This day is never-ending long and it isn’t even noon yet. I was up with the sun, which these days has gone back to its earlier hours. Day-light savings means mornings are glorious but by 4:30 in the afternoon the shadows are getting long and I reach for the light switch.

Security is found in a routine maintained, a comfort level of warmth and light, knowledge that everything is as it should be. Though I have all of those today, the day is stretching into hours of unproductiveness. I finished my “must do” (as opposed to “to do”) list and happily drew a line through each item. I was fired up to have several uninterrupted hours to sit in the sun and write. But the words are illusive and awkward. New projects hum in the corners of my mind, but are just unformed thoughts when I drag them into the light.

My usual writing time is afternoon. I publish my blog, then spend the morning researching, answering emails and calls. This afternoon I have an appointment with the police sergeant in the next town. I want to see if he can help me recover items that were stolen from my home two years ago. I’ve photos of some of the items and know their last known location. It may be just a painful, dead-end journey, and it ย brings up thoughts of loss of security.


I had opened my home and life to a woman who was about my age, from a respectable background and seemingly well-intentioned. She claimed to be rebuilding her life after a bad divorce and a series of misfortunes. I missed all the early warning signs. The reality is she is deeply troubled with severe psychological problems. I wasn’t the first to buy the mask of normalcy, nor was I the last. Reaching out, helping another person is a very addictive drug. It feeds a part of the ego that thrives on the sense of goodness. She was available to house-sit and I traveled extensively for work. She loved my animals and home and left gorgeous flowers and silly little gifts for me when I dragged in tired and road-weary.

Things started to unravel as time went on and the signs became flashing red lights. I asked her to move on, helped her find a house to rent and started distancing myself from the relationship. She retaliated by coming into my house one day while I was at work and stealing, not only personal items, but my sense of security. The things she took were bizarre signs of the depth of her insanity. This wasn’t a theft for money, all my computers, televisions and expensive articles were right where I had left them. The first and most noticeable item was an antique table in my kitchen. I had bought it from her when she lost the rental house. It filled one sunny corner of my kitchen and was covered with potted plants. When I walked in that night, the plants were all lined up on the floor. From there it took months to find all the things she had taken. When winter came, I couldn’t find my warmest parka, bought years ago for dog sledding trips, or my winter riding boots. There were tiny personal items that I used every day and didn’t notice were gone until I reached for them. I felt violated, always seeking out the next piece of my life and history she had stolen.

We pay for health insurance, home owner’s, auto, renters; insurance abounds. There is no insurance for the loss of security. Losing a job means loss of financial security. Losing a life is loss of the security of innocence. Finding my stolen items will not replace the loss of security, someone took my trust and kindness.


7 thoughts on “Security

  1. It never ceases to amaze me the things a person will do to someone that has helped them. I have never been robbed, but my sister has and so has my son. Jake was only 6 or 7 when it happened and I can remember him asking me why would someone steal his playstation. It was just something he couldn’t fathom. My sister went home after a family reunion to find that her live in boyfriend had cleaned out her house. You are so right, insurance can replace belongings, but not your sense of security.

  2. I had a beautiful coat (a unique one of a kind coat) that I purchased from a consignment boutique, it was one of those purchases that made me connect to my creative self. I found that the coat expressed ‘me’. I left it in my car as I stopped to shop at a natural food store in Peterborough. When I got home the coat was missing – I did not want to believe someone actually needed or wanted the coat more than me or to have the audacity to take it from my car. The fact was it was gone and I was angry – because this person did not realize what the coat meant to me. Later as time passed I had gone to a group that works on ‘practical themes for human transformation’ where I heard a true story of a woman who wanted to be free.
    The story is called ‘A Cup of Freedom’. “Sacrifice is never easy. Until the decision is taken it seems almost impossible. Not physically impossible but requiring an act of will that we refuse to make. Once a wealthy lady in one of Ouspensky’s groups, about 1923, said in a weekly meeting that she wanted at all costs to be free from herself and asked if she could do anything about it. Ouspensky asked her to name some possession to which she was particularly attached. ‘Yes’, she said, ‘I have a Dresden tea set that belonged to my grandmother and it is still intact.’ Ouspensky said,’Break one of the cups and you will know what it is like to be free.’ Next week she returned in tears saying that she tried a dozen times and could not bring herself to do it. Ouspensky’s dry comment was, ‘So you see, this desire for freedom is not worth one cup.”
    I started to see the coat as my cup and the person who stole it as someone whose life was not transforming very well – her/his behavior caused me suffering however, the person who violated my space is suffering (emotionally/spiritually).
    In one of the Dhama talks I heard there were 4 thoughts expressed and at first I could not grasp them spiritually all I wanted to do was find justice So here they are:
    1. To know suffering (in the world and in me)
    2. To know the cause of suffering (in the world and in me)
    3. To know the end of suffering ( what can I do)
    4. To know the path or practice leading to the end of suffering.
    I am trying to understand the depth and whole meaning of this Buddhist philosophy and apply it to a practice that will show me more than one view of myself and others ( healthy or unhealthy).
    It has been 2 years since my coat was forced into someone else’s life and I still miss what it gave ‘me’ although it does not give me the same ‘shenpa’ as it did before. Namaste.

  3. Addendum” since my coat was stolen I now have adopted a new way or “strategy” ๐Ÿ™‚ I now – lock my car doors – yes – even in the little town of Peterborough.

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