Today I attended the second local organizing meeting of a burgeoning effort called the Coffee Party Movement, which has as its primary stated objective. "Giving (sic) voice to Americans who want to see cooperation in government." And yet, with all the vitriol, yelling and name calling going on from the nation's capital to the local courthouse, I believe this daunting task nearly impossible in the current environment. This situation is made worse by the meaningless labels of "Republican" or "Democrat," which are only slightly less confusing than "independent" or "conservative" or "progressive, or "liberal," or...
In seeking advice in preparation for this post, a friend quoted Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard to me: “Once you label me, you negate me.” I don't agree with this sentiment on several levels, with the main one being that we can only negate ourselves. But certainly, labeling is a tactic that antagonists use to try to diminish or negate their opponents, and labels are certainly rife in today's political shouting match. Worse yet, many, if not most of us, adopt various labels with no idea what many of them mean, or with whom we might be aligning ourselves by virtue of donning this or that "uniform."
I am not a fan of labeling, but am a big proponent of both self-knowledge and intelligent discourse. For that reason, I think it is very beneficial to try and understand the true meaning of certain labels, and which, if any, might reasonably apply to us. Only when we have a good understanding of where we stand personally on any axis, and have an objective means by which to locate others, can we accurately understand our relationship at the outset, and formulate our communications and interactions in a way that might have a meaningful impact. Assuming that we're not speaking just to thrill at the sound of our own voices...
In the course of a professional development training recently, I was exposed to a book titled The Platinum Rule, by a well known business communications professional named Tony Alessandra. While I'm not a fan of these self-help, sales-excellence books or gurus, this one had a fascinating slant that I found quite compelling. The premise, if it is not self-evident, is a play on "the golden rule," which we all knows directs us to treat others as we would want to be treated ourselves. Alessandra suggests that, while laudable, this is an ego driven construct, as it rests on the assumption that the other is like us, or wants what we want. His "Platinum Rule" suggests that we consider not "as we would want to be treated," but as he or she would want to be treated. Not the same thing, in many cases, by a long shot. So...
Alessandra, being a PhD., highly compensated author, motivational speaker, marketing consultant, and generally big-time mucky muck, developed a cute personality quiz which will land you, unless you're some sort of freak, in one of four quadrants, assign to you primary and secondary characteristics, and then direct you on how to most effectively interact with others who fall in various spots on the grid. From work we've done within our small group, I would rate it in the high-80th percentile for accuracy in plotting the subject on the graph. I am way too dense to speak to how accurate his prescriptions and proscriptions are regarding recommended modes of interaction. I do know he makes damn good money doing what he does, for what that's worth...
I, on the other hand, being a regular old schmuck with no letters after my name, am only going to try to draw a virtual graph of sorts that I find useful, and hope that some of my readers might find at least mildly interesting. I am going to limit this treatment to political labels, as that is the backdrop against which so much of today's angst is played out, and where I spend admittedly way too much of my own time and energy. I would recommend that you not spend much time or effort trying to plot anyone else other than yourself on the graph. If you don't know where you are, its pretty useless to try and find value in assessing the distance from or proximity to anyone else. I have many friends and associates who claim that they cannot be labeled, but I believe this is only true of someone with no principles, beliefs, or convictions. Not wanting to be labeled? Well, that's another story entirely...
The theory here is to define polar opposites on several axes that correspond to the most commonly used and misused labels, or to those we would prefer to use. You are free to accept or dismiss my definitions, but I have tried, as possible and unless otherwise noted, to use common currently accepted definitions, recognizing that there are historical differentiations, particularly as regards liberalism. As we define each of these I set them to the side to be arranged later - will explain my personal arrangement preference and rationale shortly:
Libertarian vs. Progressive: Starting from the simplest and working our way forward, libertarians generally support the rights of the individual over the rights of government or the state, and consider government generally oppressive and largely unnecessary. Progressives, on the other hand, having arisen in the early 20th century in response to the ravages visited on the working class by industrialization and the age of the robber barons, believes that government should be strong and vibrant in protecting the rights of individuals against more powerful moneyed interests. I start with these two because in a real sense and in a purely political analysis, these two have the greatest dichotomy, are the clearest polar opposites, and in many ways are the primary agents to creating the most unbridgeable divide between our citizens. Libertarians believe in every man for himself in virtually every aspect of life, whereas progressives believe in using government to protect the weaker from the more powerful, and to do so in a very direct and heavy-handed manner, when necessary. Interestingly, very few Americans, proportionately, identify themselves as either libertarian or progressive. That's a shame in my view...
Populist vs. Corporatist: Here are a couple more labels that you don't much hear used but which I would argue are more applicable to the modern political mindset than frequency of usage would suggest. While these words have held different meanings historically, populism in its purist sense is a political philosophy favoring the primacy of the individual - with almost total focus on the working class. While officially labeled populism in the U.S. was generally considered an agrarian phenomenon, its worker-based focus should have but did not transfer to the modern U.S. economy when the workers moved from farm to factory during and following World War II. Corporatism is the philosophy that favors organizational and particularly large business interests over the individual worker, best embodied by the 1953 statement of then GM Chairman Charles Erwin Wilson, "What's good for General Motors is good for America." It was countered by President Dwight Eisenhower's prophetic speech only days before he left office in 1961, when he warned, "...we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist." I do wish he'd broadened his brush a bit, but we are all creatures of our times. I believe that most contemporary Americans, particularly in light of the recent catastrophic economic downturn, believe in their guts, if not in their minds, that this corporatist system is in fact the system we're living under now, where heavily moneyed business interest control the levers of political machinery. I also believe that there are few who would self label themselves corporatists, but many who should...
Secular vs. Religious: At the extremes, someone who defines themselves as totally secular in their political mindset is generally either a non-believer, or a strident adherent to Jefferson's "wall of separation" between search and state. The counterpart is the self described religiously focused voter who is totally comfortable having his or her religious beliefs dictate political activity. It is important to note that there is a growing movement among religious liberals to adopt this mindset, and, conversely, that it is dangerous for those on "the left" to assume that because someone is secular in their mindset that they will be liberal or progressive in their political activities. One need look no further than Ayn Rand and her modern day followers to recognize the validity of this observation.
Globalist vs. Nationalist: This one isn't intuitive to the average American, yet most of us have a very strong sense of where we stand on this axis, and it is one which can often serve as a bridge when the others seem hopeless. The pure globalist has very little sentiment for the nation itself - can hold respect for structure, historical accomplishments, culture, etc., but places all of the world and all of humanity at the top of the ladder, and the individual nation or citizenry at the foot. Conversely, the nationalist, which also title themselves "patriots," have a strong sense of exceptionalism - see their/our nation as superior to or apart from others, and are as often as not unwilling to emulate other cultures or systems due to this innate pride.
Liberal vs. Conservative: I leave this pair of labels until last because they are the most commonly used and abused, and certainly the most subject to manipulation and demonizing. For purposes of this discussion, we will consider these only in their fiscal implications. The economic liberal favors aggressive government spending and fiscal policy to achieve societal reforms and governmental objectives. Liberal tactics include protectionism, progressive taxation, and free government spending on education, health care and other government programs. Fiscal and economic conservatives, on the other hand, favor lower and flatter taxation, business friendly tax policies, and minimal governmental expenditures on non-essential programs. Of course in both cases the devil is in the details. For instance, conservative policies which favor larger business can be very damaging to smaller businesses, while liberal policies designed to favor individuals and small businesses over larger businesses might have the effect of driving down wages or employment.
Admittedly, this is only a very superficial gloss of descriptions and a minimal set of characteristics. There are other axes that can be developed, and some of mine are less developed than others (speaking to my personal biases in some cases and lack of deeper knowledge in others.) In any event, now that we're all worn out and our heads hurt, why did I put us through all this? I would hope the answer is fairly simple to see. Far too many of us, first of all, use a few simple labels - usually "liberal" or "conservative," or worse yet, Democrat or Republican, to pigeonhole ourselves and others, failing to consider the reality that in so doing we in fact marginalize ourselves and our understanding of them, rendering the likelihood of productive discourse nearly impossible. Life and humans are complex, no less so in the political realm than in others. If we would, in the political context, consider applying the more complex model suggested above, I believe in many cases we would find that we have many more commonalities than the current model allows. And in identifying these areas of commonality, we are recognizing an opportunity to open a respectful dialogue and humanize the individual which we are otherwise inclined to demonize and label as unworthy of our efforts.
Finally, I would encourage all to consider utilizing the model suggested above on/for yourselves, adding such other axes as you might deem valid, and arranging them like the spokes on a wheel, with the intersection being at zero and values graduating symmetrically outward. My Taoist friend Steve might well argue that the perfectly (politically) balanced participant would be all zeroes, but I'm doubtful anyone would actually strike such a result. If we listen actively and respectfully to others with whom we converse, and apply as we gain information the same model to them, we will find in most cases some axes on which we are nearer to them in our political disposition. In some instances the points will be so diametrically opposed in all areas that there is no potential point of entrance, but these cases should be rare. The ones on which we are nearest are the ones on which we might start a dialogue that allows for humanizing instead of demonizing, respect instead of disdain, comity instead of antagonism. I'm going to try it, and will let you know how it goes.
And for those who care, my model rendered me a secular populist, with moderate liberal/progressive and slightly stronger globalist leanings. And yes, just a hair left of center. Who'd have thunk it?
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Hodgepodge...
Yes, I'm late. So shoot me already. Jeesh!
When I got up this morning I had a pretty good concept for today's post. It totally flew out the door by about midway through this morning's AA meeting. Had a group of youngsters from some rehab facility attending their first meeting. Youngest couldn't have been more than 12 years old. Wow! Really rocked me, and I sensed a lot of others in the room. Great that he's learning so early that the program is there for him, and today's was an exceptionally good meeting. But so sad that a youngster could be in that much trouble that early in life. I turned to the fellow next to me and said, "Now that really makes me want to go kick someone's ass." And it did. Oldest kid was probably 16 and I could tell at least a few were brothers. Parents are as likely as not crack-heads, and its really their parents or maybe the previous generation whose butts should be kicked. Except all of them, and us, and me - we're all sick, and spend about half our time kicking our own asses anyway - some by drinking and drugging. In the end, everyone gets what's coming to them. That's karma...
Had a sit down afterward with a fellow I'd met some weeks back but never really had a chance to visit. We'd confirmed that we were both, err...shall we say, "non-traditional" in our belief systems? And I knew that would be the focus of our visit. Having been in the program nine months now, I've developed a comfort level with the interesting juxtaposition of my non-deistic belief system with the semi-overtly Christian overtone of the AA program, at least here in Texas. I am guessing that it may be a bit less overt in California or Boston, but am not certain...
We ran through our histories with addiction and spirituality, and confirmed once again that there are many paths to every destination. He has been in the program for more than 20 years, came in a rabid atheist, and is now, I would say, pretty Buddhist in his mindset, although this wasn't something he really recognized in himself. He said that I was the first person he can recall who started on the spiritual path, then found his way into AA, which made me feel kind of special. I mean, I knew it was an uncommon route, but have long since dismissed the notion that any ideas or paths are really original. Nonetheless, the non-suppressed ego likes to think there's something special about itself. So I will indulge myself lightly...
My non-traditional path into the program is one of the reasons I am pretty reluctant to share my thoughts on spirituality in meetings that take that bent in discussion, and I explained this to him. I don't really want to proselytize my belief system, at least in that setting. These are fellow travelers on the path of recovery for whom life and death hangs in the balance, supported by their having a strong belief system. Given that I can't prove mine right or theirs wrong, I am very reluctant to sow the seeds of doubt into the structure they've built by exposing them to an alien, although admittedly to some, quite compelling, approach. Better, I think, to wait for the curious, like my lunch companion, to make themselves known and ask. At least that's my approach, and I feel good with it. Of course, my therapist would say that its arrogant of me to think that I could knock the hinge pins loose from someone else's belief system, and maybe it is. Not a a risk or responsibility I care to shoulder at this juncture...
I know I have friends within my readership in the program, some of whom share my non-deistic eastern spiritual focus. Would love some feedback on this. And I've discussed with my sponsor on a couple of occasions our shared notion that there are likely a goodly number of atheist, agnostic, Wiccan and other non-traditional believer addicts who wander into the "wrong" AA or other 12-Step meeting on the wrong day and get hit with a too heavy dose of prayer, and a god called "Him," and the whole powerlessness thing, and turn around and hit the streets again for another day or month or year or lifetime. Kind of bums me out, ya know? My first visit to an AA meeting room, probably 15 years ago, was exactly that experience and had exactly that effect. And I'm not such a big believer in the whole karma thing to buy into the notion that for me, or those other disenchanted visitors, that in every instance it was just not their time. Of course for me, it really wasn't - didn't have a problem and had no interest in quitting. Just went to shut the wife up and get her off my ass. Yes, that stage of my trek was very traditional...
To get back on track, the program's success isn't really about God, but about spirituality and humility. If God is part of that for you, that's super. But a belief in the caring compassionate interventionist Judeo-Christian God is not a requirement for success. Having some power higher than, and other than, yourself that you believe in and rely on? That is definitely a requirement. I often say that I'm not nearly so certain that there's a higher power as I am that there's no lower power than me. Insignificant human occupying an insignificant planet in an insignificant solar system for an insignificant micro-fraction of an instant, against the universe which is infinite in time and space and its myriad manifestations. How much less significant can I be? I mean, we're getting to the same place vis-a-vis higher vs. lower, but from a different perspective that some find a little less threatening...
Which approach was a little confusing to my lunch companion, as he knows that I participate in the Lord's Prayer at the end of every meeting, linked hand in hand with the addict to the right and left of me (lady's hand on my right today was really cold, which is rare - for someone's hands to be colder than mine, I mean...) I explained that I had been raised saying the Lord's Prayer, and felt that my joining in with the group was supporting the group, the vast majority of whom believe in a God that hears and answers prayers. He, on the other hand, not believing in the God who hears and answers prayers, but in some other God, which he described as non-interventionist, yet which/who somehow made a habit of intervening in a positive way, doesn't join in the prayer (but does join hands). He feels that saying words you don't believe somehow dishonors him or something. Different viewpoints, neither right nor wrong in my view. His approach does attract attention,which lead to our lunch date and new friendship. And it is honest. Hmmm, will have to ponder...
Which made me start to share with him my reluctance to say the Pledge of Allegiance, which was real and heartfelt for the longest time. Part of it was based on the whole "under God" thing, but equally I felt it was really a lie all the way through. I mean, "One Nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." Really? The only words in the whole string which aren't lies are the prepositions, for God's sake! And this was more than a little bit difficult, seeing that for a while I was an elected official and every meeting opened with the Pledge. What was I to do? It wasn't my job to upset my constituents or to educate them on philosophy, theology, metaphysics, etc. My job was to keep them calm and represent their secular interests as related to municipal government. I worked my way through by mouthing the words (so it looked ok on cable television) and later was able to reach the point where I could say the whole thing, except for the "under God" bit. How? I finally read the damn thing through, parsing it like a lawyer,until I got comfortable with the notion that I wasn't pledging allegiance to a piece of cloth, nor to the nation as it exists, but to the ideal "for which it stands." Hey, worked for me...
So, prayer lying bad, pledge lying ok? Vice-a-versa? All lying bad? "Have you seen my wife lately?" Saw her in the lobby of a hotel downtown getting into an elevator holding hands with a man that wasn't you...
Sometimes life really is just like a box of chocolates. Thanks, Forest. I believe I will...
Oh, and kid. Keep coming back, ya hear?
When I got up this morning I had a pretty good concept for today's post. It totally flew out the door by about midway through this morning's AA meeting. Had a group of youngsters from some rehab facility attending their first meeting. Youngest couldn't have been more than 12 years old. Wow! Really rocked me, and I sensed a lot of others in the room. Great that he's learning so early that the program is there for him, and today's was an exceptionally good meeting. But so sad that a youngster could be in that much trouble that early in life. I turned to the fellow next to me and said, "Now that really makes me want to go kick someone's ass." And it did. Oldest kid was probably 16 and I could tell at least a few were brothers. Parents are as likely as not crack-heads, and its really their parents or maybe the previous generation whose butts should be kicked. Except all of them, and us, and me - we're all sick, and spend about half our time kicking our own asses anyway - some by drinking and drugging. In the end, everyone gets what's coming to them. That's karma...
Had a sit down afterward with a fellow I'd met some weeks back but never really had a chance to visit. We'd confirmed that we were both, err...shall we say, "non-traditional" in our belief systems? And I knew that would be the focus of our visit. Having been in the program nine months now, I've developed a comfort level with the interesting juxtaposition of my non-deistic belief system with the semi-overtly Christian overtone of the AA program, at least here in Texas. I am guessing that it may be a bit less overt in California or Boston, but am not certain...
We ran through our histories with addiction and spirituality, and confirmed once again that there are many paths to every destination. He has been in the program for more than 20 years, came in a rabid atheist, and is now, I would say, pretty Buddhist in his mindset, although this wasn't something he really recognized in himself. He said that I was the first person he can recall who started on the spiritual path, then found his way into AA, which made me feel kind of special. I mean, I knew it was an uncommon route, but have long since dismissed the notion that any ideas or paths are really original. Nonetheless, the non-suppressed ego likes to think there's something special about itself. So I will indulge myself lightly...
My non-traditional path into the program is one of the reasons I am pretty reluctant to share my thoughts on spirituality in meetings that take that bent in discussion, and I explained this to him. I don't really want to proselytize my belief system, at least in that setting. These are fellow travelers on the path of recovery for whom life and death hangs in the balance, supported by their having a strong belief system. Given that I can't prove mine right or theirs wrong, I am very reluctant to sow the seeds of doubt into the structure they've built by exposing them to an alien, although admittedly to some, quite compelling, approach. Better, I think, to wait for the curious, like my lunch companion, to make themselves known and ask. At least that's my approach, and I feel good with it. Of course, my therapist would say that its arrogant of me to think that I could knock the hinge pins loose from someone else's belief system, and maybe it is. Not a a risk or responsibility I care to shoulder at this juncture...
I know I have friends within my readership in the program, some of whom share my non-deistic eastern spiritual focus. Would love some feedback on this. And I've discussed with my sponsor on a couple of occasions our shared notion that there are likely a goodly number of atheist, agnostic, Wiccan and other non-traditional believer addicts who wander into the "wrong" AA or other 12-Step meeting on the wrong day and get hit with a too heavy dose of prayer, and a god called "Him," and the whole powerlessness thing, and turn around and hit the streets again for another day or month or year or lifetime. Kind of bums me out, ya know? My first visit to an AA meeting room, probably 15 years ago, was exactly that experience and had exactly that effect. And I'm not such a big believer in the whole karma thing to buy into the notion that for me, or those other disenchanted visitors, that in every instance it was just not their time. Of course for me, it really wasn't - didn't have a problem and had no interest in quitting. Just went to shut the wife up and get her off my ass. Yes, that stage of my trek was very traditional...
To get back on track, the program's success isn't really about God, but about spirituality and humility. If God is part of that for you, that's super. But a belief in the caring compassionate interventionist Judeo-Christian God is not a requirement for success. Having some power higher than, and other than, yourself that you believe in and rely on? That is definitely a requirement. I often say that I'm not nearly so certain that there's a higher power as I am that there's no lower power than me. Insignificant human occupying an insignificant planet in an insignificant solar system for an insignificant micro-fraction of an instant, against the universe which is infinite in time and space and its myriad manifestations. How much less significant can I be? I mean, we're getting to the same place vis-a-vis higher vs. lower, but from a different perspective that some find a little less threatening...
Which approach was a little confusing to my lunch companion, as he knows that I participate in the Lord's Prayer at the end of every meeting, linked hand in hand with the addict to the right and left of me (lady's hand on my right today was really cold, which is rare - for someone's hands to be colder than mine, I mean...) I explained that I had been raised saying the Lord's Prayer, and felt that my joining in with the group was supporting the group, the vast majority of whom believe in a God that hears and answers prayers. He, on the other hand, not believing in the God who hears and answers prayers, but in some other God, which he described as non-interventionist, yet which/who somehow made a habit of intervening in a positive way, doesn't join in the prayer (but does join hands). He feels that saying words you don't believe somehow dishonors him or something. Different viewpoints, neither right nor wrong in my view. His approach does attract attention,which lead to our lunch date and new friendship. And it is honest. Hmmm, will have to ponder...
Which made me start to share with him my reluctance to say the Pledge of Allegiance, which was real and heartfelt for the longest time. Part of it was based on the whole "under God" thing, but equally I felt it was really a lie all the way through. I mean, "One Nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." Really? The only words in the whole string which aren't lies are the prepositions, for God's sake! And this was more than a little bit difficult, seeing that for a while I was an elected official and every meeting opened with the Pledge. What was I to do? It wasn't my job to upset my constituents or to educate them on philosophy, theology, metaphysics, etc. My job was to keep them calm and represent their secular interests as related to municipal government. I worked my way through by mouthing the words (so it looked ok on cable television) and later was able to reach the point where I could say the whole thing, except for the "under God" bit. How? I finally read the damn thing through, parsing it like a lawyer,until I got comfortable with the notion that I wasn't pledging allegiance to a piece of cloth, nor to the nation as it exists, but to the ideal "for which it stands." Hey, worked for me...
So, prayer lying bad, pledge lying ok? Vice-a-versa? All lying bad? "Have you seen my wife lately?" Saw her in the lobby of a hotel downtown getting into an elevator holding hands with a man that wasn't you...
Sometimes life really is just like a box of chocolates. Thanks, Forest. I believe I will...
Oh, and kid. Keep coming back, ya hear?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Legacy...
"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them."
~Henry David Thoreau~
So, my therapist asked me, yet again, what it was that I was so afraid of. And I responded, once again, that my greatest fear seems to be insignificance. Weird, huh? I mean, when one believes in heaven and hell and cherubim and seraphim, or in the unending wheel of life and lives, what transpires in this one may not be a big deal. But, when your life philosophy consists of "you're born, you live, you die," things in the here and now take on a certain immediacy and relevance that is inescapable and can be a bit weighty at times. Hence my, what? Intensity? I've been accused of that trait, and think it fits...
However, my eastern teachings instruct me to live fully in the moment, and my intellect tells me this is indeed all we can do. And my recovery program tells me that the two primary motivators of any addict are fear and resentment. By definition, fears are of the future and resentments of the past, so what generates our destructive behaviors is very much a failure to live in the moment. Nah, I'm not really more complicated than anyone else. I just think too much...
The mission, of course, is to lose the ego, that artificial construct of self that is the repository for shame, fear, pride, ambition, avarice, and so forth. As we move closer to this goal, we see that we are part of something larger, and larger yet - a family, a community, a race, a species, an ecosystem, a solar system, a universe. How significant can I or anyone else expect to be in light of this realization. Crazy, huh?
So I thought I'd run off a quick inventory of significant accomplishments little old insignificant I have accomplished, to refer back to whenever I start beating on myself for living a meaningless life...
The moral of today's saga, then, is really pretty simple. The only way one's life can have no significance is if one doesn't live it. The more we live our life, the more significant it will be. The more we interact with others, touch their lives and allow them to touch ours, the more firmly and durably enmeshed in the fabric of existence we become. I have beat myself up too much, I know, characterizing myself as a rock sitting inert on the shore of a pond. In reality, I have been a veritable handful of gravel, flinging myself (or flung by an unseen hand) to hit the surface of the pond of life in myriad spots and in varying weights and at multiple trajectories to set off more ripples and waves than I can possibly imagine. How many ripples, where they go, what they touch? These don't really matter. Its hitting the water that matters...
So, I am recommitting to my quest to abandon my ego, to live in the present moment, and to stop allowing my fears and resentments to dictate my actions. And, somehow, I am going to get my appropriately insignificant self realigned to serve for the sake of serving, to live for the sake of living, to love for the sake of loving, and to leave the seeking of fame and glory to others. All of these will be new experiences for me, and I can only do them in the present. Sounds like quite an adventure. Will keep you posted...
Oh, and, lest you worry that I spend too much time scouting around my bizzaro mind and variegated soul, I would remind you that my old friend Socrates famously said,"The unexamined life is not worth living," to which I've taken the liberty of adding, "...and the unlived life is not worth examining."
Namaste...
~Henry David Thoreau~
So, my therapist asked me, yet again, what it was that I was so afraid of. And I responded, once again, that my greatest fear seems to be insignificance. Weird, huh? I mean, when one believes in heaven and hell and cherubim and seraphim, or in the unending wheel of life and lives, what transpires in this one may not be a big deal. But, when your life philosophy consists of "you're born, you live, you die," things in the here and now take on a certain immediacy and relevance that is inescapable and can be a bit weighty at times. Hence my, what? Intensity? I've been accused of that trait, and think it fits...
However, my eastern teachings instruct me to live fully in the moment, and my intellect tells me this is indeed all we can do. And my recovery program tells me that the two primary motivators of any addict are fear and resentment. By definition, fears are of the future and resentments of the past, so what generates our destructive behaviors is very much a failure to live in the moment. Nah, I'm not really more complicated than anyone else. I just think too much...
The mission, of course, is to lose the ego, that artificial construct of self that is the repository for shame, fear, pride, ambition, avarice, and so forth. As we move closer to this goal, we see that we are part of something larger, and larger yet - a family, a community, a race, a species, an ecosystem, a solar system, a universe. How significant can I or anyone else expect to be in light of this realization. Crazy, huh?
So I thought I'd run off a quick inventory of significant accomplishments little old insignificant I have accomplished, to refer back to whenever I start beating on myself for living a meaningless life...
- I have two wonderful children who are my pride and joy, who seem to have absorbed what few good traits I have and precious few of the bad, which are legion. While it looks at this juncture as though they may choose not to propagate (a position I held at their ages as well), they will touch many lives during the course of theirs, and what they've learned will be passed on in ways great and small. I read somewhere recently a saying, "You don't fully die until everyone who has known you, or who has known those who knew you knew you have died." I like that thought a lot...
- I have been married for almost 30 years to a very patient woman. I have been a pretty shitty mate in a lot of ways (alcoholism not being an enhancement to any partnership), but we have managed what more than half of couples don't, and have added to each others lives more than we've taken away. I'm not proud of many of the things I've done, but am of this accomplishment and of the fact that, as husbands go, I've been a pretty damn good one...
- I've involved myself in my various communities effectively - serving on commissions and committees and as an elected official. I think now, looking back, that much of this was really driven more by ego than by a true sense of service, but I comported myself well in these instances regardless of the motivation, and enhanced the lives and efforts of those I served. Lesson - you can do the right thing for the wrong reasons.
- I've learned and taught through my actions both advocacy and the value of persistence. This has been mostly in the political arena, stretching back I now realize more than 25 years. I involved myself in local politics when my eldest was still an infant, helping chase religious proselytizers off the public school campuses, fighting developers encroaching on our private property rights, helping elect school board members, and later fighting for the rights to fair and responsible representation in partisan battles. I know that my words and actions inspired others to act, to become more involved, to establish organizations and to run for and serve in office. I have actually played a significant role in changing laws from the local to the federal level, including petition/referendum regulations here in Texas and campaign finance regulations at the federal level. And many of these accomplishments were achieved through efforts that on their face were failures...
- And many more accomplishments large and small that I've not dredged up and wouldn't bore you with anyway, today. Little helps, assists, likes and loves, lessons learned and taught and lost. One could become obsessed with taking inventory. I shan't..
The moral of today's saga, then, is really pretty simple. The only way one's life can have no significance is if one doesn't live it. The more we live our life, the more significant it will be. The more we interact with others, touch their lives and allow them to touch ours, the more firmly and durably enmeshed in the fabric of existence we become. I have beat myself up too much, I know, characterizing myself as a rock sitting inert on the shore of a pond. In reality, I have been a veritable handful of gravel, flinging myself (or flung by an unseen hand) to hit the surface of the pond of life in myriad spots and in varying weights and at multiple trajectories to set off more ripples and waves than I can possibly imagine. How many ripples, where they go, what they touch? These don't really matter. Its hitting the water that matters...
So, I am recommitting to my quest to abandon my ego, to live in the present moment, and to stop allowing my fears and resentments to dictate my actions. And, somehow, I am going to get my appropriately insignificant self realigned to serve for the sake of serving, to live for the sake of living, to love for the sake of loving, and to leave the seeking of fame and glory to others. All of these will be new experiences for me, and I can only do them in the present. Sounds like quite an adventure. Will keep you posted...
Oh, and, lest you worry that I spend too much time scouting around my bizzaro mind and variegated soul, I would remind you that my old friend Socrates famously said,"The unexamined life is not worth living," to which I've taken the liberty of adding, "...and the unlived life is not worth examining."
Namaste...
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Coffee, Tea, or Texas?
Warning - this post may contain language that is offensive to some readers. If it makes you feel any better, its offensive to me, too!
This was a momentous week in many ways, but mostly political. The Texas primaries were on Tuesday, and the much vaunted battle between Texas senior Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison and Gov. Rick "Goodhair" Perry ended with a fizzle rather than a bang. Very disappointing. And the fact that my favorite, that whacked out wild woman from Wharton, Deborah Medina of Tea Party fame, garnered less than 20 percent, was doubly disappointing. I had great hopes that the Tea Party activists would be more effective than they've proven to be in driving a stake into the heart of the ossifying but still sharp-fanged Republican Party here in Texas and the south. Alas, it is not to be. They are indeed nothing more than I feared they were from the outset - a screaming gaggle of angry underclass whites afraid of the clean articulate black man who has taken up residence in the White House, and of socialism, which ceased being a threat to America almost two decades ago. Ah, well...
This election year is a big deal, though. At least to me. I have said for a good while now that I don't expect to grow old and retire and die here in Texas. My home state is a land of hate-filled, racist, Bible-thumping fundamentalists who revel in their ignorance and revile the educated. It is certainly a recipe for success for the likes of Perry, but disaster for my children and theirs, should they choose to have them. I heard a comment somewhere this week that not only do conservatives hold to the notion that the earth is 6,000 years old, but that the the dinosaurs were on the ark with Noah, his merry crew, and the lions and tigers and bears. Oh my! And for those of you who don't live here, let me tell you that is absolutely plausible (that people here believe it - not that its true.) We have some of the worst air in the nation, and Perry has sued the EPA to keep them from cleaning it up. Yes, really!
The worst part is that I once loved Texas with undying devotion. My childhood was idyllic - living on the edge of the suburbs, riding my bike or friends' horses out into the countryside for hours on end, playing kick-the-can until it was too dark to see on summer evenings, chasing fireflies which were always in abundance back then, playing sandlot baseball and football back on the field we constructed on the Cloud farm over the barbed wire fence that initially demarcated our property. Being the only Catholic in the neighborhood, I didn't get to enjoy the heady experience of Vacation Bible School or church camp, but we scouted and played sports together with the Baptists and Church of Christers (called themselves "Christians," I think)
Nigger jokes were more common than Aggie jokes back then, and I only had the slightest twangs of conscience when my playmates would heckle good-natured old Arthur, an older black fellow who used to walk up and down our block on the way to and from the bus stop every day. Not knowing where he lived but knowing now the bus routes, am guessing he had at least a two mile walk each way. "Hey Arthur," our oldest and most racist neighbor would shout. "Why take the bus? Wouldn't you rather drive a Fal-coon?" Guffaw. (For those too tender in years, the Ford Falcon was one of the workhorses of the fleet - we went through two in my family - great cars. And coon was a pejorative term for African-Americans probably pretty well gone now, except in east Texas and maybe Mississippi...)
Anyway, you get the drift. Nobody in Texas would have dared question a single word of the Bible aloud back then. Madalyn Murray O'Hair was the outrage of the day, and I do remember her name being bandied about, although I was only six or seven when that evil woman got prayer kicked out of schools. It was probably about the same time that I actually met face-to-face my first black child. My brother and I were playing on the nickel merry-go-round in front of Piggly Wiggly when a cute black kid about our age showed up and started talking and playing with us. I don't remember the details of the incident very well, only that at some point my brother and I were fighting about something, which was the norm, and one of us called the other a nigger, which was also quite usual. Except we'd never met a black other than Arthur, and had never uttered the word in front of one. I don't really remember the upshoot of the incident - there were no adults to witness, I know. I'm pretty sure we were more shocked than our black playmate. I vividly recall being mortified - know that it sunk in and that from that point on that I was never comfortable with the word. I'm sure I used it some after, and know I tolerated others doing so a lot, but am also certain I was one of the first in my group to develop an aversion and ultimately revoke the word that was as common among us as peanut butter in my youth...
Lest you think I digress, let me assure you that if you found yourself in a group of the most rabid Perry supporters - God fearing, Bible revering, secessionist patriotic Texans, discussions of which genus and species of dinosaur bunked on the promenade deck of Noah's cruise ship and was tended to by the nicest little nigger or colored boy would raise nary an eyebrow. Particularly once they were comfortable they were amongst their own and not going to be overheard by any of those pointy head college educated liberal elitists. And if they were willing to engage a discussion on the improbability of this scenario, the argument would focus on our obvious misunderstanding of the term "cubit," rather than any question of the possibility that the universe or the earth might be a single day older than Genesis allows, or that mammals and dinosaurs coexisted right up to the big rain. Yep, welcome to Texas.
Truth told, the fact that we elected Bush twice has already soured me almost as much on the whole country as I am on Texas right now. I once said I would live and die in Texas - was actually disciplined in boot camp for refusing to mow bluebonnets - in Missouri! I was Texan first, human being second, American third. Yep, I really said that! Regularly. As a soldier in Uncle Sam's army. Hmmm...
But I've made a vow to myself now that, should Perry be re-elected Governor (he's already the longest serving governor in Texas' history), I will be packing my bags and skedaddling. So yes, I am disappointed in my Tea Party candidates not doing better and expediting the demise of the GOP in Texas. I'm disappointed in Hutchison running such a lame campaign and putting up such a pitiful fight that the resultant damage isn't nearly what it might have been. And I'm sorry that Medina and her teabagging brethren didn't pull off at least a few upsets, which might have kept them in the game a while longer and further muddied the waters. As it is, they'll be like the Perotistas, who voted first in '92 and last in '96 and were never heard from again. Good riddance, I suppose...
On the upside, the Democrats did nominate Bill White by an overwhelming majority, and he is absolutely the strongest gubernatorial candidates we've fielded since the late great Ann Richards back in the early 90s. It was sad and humorous and telling again of Texas, that Palestinian-American Farouk Shami, a billionaire hair-care magnate, threw his hat in the ring, along with a fair amount of cash, and was appropriately trounced by White. Shami, whose family arrived here from Palestine about the same time my nigger tales above were playing out, spoke English very poorly for someone here for more than four decades, an issue with more than a few Democrats and Independents I talked to. And in that period of time, while he may be a godsend to women and their lovely tresses, he obviously absorbed zero understanding of Texas, Texans, or our racist culture. An east Texas Democratic county chair was widely and vehemently excoriated for telling Shami the undeniable truth, which was that it will be a cold day in hell before Texans will elect a brown-skinned man with a first name of Farouk or last name of Shami. Dude, what were you thinking?
So, at the reception following the funeral I attended this afternoon, I had a chance to visit at some length with very successful GOP political consultant who runs state House and Congressional campaigns for candidates on the dark side. He is a good guy and honest, and I'll not expose him. He did tell me, though, that he thought Perry would be unbeatable - a money magnet and the consummate campaigner. He loves campaigning and the fight, and has excellent instincts. Hutchison should be able to attest to that. Once she gets out of ICU...
And he also told me I had every right to be afraid. The mysterious "they," who he would never reveal, are indeed grooming Perry for a step up to the big time. Yes, this would be the same crew, I'm sure, responsible for the eight years of hell we suffered under 43. As my confidante said, you might not just be packing to go out of state, but out of the country.
Sorry, friends, but I've been in Texas too long. Bill White aside, I don't know of anyone in the leadership of the Texas Democratic Party that has the foggiest idea regarding either organization or winning. We've done nothing but shoot ourselves in the foot and get our asses kicked all over this glorious piece of real estate for more than two decades now. I'll keep fighting as long as I can, and hoping against hope. But am going to be picking up a copy of the Rosetta Stone just in case...
Oh, and as a quick note to close the loop on today's title, there is a new group arising on the bright side of the aisle, humorously titled The Coffee Party. I just found out about them last week, have joined, and encourage all of you to at least check it out. Their stated focus is on "civil discourse," which sounds all sappy and kumbaya and whatnot. I am developing the impression, however, that there are some very solid folks coming to the fore in this movement, and that it might actually turn into something meaningful. And while these folks are in some cases angry, they are articulate, educated, focused and dedicated to bringing about the sort of change so many of us worked for in 2008, and which has frankly come up lacking thus far. Not least due to the incivility and shouting from the other side.
This was a momentous week in many ways, but mostly political. The Texas primaries were on Tuesday, and the much vaunted battle between Texas senior Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison and Gov. Rick "Goodhair" Perry ended with a fizzle rather than a bang. Very disappointing. And the fact that my favorite, that whacked out wild woman from Wharton, Deborah Medina of Tea Party fame, garnered less than 20 percent, was doubly disappointing. I had great hopes that the Tea Party activists would be more effective than they've proven to be in driving a stake into the heart of the ossifying but still sharp-fanged Republican Party here in Texas and the south. Alas, it is not to be. They are indeed nothing more than I feared they were from the outset - a screaming gaggle of angry underclass whites afraid of the clean articulate black man who has taken up residence in the White House, and of socialism, which ceased being a threat to America almost two decades ago. Ah, well...
This election year is a big deal, though. At least to me. I have said for a good while now that I don't expect to grow old and retire and die here in Texas. My home state is a land of hate-filled, racist, Bible-thumping fundamentalists who revel in their ignorance and revile the educated. It is certainly a recipe for success for the likes of Perry, but disaster for my children and theirs, should they choose to have them. I heard a comment somewhere this week that not only do conservatives hold to the notion that the earth is 6,000 years old, but that the the dinosaurs were on the ark with Noah, his merry crew, and the lions and tigers and bears. Oh my! And for those of you who don't live here, let me tell you that is absolutely plausible (that people here believe it - not that its true.) We have some of the worst air in the nation, and Perry has sued the EPA to keep them from cleaning it up. Yes, really!
The worst part is that I once loved Texas with undying devotion. My childhood was idyllic - living on the edge of the suburbs, riding my bike or friends' horses out into the countryside for hours on end, playing kick-the-can until it was too dark to see on summer evenings, chasing fireflies which were always in abundance back then, playing sandlot baseball and football back on the field we constructed on the Cloud farm over the barbed wire fence that initially demarcated our property. Being the only Catholic in the neighborhood, I didn't get to enjoy the heady experience of Vacation Bible School or church camp, but we scouted and played sports together with the Baptists and Church of Christers (called themselves "Christians," I think)
Nigger jokes were more common than Aggie jokes back then, and I only had the slightest twangs of conscience when my playmates would heckle good-natured old Arthur, an older black fellow who used to walk up and down our block on the way to and from the bus stop every day. Not knowing where he lived but knowing now the bus routes, am guessing he had at least a two mile walk each way. "Hey Arthur," our oldest and most racist neighbor would shout. "Why take the bus? Wouldn't you rather drive a Fal-coon?" Guffaw. (For those too tender in years, the Ford Falcon was one of the workhorses of the fleet - we went through two in my family - great cars. And coon was a pejorative term for African-Americans probably pretty well gone now, except in east Texas and maybe Mississippi...)
Anyway, you get the drift. Nobody in Texas would have dared question a single word of the Bible aloud back then. Madalyn Murray O'Hair was the outrage of the day, and I do remember her name being bandied about, although I was only six or seven when that evil woman got prayer kicked out of schools. It was probably about the same time that I actually met face-to-face my first black child. My brother and I were playing on the nickel merry-go-round in front of Piggly Wiggly when a cute black kid about our age showed up and started talking and playing with us. I don't remember the details of the incident very well, only that at some point my brother and I were fighting about something, which was the norm, and one of us called the other a nigger, which was also quite usual. Except we'd never met a black other than Arthur, and had never uttered the word in front of one. I don't really remember the upshoot of the incident - there were no adults to witness, I know. I'm pretty sure we were more shocked than our black playmate. I vividly recall being mortified - know that it sunk in and that from that point on that I was never comfortable with the word. I'm sure I used it some after, and know I tolerated others doing so a lot, but am also certain I was one of the first in my group to develop an aversion and ultimately revoke the word that was as common among us as peanut butter in my youth...
Lest you think I digress, let me assure you that if you found yourself in a group of the most rabid Perry supporters - God fearing, Bible revering, secessionist patriotic Texans, discussions of which genus and species of dinosaur bunked on the promenade deck of Noah's cruise ship and was tended to by the nicest little nigger or colored boy would raise nary an eyebrow. Particularly once they were comfortable they were amongst their own and not going to be overheard by any of those pointy head college educated liberal elitists. And if they were willing to engage a discussion on the improbability of this scenario, the argument would focus on our obvious misunderstanding of the term "cubit," rather than any question of the possibility that the universe or the earth might be a single day older than Genesis allows, or that mammals and dinosaurs coexisted right up to the big rain. Yep, welcome to Texas.
Truth told, the fact that we elected Bush twice has already soured me almost as much on the whole country as I am on Texas right now. I once said I would live and die in Texas - was actually disciplined in boot camp for refusing to mow bluebonnets - in Missouri! I was Texan first, human being second, American third. Yep, I really said that! Regularly. As a soldier in Uncle Sam's army. Hmmm...
But I've made a vow to myself now that, should Perry be re-elected Governor (he's already the longest serving governor in Texas' history), I will be packing my bags and skedaddling. So yes, I am disappointed in my Tea Party candidates not doing better and expediting the demise of the GOP in Texas. I'm disappointed in Hutchison running such a lame campaign and putting up such a pitiful fight that the resultant damage isn't nearly what it might have been. And I'm sorry that Medina and her teabagging brethren didn't pull off at least a few upsets, which might have kept them in the game a while longer and further muddied the waters. As it is, they'll be like the Perotistas, who voted first in '92 and last in '96 and were never heard from again. Good riddance, I suppose...
On the upside, the Democrats did nominate Bill White by an overwhelming majority, and he is absolutely the strongest gubernatorial candidates we've fielded since the late great Ann Richards back in the early 90s. It was sad and humorous and telling again of Texas, that Palestinian-American Farouk Shami, a billionaire hair-care magnate, threw his hat in the ring, along with a fair amount of cash, and was appropriately trounced by White. Shami, whose family arrived here from Palestine about the same time my nigger tales above were playing out, spoke English very poorly for someone here for more than four decades, an issue with more than a few Democrats and Independents I talked to. And in that period of time, while he may be a godsend to women and their lovely tresses, he obviously absorbed zero understanding of Texas, Texans, or our racist culture. An east Texas Democratic county chair was widely and vehemently excoriated for telling Shami the undeniable truth, which was that it will be a cold day in hell before Texans will elect a brown-skinned man with a first name of Farouk or last name of Shami. Dude, what were you thinking?
So, at the reception following the funeral I attended this afternoon, I had a chance to visit at some length with very successful GOP political consultant who runs state House and Congressional campaigns for candidates on the dark side. He is a good guy and honest, and I'll not expose him. He did tell me, though, that he thought Perry would be unbeatable - a money magnet and the consummate campaigner. He loves campaigning and the fight, and has excellent instincts. Hutchison should be able to attest to that. Once she gets out of ICU...
And he also told me I had every right to be afraid. The mysterious "they," who he would never reveal, are indeed grooming Perry for a step up to the big time. Yes, this would be the same crew, I'm sure, responsible for the eight years of hell we suffered under 43. As my confidante said, you might not just be packing to go out of state, but out of the country.
Sorry, friends, but I've been in Texas too long. Bill White aside, I don't know of anyone in the leadership of the Texas Democratic Party that has the foggiest idea regarding either organization or winning. We've done nothing but shoot ourselves in the foot and get our asses kicked all over this glorious piece of real estate for more than two decades now. I'll keep fighting as long as I can, and hoping against hope. But am going to be picking up a copy of the Rosetta Stone just in case...
Oh, and as a quick note to close the loop on today's title, there is a new group arising on the bright side of the aisle, humorously titled The Coffee Party. I just found out about them last week, have joined, and encourage all of you to at least check it out. Their stated focus is on "civil discourse," which sounds all sappy and kumbaya and whatnot. I am developing the impression, however, that there are some very solid folks coming to the fore in this movement, and that it might actually turn into something meaningful. And while these folks are in some cases angry, they are articulate, educated, focused and dedicated to bringing about the sort of change so many of us worked for in 2008, and which has frankly come up lacking thus far. Not least due to the incivility and shouting from the other side.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Almost Feral...
We'll be pretty short this week, I think. It's been a long rough one in the capitalist jungle, and I'm feeling rather ragged. The economy's been rough for a lot of folks in a lot of places for a long time. This week the hard times came precariously close to home, and my animal side came dangerously close to taking over...
We all knew it was coming. Not exactly what or when, but you can't keep suffering the losses we've been suffering in my small firm month after month without something finally giving. About 30% of our work force was laid off, totally without warning, which is the norm for my industry. Too much dangerously sensitive information in play to risk a disgruntled soon-to-be ex-employee wreaking havoc. Still when the axe falls that quickly and brutally, it leaves everyone on edge. "Could have been me..." Yep, could have been...
Those of us most senior had been given about 24 hours notice of generally what was coming, without any details or identification of the victims. We all gathered together and had a big kumbaya about how we were going to pull together, work harder and smarter as a team, and fight our way through the firestorm. All for one and one for all. Bosses and minions all doing their best, pulling their share of the load. Right? Right...
Within 24 hours my superior decided to push a point that had been a burr between us for some time - technically a violation of procedures but one which might have been left resting for the time being, given the tensions of the moment and the fact that I am currently the top producer in the firm. I countered by confronting him in, shall we say, less than diplomatic fashion. It was the corporate capitalist version of two wild dogs snarling at each other over a steaming scrap of carrion, fangs bared and jowls dripping saliva, hackles raised and eyes blazing. He, the old and faltering alpha in this case, chose not to press the fight at that point, so it was left to fester. And all undetectable by the casual observer, but we both knew. Today we went back to circling and growling, but no real attacks and no blood drawn. We are dozens of miles apart over the weekend, both cooling off and headed toward some peaceful resolution in the new week, hopefully. If not, I may be blogging more regularly soon and for a bit...
I have only in a few instances in my life been under such physical threat that I hackled up and got the blood lust. Most civilized people in this and other industrialized countries can make it all the way through their lives without ever having that experience, unless they're in the military or law enforcement or have the misfortune of tangling with violent criminals. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of the experience, although I am afraid of the person I become, and would prefer to not go there again...
Which is why this week's confrontation frightened me. I am a great appreciator of the efficiency of capitalism, a system I find myself detesting more and more each passing year. But I've been here before, in not dissimilar circumstances. On more than one occasion in times past, this visceral physical or near physical response to a threat to my livelihood has been an instantaneous one. While I don't much enjoy working for a living, and wouldn't as I do if I didn't have others depending on me, the idea that I can respond with physical and near physical aggression over mere economic matters is frightening to me, and more than a little disheartening. I've worked fairly hard to better myself, to have a more spiritual and compassionate approach to living - have never held any sentimentality for workers "going postal" or wackos flying small planes into IRS offices. And yet here, the slightest threat to the meager livelihood with which I help provide for my family, and I'm nearly dagger drawn.
The saving grace, from an economic and employment standpoint, is that the boss doesn't know how close the call was, and in truth I suppose I should be proud that I was able to conceal and control as well as I did. Had I actually acted out what I felt and scarcely contained, it is possible I would be incarcerated and he hospitalized. I would absolutely be unemployed. I would like to write it off to the tension of the week's events, the lying and dissembling of the Republicans in Washington, the phases of the moon. But I know better. My children have told me on more than one occasion that I can be scary. Sometimes I scare me too. And I don't like it anymore...
We all knew it was coming. Not exactly what or when, but you can't keep suffering the losses we've been suffering in my small firm month after month without something finally giving. About 30% of our work force was laid off, totally without warning, which is the norm for my industry. Too much dangerously sensitive information in play to risk a disgruntled soon-to-be ex-employee wreaking havoc. Still when the axe falls that quickly and brutally, it leaves everyone on edge. "Could have been me..." Yep, could have been...
Those of us most senior had been given about 24 hours notice of generally what was coming, without any details or identification of the victims. We all gathered together and had a big kumbaya about how we were going to pull together, work harder and smarter as a team, and fight our way through the firestorm. All for one and one for all. Bosses and minions all doing their best, pulling their share of the load. Right? Right...
Within 24 hours my superior decided to push a point that had been a burr between us for some time - technically a violation of procedures but one which might have been left resting for the time being, given the tensions of the moment and the fact that I am currently the top producer in the firm. I countered by confronting him in, shall we say, less than diplomatic fashion. It was the corporate capitalist version of two wild dogs snarling at each other over a steaming scrap of carrion, fangs bared and jowls dripping saliva, hackles raised and eyes blazing. He, the old and faltering alpha in this case, chose not to press the fight at that point, so it was left to fester. And all undetectable by the casual observer, but we both knew. Today we went back to circling and growling, but no real attacks and no blood drawn. We are dozens of miles apart over the weekend, both cooling off and headed toward some peaceful resolution in the new week, hopefully. If not, I may be blogging more regularly soon and for a bit...
I have only in a few instances in my life been under such physical threat that I hackled up and got the blood lust. Most civilized people in this and other industrialized countries can make it all the way through their lives without ever having that experience, unless they're in the military or law enforcement or have the misfortune of tangling with violent criminals. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of the experience, although I am afraid of the person I become, and would prefer to not go there again...
Which is why this week's confrontation frightened me. I am a great appreciator of the efficiency of capitalism, a system I find myself detesting more and more each passing year. But I've been here before, in not dissimilar circumstances. On more than one occasion in times past, this visceral physical or near physical response to a threat to my livelihood has been an instantaneous one. While I don't much enjoy working for a living, and wouldn't as I do if I didn't have others depending on me, the idea that I can respond with physical and near physical aggression over mere economic matters is frightening to me, and more than a little disheartening. I've worked fairly hard to better myself, to have a more spiritual and compassionate approach to living - have never held any sentimentality for workers "going postal" or wackos flying small planes into IRS offices. And yet here, the slightest threat to the meager livelihood with which I help provide for my family, and I'm nearly dagger drawn.
The saving grace, from an economic and employment standpoint, is that the boss doesn't know how close the call was, and in truth I suppose I should be proud that I was able to conceal and control as well as I did. Had I actually acted out what I felt and scarcely contained, it is possible I would be incarcerated and he hospitalized. I would absolutely be unemployed. I would like to write it off to the tension of the week's events, the lying and dissembling of the Republicans in Washington, the phases of the moon. But I know better. My children have told me on more than one occasion that I can be scary. Sometimes I scare me too. And I don't like it anymore...
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Decisions, decisions...
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
From "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost, Interval 1920
One of the first lessons I learned in my recovery program was that the two driving forces behind every addict's disease are fear and resentment. The outward manifestations might be anger, aggression, sadness or melancholy, promiscuity, belligerence or excessive boisterousness, but these two simple drivers make the addict's engine run. I've run across nothing in the intervening months to make me question the validity of this postulate.
Active addicts are infamous for our indecision about anything other than feeding their addiction. We fear making the wrong decision, trapping ourselves somehow, selecting a course that will eliminate all other possibilities. We fear choosing a course that will bring us pain, or hurt those we care about. Some get so hung up in these fears that they lose touch with reality - there is a reason that mental illness and addictions are so often connected.
And we addicts resent, in addition to real and imagined transgressions against us in the past, those few decisions we did make that didn't turn out as we hoped, or, more often, decisions we didn't make, leaving us, looking through our fun-house fractured prisms, living in a spot seemingly not of our choosing, that we don't like, and that we can't see our way out of. Healthy people find themselves in these same spots and situations, but generally find a healthy way beyond the snag. Sometimes not, in which case we hope you'll join us at a meeting when you're ready...
By the way, the transgressions against us that are real are worth exploring. This is true for everyone - addicts and non-addicts alike. The news of the day is Tiger Woods' pseudo apology pseudo press conference on Friday. For what it's worth,I do believe he's sorry - about equally for his transgressions against his family and for being caught, err...stupid. I do believe that sex addiction is a real malady, but with less of the chemical component than drugs or alcohol. Probably more on line with kleptomania or gambling or shopping addictions. Point being, all of these behaviors, regardless of the chemical component, are unhealthy and often pathological responses to past experiences...
And Tiger Woods, for all his fame and glory, had one pretty fucked up childhood. Maybe not as bad as Michael Jackson or Danny Bonaduce or some other celebrity kids who are pressed too hard too young, but bad enough. We hosted some young golfers at a youth tournament Tiger played in when he was 14. These kids were 17 or so if I recall, and scared to death of him. Here was this robotic superhuman black kid kicking butt in a white man's sport, with controlling manipulative parents driving every aspect of the show. No pressure on anyone there. Children who are not allowed to be children, and in Tiger's case not allowed to develop normal relationships with other children and those of the opposite gender, will wind up with behavioral problems. He is not the first celebrity who counter-balanced his seemingly superhuman public self-control with theoretically private and unbelievably destructive behavior. That he chose to act his out with some pretty skanky ass women, many of questionable repute, seems the classic enactment of the Madonna-Whore complex, which is not one generated by a healthy upbringing. In this analogy, by the way, the Madonna would be either his wife or perhaps his mother. So...
Enough about my golf idol. I hope he makes it back, and soon. I'll still use golf as my Saturday afternoon nap inducer, with or without him. Without him, though, I don't usually last more than 10 minutes, vs. the 30 or so I can usually keep my eyes open when he's on his game. Its all bout me, ya know?
The opening quote was about paths taken and not taken, and we discussed decisions, fears and regrets. Again, I think that there's not much difference in the life experiences of healthy folks and addicts. We all have victories and defeats, fears and resentments. The difference is that the active addict drinks or drugs to run away from them, while the healthy person confronts and deals with them, sets them aside, and moves on with life. There's a middle ground, too,where most folks live on the bell curve of healthy functionality. In this segment, the actor as often as not compartmentalizes life traumas, at least temporarily, in a way that allows them to generally operate normally without developing destructive behaviors. Some are fortunate enough to make it out of this life without ever having to deal with these traumas or suffer any measurable damaging effect. Others are able to pull them out at various intervals and deal with them one by one in a timely and healthy manner, growing stronger through introspection, understanding and increased self-awareness. Others might well have the trauma manifest itself suddenly or damagingly at some point, seemingly with no specific trigger. This is why we have shrinks...
My shrink told me that the average human life runs something like this: Our first 25 years or so, our parents screw us up big time, owing largely to the reality that children don't come with instructions. The second 25 years or so we live the effects of this upbringing, settle into our place on the aforementioned bell-curve of mental health, and as often as not go about fucking up our own kids who, amazingly, also arrive without instructions. Somewhere around mid-life, the toxic waste of the first segment, as often as not, begins leaching up to the surface and manifesting itself in ways large and small. For the handful who are self-aware from an early age, lucky enough to have been raised by insightful and generous parents, and who have dealt with life's experiences fully and completely as they arrived, they continue on their steady and generally satisfying path. We all know folks like this, although not many, and envy them deeply. Don't. Envy is ugly and unproductive, and leads to resentment, which leads to...
For those in the middle (of the population and of life), this can be an interesting or depressing time. Henry David Thoreau wrote, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation." I think that this describes well a significant majority of those in the middle of the bell curve, and virtually all of those on the active addict side. I have a vision on the periphery of my mind of a poem or movie or television episode or painting or some-such, can't pull it up right now - of armies of gray men with briefcases and fedoras marching listlessly through the hum-drum of modern industrialized life. Like the Japanese "salaryman," you know? None of us know one of those previously mentioned enviable people who fit this mold, do we? I know I don't. But I know a fair bunch like this in the middle, and a lot on the active addict side, marching listlessly through life, feeling trapped by decisions they did and didn't make. This is the segment and period in which suicides go up, divorces happen, addictions manifest themselves or are exacerbated. But this is also the time where many find spirituality (real and imagined), set aside destructive behaviors and take up healthy ones, make radical changes in lifestyle or career to take control over lives that prior seemed to be controlling us. Welcome to my world...
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way." Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Decisions, decisions... I've said before and will say again, that where we are at any instant of our lives is the aggregate of the circumstances we've been exposed to and the decisions we've made in response to those circumstances. Based on that viewpoint, and on decisions I've made in the past year or so, here's what I know about me today: (1) I will not stand still, for I would die. (2) I will not go back, because I cannot. (3) I will not let life dictate to me, because I refuse to be a victim. (4) I will not fear the future nor resent the past, because neither are productive.
These are all attitudinal changes, but significant I believe, because the attitude we bring to the enterprise of living goes a long way toward determining our effectiveness in and appreciation for the act of living. Where I will go, and what I will do, as I travel through these middle years remains undetermined at this point, and that's a decision I've made as well. I'm tightening and provisioning my vessel, and one day in the not distant future, when the wind is right and the sun up bright and my affairs in order, I will cast off. And I may check in with you from time to time. Or, maybe not...
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
From "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost, Interval 1920
One of the first lessons I learned in my recovery program was that the two driving forces behind every addict's disease are fear and resentment. The outward manifestations might be anger, aggression, sadness or melancholy, promiscuity, belligerence or excessive boisterousness, but these two simple drivers make the addict's engine run. I've run across nothing in the intervening months to make me question the validity of this postulate.
Active addicts are infamous for our indecision about anything other than feeding their addiction. We fear making the wrong decision, trapping ourselves somehow, selecting a course that will eliminate all other possibilities. We fear choosing a course that will bring us pain, or hurt those we care about. Some get so hung up in these fears that they lose touch with reality - there is a reason that mental illness and addictions are so often connected.
And we addicts resent, in addition to real and imagined transgressions against us in the past, those few decisions we did make that didn't turn out as we hoped, or, more often, decisions we didn't make, leaving us, looking through our fun-house fractured prisms, living in a spot seemingly not of our choosing, that we don't like, and that we can't see our way out of. Healthy people find themselves in these same spots and situations, but generally find a healthy way beyond the snag. Sometimes not, in which case we hope you'll join us at a meeting when you're ready...
By the way, the transgressions against us that are real are worth exploring. This is true for everyone - addicts and non-addicts alike. The news of the day is Tiger Woods' pseudo apology pseudo press conference on Friday. For what it's worth,I do believe he's sorry - about equally for his transgressions against his family and for being caught, err...stupid. I do believe that sex addiction is a real malady, but with less of the chemical component than drugs or alcohol. Probably more on line with kleptomania or gambling or shopping addictions. Point being, all of these behaviors, regardless of the chemical component, are unhealthy and often pathological responses to past experiences...
And Tiger Woods, for all his fame and glory, had one pretty fucked up childhood. Maybe not as bad as Michael Jackson or Danny Bonaduce or some other celebrity kids who are pressed too hard too young, but bad enough. We hosted some young golfers at a youth tournament Tiger played in when he was 14. These kids were 17 or so if I recall, and scared to death of him. Here was this robotic superhuman black kid kicking butt in a white man's sport, with controlling manipulative parents driving every aspect of the show. No pressure on anyone there. Children who are not allowed to be children, and in Tiger's case not allowed to develop normal relationships with other children and those of the opposite gender, will wind up with behavioral problems. He is not the first celebrity who counter-balanced his seemingly superhuman public self-control with theoretically private and unbelievably destructive behavior. That he chose to act his out with some pretty skanky ass women, many of questionable repute, seems the classic enactment of the Madonna-Whore complex, which is not one generated by a healthy upbringing. In this analogy, by the way, the Madonna would be either his wife or perhaps his mother. So...
Enough about my golf idol. I hope he makes it back, and soon. I'll still use golf as my Saturday afternoon nap inducer, with or without him. Without him, though, I don't usually last more than 10 minutes, vs. the 30 or so I can usually keep my eyes open when he's on his game. Its all bout me, ya know?
The opening quote was about paths taken and not taken, and we discussed decisions, fears and regrets. Again, I think that there's not much difference in the life experiences of healthy folks and addicts. We all have victories and defeats, fears and resentments. The difference is that the active addict drinks or drugs to run away from them, while the healthy person confronts and deals with them, sets them aside, and moves on with life. There's a middle ground, too,where most folks live on the bell curve of healthy functionality. In this segment, the actor as often as not compartmentalizes life traumas, at least temporarily, in a way that allows them to generally operate normally without developing destructive behaviors. Some are fortunate enough to make it out of this life without ever having to deal with these traumas or suffer any measurable damaging effect. Others are able to pull them out at various intervals and deal with them one by one in a timely and healthy manner, growing stronger through introspection, understanding and increased self-awareness. Others might well have the trauma manifest itself suddenly or damagingly at some point, seemingly with no specific trigger. This is why we have shrinks...
My shrink told me that the average human life runs something like this: Our first 25 years or so, our parents screw us up big time, owing largely to the reality that children don't come with instructions. The second 25 years or so we live the effects of this upbringing, settle into our place on the aforementioned bell-curve of mental health, and as often as not go about fucking up our own kids who, amazingly, also arrive without instructions. Somewhere around mid-life, the toxic waste of the first segment, as often as not, begins leaching up to the surface and manifesting itself in ways large and small. For the handful who are self-aware from an early age, lucky enough to have been raised by insightful and generous parents, and who have dealt with life's experiences fully and completely as they arrived, they continue on their steady and generally satisfying path. We all know folks like this, although not many, and envy them deeply. Don't. Envy is ugly and unproductive, and leads to resentment, which leads to...
For those in the middle (of the population and of life), this can be an interesting or depressing time. Henry David Thoreau wrote, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation." I think that this describes well a significant majority of those in the middle of the bell curve, and virtually all of those on the active addict side. I have a vision on the periphery of my mind of a poem or movie or television episode or painting or some-such, can't pull it up right now - of armies of gray men with briefcases and fedoras marching listlessly through the hum-drum of modern industrialized life. Like the Japanese "salaryman," you know? None of us know one of those previously mentioned enviable people who fit this mold, do we? I know I don't. But I know a fair bunch like this in the middle, and a lot on the active addict side, marching listlessly through life, feeling trapped by decisions they did and didn't make. This is the segment and period in which suicides go up, divorces happen, addictions manifest themselves or are exacerbated. But this is also the time where many find spirituality (real and imagined), set aside destructive behaviors and take up healthy ones, make radical changes in lifestyle or career to take control over lives that prior seemed to be controlling us. Welcome to my world...
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way." Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Decisions, decisions... I've said before and will say again, that where we are at any instant of our lives is the aggregate of the circumstances we've been exposed to and the decisions we've made in response to those circumstances. Based on that viewpoint, and on decisions I've made in the past year or so, here's what I know about me today: (1) I will not stand still, for I would die. (2) I will not go back, because I cannot. (3) I will not let life dictate to me, because I refuse to be a victim. (4) I will not fear the future nor resent the past, because neither are productive.
These are all attitudinal changes, but significant I believe, because the attitude we bring to the enterprise of living goes a long way toward determining our effectiveness in and appreciation for the act of living. Where I will go, and what I will do, as I travel through these middle years remains undetermined at this point, and that's a decision I've made as well. I'm tightening and provisioning my vessel, and one day in the not distant future, when the wind is right and the sun up bright and my affairs in order, I will cast off. And I may check in with you from time to time. Or, maybe not...
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Ravishing the Monk
The monk toiled diligently in his cell, only occasionally glancing out his tiny window into the outside world. When she appeared in the courtyard, he didn’t notice her at first, so engrossed was he in his work. She brushed at his window, entreating him silently from beyond the glass to come away with her, dancing right up to the pane, then flitting away, dancing merrily about the yard, playing for his attention. Only slowly did he become aware of her, turning hesitantly from his ritual tasks, and began to focus on her. As if in a spell, he beheld her beauty, her effervescent white gossamer veils billowing to and fro, waxing and waning between solid and dream…
He had known her and of her from his youth, admired her from afar and quickened in her proximity from time to time. But never, in his early days, had he felt so deeply drawn to her– her otherness making her too alien to consider as anything more than an occasional curiosity, despite her obvious and inescapable beauty. Finally, as a young man serving in the King’s armies, they had shared an intermittent dalliance in the frigid mountains of a far away land. She had come to him then on clear crisp nights when the air was so chilled it pained one to breathe. She would have her way with him then, leaving him gasping, exhausted and confused, shivering naked in the thin mountain air as she disappeared into the rustling forests, leaving no sign of her passing, and no hint of whether she might some day return. So long ago…
Now she was back, suddenly, unbeckoned. But just as in those days so far past, he felt almost helpless against her spell. He tried, repeatedly, to ignore her enchantments, her silent entreaties beyond the glass. “Come away with me.” He could read her lips, almost smell the sweet crisp tang of her perfumed tresses. He would not. Could not. He had work to do, a new life now with meaning and responsibility and others relying on him. And he knew that no good could come of his falling back into her spell. He had, after more than two score years, managed to banish those sweet but too brief memories from his tortured mind. He had erected walls and gates and bars, dug deep moats, donned new armor and the accoutrements of his calling, found a certain if somewhat confining safety. And here she was, back again, threatening it all…
“Master, I must go,” he pleaded. “If I do not, I will surely go insane right here at my work table.” The Master, of course, didn’t understand. “We have work that must be done, and you are the one who must do it,” he replied sternly. And so the monk made his strongest effort to ignore her and the rest of the world outside his cell, and settle back into the routine that had become his refuge. But it was no use. She continued her silent torment, begging and pleading soundlessly for him to come back into the embrace he’d not shared in so many years. Finally, in desperation, he pleaded one last time. “Master, please release me. Only for the day. If I don’t go I will kill myself and be of no use to you or anyone else. Just a single day and night, and I will be past this madness and back to my old self. Otherwise, I will surely kill myself before the sun goes down.” The Master relented, shaking his head with a sardonic grin as he followed his acolyte’s fevered gaze to the tiny window, through which he saw absolutely nothing but swirling snow…
The monk had scarce stepped through the gate when she grasped his hand and whisked him away in that magical fashion he’d forgotten, with images and colors and castles and towns merely blurs, until suddenly, they were alone. They jostled back and forth only briefly, reacquainting themselves like the old lovers they were, and then she took him into her wholly and completely, gripping him like a vice and coaxing him onward – ever onward. He exerted himself until he was spent, the sweat running down his brow and back, slowly cooling in the chilled air, only to turn to steam again as she demanded more and more. He took her into his mouth, savored her sweet juices trickling down his fevered throat. She smiled in pleasure as he savored every inch of her, gurgled with delight as he coaxed her stream into a raging flood. For hours they went on, giving and taking, sparing nary a moment to rest. And then dusk approached, and she wrapped him fully in her embrace, gave him a firm and final squeeze, and as he gasped in rapture, she was gone…
He came to, as years ago, in darkness, with bright stars dancing tauntingly overhead. He lay on his back, naked in the snow, shriveled and shivering, but at a strange peace he’d not felt since those days long ago. He slowly got up, gathered his garments together, shook the powdered snow from them and eased them onto his body now ice crusted in frozen rivulets of sweat. He beat and rubbed himself and jumped up and down until the blood, which had too nearly ceased to flow, regained its current and sent needles of fire into his fingers and toes. Slowly he gathered his bearings, and began the long trek back to the abbey, where he’d promised to be by morning. And in the bleary corners of his mind, he recalled the day’s events, blending seamlessly with those from so long ago, and felt both exhilaration and exhaustion as his feet crunched through the trackless snow. He knew that sometime before he died, she would be back for him again. And he knew the next time she would kill him. And he longed for her return…
He had known her and of her from his youth, admired her from afar and quickened in her proximity from time to time. But never, in his early days, had he felt so deeply drawn to her– her otherness making her too alien to consider as anything more than an occasional curiosity, despite her obvious and inescapable beauty. Finally, as a young man serving in the King’s armies, they had shared an intermittent dalliance in the frigid mountains of a far away land. She had come to him then on clear crisp nights when the air was so chilled it pained one to breathe. She would have her way with him then, leaving him gasping, exhausted and confused, shivering naked in the thin mountain air as she disappeared into the rustling forests, leaving no sign of her passing, and no hint of whether she might some day return. So long ago…
Now she was back, suddenly, unbeckoned. But just as in those days so far past, he felt almost helpless against her spell. He tried, repeatedly, to ignore her enchantments, her silent entreaties beyond the glass. “Come away with me.” He could read her lips, almost smell the sweet crisp tang of her perfumed tresses. He would not. Could not. He had work to do, a new life now with meaning and responsibility and others relying on him. And he knew that no good could come of his falling back into her spell. He had, after more than two score years, managed to banish those sweet but too brief memories from his tortured mind. He had erected walls and gates and bars, dug deep moats, donned new armor and the accoutrements of his calling, found a certain if somewhat confining safety. And here she was, back again, threatening it all…
“Master, I must go,” he pleaded. “If I do not, I will surely go insane right here at my work table.” The Master, of course, didn’t understand. “We have work that must be done, and you are the one who must do it,” he replied sternly. And so the monk made his strongest effort to ignore her and the rest of the world outside his cell, and settle back into the routine that had become his refuge. But it was no use. She continued her silent torment, begging and pleading soundlessly for him to come back into the embrace he’d not shared in so many years. Finally, in desperation, he pleaded one last time. “Master, please release me. Only for the day. If I don’t go I will kill myself and be of no use to you or anyone else. Just a single day and night, and I will be past this madness and back to my old self. Otherwise, I will surely kill myself before the sun goes down.” The Master relented, shaking his head with a sardonic grin as he followed his acolyte’s fevered gaze to the tiny window, through which he saw absolutely nothing but swirling snow…
The monk had scarce stepped through the gate when she grasped his hand and whisked him away in that magical fashion he’d forgotten, with images and colors and castles and towns merely blurs, until suddenly, they were alone. They jostled back and forth only briefly, reacquainting themselves like the old lovers they were, and then she took him into her wholly and completely, gripping him like a vice and coaxing him onward – ever onward. He exerted himself until he was spent, the sweat running down his brow and back, slowly cooling in the chilled air, only to turn to steam again as she demanded more and more. He took her into his mouth, savored her sweet juices trickling down his fevered throat. She smiled in pleasure as he savored every inch of her, gurgled with delight as he coaxed her stream into a raging flood. For hours they went on, giving and taking, sparing nary a moment to rest. And then dusk approached, and she wrapped him fully in her embrace, gave him a firm and final squeeze, and as he gasped in rapture, she was gone…
He came to, as years ago, in darkness, with bright stars dancing tauntingly overhead. He lay on his back, naked in the snow, shriveled and shivering, but at a strange peace he’d not felt since those days long ago. He slowly got up, gathered his garments together, shook the powdered snow from them and eased them onto his body now ice crusted in frozen rivulets of sweat. He beat and rubbed himself and jumped up and down until the blood, which had too nearly ceased to flow, regained its current and sent needles of fire into his fingers and toes. Slowly he gathered his bearings, and began the long trek back to the abbey, where he’d promised to be by morning. And in the bleary corners of his mind, he recalled the day’s events, blending seamlessly with those from so long ago, and felt both exhilaration and exhaustion as his feet crunched through the trackless snow. He knew that sometime before he died, she would be back for him again. And he knew the next time she would kill him. And he longed for her return…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
