He Fed Her!

… yes he did! Sumptuous meal, beautifully prepared and presented. It tasted delicious, there was no doubt, the aroma filled the air, she ate to her satisfaction. Passer bys dribbed all over themselves as they watch her eat. They envied her and longed for what she had. She knew their thoughts and she looked at them, nodded and smiled, a fake and coy smile for she knew what comes after the feeding. The bit no one sees, he murdered her! He didn’t kill her physically, her shell was always on display, beautifully adorned, but within she was dead. He took her essence and wasted it. He trampled all over her soul. He snatched her confidence from her. He took her dreams and smashed it to pieces. He told her she was nobody and none would want her. He was subtle about the abuse, but he did it. He treated her as a slave, one to worship him and meet his every need, that was her role, yet he fed her!

The light and sparkle in her eyes were gone, in its place there was a sad and hollow look. She lived in fear, fear of his demands, his public humiliation, his criticism, fear of his presence, his energy, his expectations, yet he fed her.

She resigned to her prison, accepted that the present hell was her destiny. She tried to cry out that she was in hell but everyone shut her down, ‘at least he fed you’ they all said. She resigned to what she considered her lot in life.

She confronted him about his treatment and all he can say is ‘but I fed you! I fed you, I really fed you, I fed you very well, I fed you sumptuously, I fed you like no one else feeds, what else do you want? You ingrate!’

Physically she was not hungry, but her soul was famished, she was drained, life had been sucked out of her, yet no one heard her cry because she was fed. The few that heard her cry could not lend a hand for her escape, they know not how to release a fattened cow.

I am chef, he said, I use me knife to chop up food, to make her gourmet meals and when I am done I use the same knife to chop her up. I am a chef, that is my calling, my role, beating his chest and vibrating, he shouted, “I fed her!”

How do we handle the chef that uses his knife for good and evil? How do we release her? I have always wondered whether we all have a responsibility to guide the chef on how and when to use the knife. The knife must remain a tool to aid in nourishing and building up not cutting and tearing up a person.

He fed her!