will for some reason reject this impression, this deep hurt, causing it to hurt even more because it would feel like they are rejecting me. So I do it indirectly, not knowing if they will ever read it but knowing that they can, they might, if circumstances come together in just a (hopefully) right way. I'm not ready yet to speak directly of this with them. And I'm okay with that. If you are one of my brothers and you are reading this, I hope you are okay with it too. I love you very much.
But in terms of why all this writing about innocence, one of the dots that connects is the ongoing feeling of guilt that comes with being a victim of this incredibly hurtful intrusion. It's a curiosity and fragility of the mind, of the heart, that having such an infliction and violation causes someone to feel they were in the wrong, that they are the guilty party. It just doesn't make sense, but nothing about being made an unwilling participant in the act of molestation makes sense. How could this have happened? Who would really willingly do such a thing to me? Who would willingly do such a thing to anyone? I must have done something wrong. It just doesn't make sense. But somewhere in the hidden regions of my being I feel it to be true - I am to blame.