proteanme

I wonder what it says about us humans, all the labels we derived from our short comings and frailties and from the darkest parts of ourselves – rapists, murderers, liars, crooks, cheats, molesters, good-for-nothings, thieves, swindlers, goons, bullies and so on. Help me out if you can think of a comparable list derived from the best of who we are. What do we got: heros and saviors and the likes. Even then they tend not be about specific behaviors, and certainly not about specific behaviors we want to encourage.

I think there’s something going on about fear and punishment and how little we are interested as a culture in cultivating compassion and forgiveness.

First, let me run up the flag here and say that at best, there is a thin thread to string this post together, but I still want to talk about it. Hope you’ll bear with me.

The whole thing in my last post about willingness v. will is part of an ongoing conversation I’ve been having with myself for a while now about the power of language. What we call something, how we refer it – that often says something more than the literal intentions. What’s most salient for me right now is the aggressive language used around disease and disorder. Things like, her battle with cancer, he conquered his fears, fighting the good fight, the will to live, etc. My efforts around healing or even managing my own maladies have been better served by a less combative lexicon.

But this experience of language goes way beyond my personal experience. For instance, if I told you a relative of mine died in the Holocaust, the term “died”, a fairly neutral term, does not suggest the horror that person endured, maybe being starved, then tortured, and finally lined up naked in front of big pit and shot in the head. But if I tell you my relative was murdered in the Holocaust, the term “murdered” suggests that something much more violent happened in his or her dying. And I think is more accurate way to talk about those deaths. And mass murder is accurate way to talk about genocide.

The power of language also extends to how we talk about folks who perpetrate acts of horror. Let’s take someone who commits rape, at the very least a pretty fucking foul thing to do. The perpetrator becomes a rapist, defined forever by the worst of himself. And I’m going with “him” because most perps are male. And in defining that guy by what’s darkest in him we push him outside humanity. And who does that serve? How does that serve justice? In taking away the humanity of the guy who commits rape, we’re not restoring humanity to his victim.

Bell Hooks said: For me, forgiveness and compassion are always linked: how do we hold people accountable for wrongdoing and yet at the same time remain in touch with their humanity enough to believe in their capacity to be transformed?

So . . . almost 30 years later, and after bailing at the last minute on David And Julie’s wedding because I was so freaked about flying, I finally made it back on to a plane by myself and I went some where, San Francisco to be exact. Good lord, that felt great. Fear has been such a tough companion, but a companion all the same. I welcome any and all pats on the back, I’d just ask you to stay away from the aggressive kinda of language to explain that work. I’ve not conquered anything and will power hasn’t won. Nope this has all been about willingness and compassion. I’ll blog more on SF later.

Went to a party where a bunch of fellow Geminis were celebrating their birthdays and once it came out I was a twin they put a candle on the cake for me too, which was very nice. I ended up spending a chunk of time playing with these little three and four year old kids, although the twelve year old would have liked more attention. And I had forgotten how much I liked that – the way they make up songs and dance, the way they are always imagining something, the way they like you or don’t and whatever they are feeling is just so right there. Mostly we built these crazy tall towers out of blocks so they could take turns pretending to be a t-rex or a tornadoes or an earthquake and knock the towers down. Later when I was playing with this little guy he stopped and looked at me for a little bit and said, “you have rainbow eyes.” So sweet. And my eyes are this mix of green, blue and brown. Thinking about hanging out and playing made me wonder if I should add playing with kids to the list of things that make being alive feel special to me.

A song will come on in my headphones sometimes and I can barely hold it together. Cause it tugs so hard at this longing I have for all the nuances of love that make the acreage I need to be close to someone so much more manageable. Oh to see my shoes with hers, to leave behind some shirt of mine in her closet, to hear her say, “hey baby”, to know she keeps my key in her pocket. I swear that would be enough.

Apparently I’m gonna be angry and sad for a while and goal right now is to figure out how to manage that without getting my ass kicked by some motorist who I’ve targeted with my displaced frustration. Looks like a fun summer.

It’s not that I’m bitter, it’s more than I’m tired and scared. And lonely. I’m out here on this limb and there’s nothing to grab onto, except every now and then I talk with my oldest friend and she says something so sweet to me, like oh baby, and then I feel so incredibly loved. She gives me a touchstone in all this acreage I need.

Feeling restless and unsatisfied the other day I started thinking about about my incubating list and in an effort to put words into practice I got my ass in the kitchen and cooked up a small storm. Made some pasta from scratch for the first time and it it was a satisfying endeavor all the way around. The fresh pasta and dried garbanzo beans really made this simple dish tasty. And I imagine fresh tomatos would make it sublime.

I’m psyched that I’ll be going to see Destroyer tonight. One of my favorite artists over the last several years – a cross between Dylan and Bowie. Rubies was a great record and Trouble in Dreams had been getting alot of play recently.

Yesterday RU told me I’ve been seeming sad, angry and disappointed lately. Hard not to chafe at that, even if it rings true, or maybe because it rings true. I know I’m in an uncomfortable place right now and part of what’s going on is cultivating the willingness to be uncomfortable and I imagine that at times that’s not super pleasant to be around. I’ve been thinking about Dave’s comment on my incubating post, reminding me about needing “a way to make it back to that center while you explore the fringes. Call it a mantra, home(’centering’ spot), or even people in your life that drag you back – kicking and screaming from the focus of discovery back into the wonder of being.”

I’d love it if more than one of those people lived here in Portland. Please don’t mistake this for a pity party as that’s not my intention. I’m just in this in between spot that’s a little lonely. Cause since I’ve been out here I’ve gone after a number of friends that don’t quite fit and right now I’m really looking for connections with more resonance. Most of my resonators are hundreds if not thousands of miles away and I hope you know that you are sorely missed.

I really loved Silvia’s recent post and how it reminded me of lots of things, one being that everything changes.

Posted some new photos of NYC, food and me over the years.

I did Reach the Beach on Saturday.  My legs and lungs were fine, but that much time in the saddle and bent over my drop bars sure lent to some soreness and I was happy for the breaks we got every 15 miles.  The breaks also helped manage a beautiful but hot day. One of the other riders said at one point the thermometer on her bike registered 96 degrees.  But all in all it was a great ride.  I’ve hiked quite a bit around here, but I’ve never ridden so close to the land and it was moving to do so, on many levels. Thanks again to everyone who donated some money toward the cause.