Two Struggles

I am having a really hard time getting past a sense of futility that's flourishing in my head. It's not personal futility, it's sort of societal futility. The quantity of negativity in modern press begs the question, how bad are things really? If they're as bad as they sound, it's hardly even worth fighting to make anything better, because I think there's hardly a chance of improvement.

My preoccupation with the suckage of life in general has graduated to the degree that I've sworn off Foxnews.com entirely (the pervasiveness of perverted stories... people killed in terrible ways, animals tortured, bizarre goings-on with drugs, rapes, and other violent crimes has grown too distressing to see in the headlines there, let alone read in the articles... it makes me physically ill) and read only with great trepidation the rest of the news sites I frequented each day.

I really want to know, are more bad things happening in the modern era, or are we just hearing more about them? Was there really less bad news in days gone by, or did we merely hear about it less, as news traveled slowly and what counted as news didn't involve six hundred pound cows falling on cars or one man's effort to shoot a fifteen year old boy over road range?

Then it gets bigger... the news is bigger. Whether or not I endorse the global warming rationale of the earth's climate change, hearing the predictions of dying wildlife and fossil fuel shortages stress me exponentially. Christians and their warnings of eternal damnation unless I and everyone else accept Christ stress me. My broken fence... how people are paying for Christmas... my skin... Baby Grace... flooding in the yard... fires in California... flying in this terroristic era... finding someone to love... dealing with holidays... spending, gifts, regifting, parties, turkeys, travel... it all just freaking sucks and makes me frustrated, frightened, and furious all in equal measure.

Life happens! Life happens, and yet, we're supposed to fight it! Why can't we just live it?

There was a wonderful article on our hometown paper website not long ago about the migration of the peregrine falcons through the city. The article extolled the power of these predatory birds as they'd dive from the skyscrapers to feast upon pestilence-spreading rats and pigeons, both of which run rampant downtown, with no natural predators. Not a word about the struggle of the peregrine falcon to fight extinction. Not a complaint about the bird decimating the population of some obscure and terribly threatened source of prey. It was an article remarkable for its local relevance and enchanted tone. It's quite a contrast to most of the other articles that comprise modern news.

All these stories about tortured pets and other animals... why doesn't someone write about a wonderful, pampered pet? A story about a pet that lives a good life, and a story that doesn't include the pet's inevitable aging and eventual decline? Why do all of us have to suffer? Are we so lacking in a catharsis?

Some people are happy, I suppose... a couple of my gym friends, a couple of people at work, and a few of my relatives I'd put on that list... but a lot of people in my world seem to be suffering. Two friends are contemplating ending their marriages. Another friend of a friend has already ended hers and is embarking already on her next. Toxic personalities in my radar decry the establishment and maintenance of romantically exclusive relationships as unnatural and artificial. I begin to wonder... everything is so askew as I've seen it lately, well, maybe those people are right. While my upbringing and my nature has always assumed that close and significant relationships contribute to a person's sense of well being and esteem, everybody seems so screwed up. My ex husband. My ex boyfriend. Some of my friends, apparently. I will not find the stability I crave, because I am beginning to think I am my own stability I crave, and I refuse to invite a man in my life if the disease of instability is something he carries with him.

I think everything is just toxic. The society's toxic perspective is infiltrating the passionate natures of people I know, and rather than find strength from one another, they find one another part of the problem.

That brings to mind another issue that has been bothering me. The whole idea that we can't judge one another is bullshit. It's complete and utter bullshit. If I had faced the music when I was dating my ex husband, then I would have judged him and found him wanting. He was not an honorable man. Yet, because "judging people" is so evil or inappropriate according to modern dogma, I avoided holding him at all accountable for the things he did that didn't fit with my own values. These weren't things he hid from me, these were sins, so to speak, in plain sight. Incidents that I explained away by bathing them in the panacea of love. What a fool I was. I cannot, I must not do that again. If someone does something not worthy of my respect or admiration... then he does not merit a place in my life. My job is not to find a way to respect and admire him anyway. My job is to move on.

I've said this before in other posts, but I guess it bears repeating. In the last few days, I've tallied up the events from my relationship with my husband that distressed or provoked me, and it's as clear as anything that I chose to ignore, reframe, or dismiss some terribly telling choices he made. They include:

1. Ignoring the son he fathered by an ex girlfriend before we met. He claimed she was cheating on him, so he wasn't going to believe that child was his without a DNA test. Even when his paternity was a fact, he still ignored the child. I made this okay in my own head by figuring that the girlfriend had a new husband, so the baby had two "parents" in his life that loved him. I ignored the spiritual and character flaw my ex exhibited.

2. Hiding smoking from me... the smoking at all enraged me, and he knew that, so his solution was to hide it, not to stop it, and that enraged me further. My mom's advice was, "Go home to your husband, because you're married, and if he isn't doing this around you, it's not hurting you." She had a point. I was married; we weren't just dating. So I dealt with it.

3. Opening an online account that he kept secret from me. He said he was doing it only for the duration of the free trial, so I overlooked it. I told him I wanted him to close it, and so far as I know, he did.

4. Once when we were out at the rodeo or a concert or somewhere, he bought beers for the underage kids sitting behind us. I was so disgusted with him, I could barely talk.

These are the things that now, I realize were flags. Some happened after the marriage, when I was limited by the vows to influence, but there was no opting out. Short of abuse, addictions, or adultery, I'd never have left or even have threatened to.

Maybe I should just be grateful that he left, but he didn't drive me away by being cruel... bringing home a girlfriend to snort cocaine with him and then to join us in a threesome, smacking me around when I balked.

I'm just tired of negativity. This blog is pretty negative. I want to feel happy, not worried about the end of the world and all that leads to it.

Biblical Tradition

I was talking to a friend last week about homosexuality. She's a Christian woman in the best sense of the word. She's open, she's loving, she's affectionate, and she's both comfortable with and a testament to her faith, approaching it with humility and dedication that I admire. So, as the idea of homosexuality being "wrong" has been lurking in my mind recently, I decided to ask her what she thinks.

Sometimes, I get nervous asking self-professed Christians questions like that, lest they start spouting Biblical rhetoric with which I am unfamiliar or unprepared to analyze in context. Also, I get impatient with Bible-speak, because I want to know what the person thinks, not what the doctrine may or may not say. It unnerves me to suspect a friend has no genuine independent opinion and has become a parrot of an ancient text. But as I said, this wide-hearted woman of faith considers the data and works out her ideas for herself.

"I think it's wrong," she said immediately. "If I were, well, like that, I'd never act on it. I can't imagine violating the law of the Bible by having a sexual relationship with a woman."

This answer interested me, because she applied the rules as she understands them to herself alone. She didn't say homosexuals are wrong. She said, only, that she would not do something she believes is wrong.

I mentioned that the Bible also says things like selling your sister into slavery is okay, so long as it's not a neighboring country to which you sell her. She smiled a little. "The old testament has a lot of contextual situations that don't apply to the modern world," she remarked.

"But the homosexuality rules are part of the old testament," I said, being reasonably sure this was true from my Bible.com research. "What does the new testament say about it?" My friend didn't know, and again, I admired her ability to admit her lack of knowledge on this touchy topic. Most "Christians" I know are more eager to spout their beliefs than to consider the nature of an intelligent discussion on doctrine, at least with me.

Now, I know that in the beliefs of most Christian denominations, though not all, the new testament "trumps" the old. For example, Jews cannot eat pork or shellfish due to kosher laws, but most Christians can. Some don't, like the Adventists, but most believe all food is fine. Their rationale is that Jesus said that food is not what makes a person unclean. "Not what enters into the mouth defiles the man, but what proceeds out of the mouth, this defiles the man . . . Do you not understand that everything that goes into the mouth passes into the stomach, and is eliminated? But the things that proceed out of the mouth come from the heart, and those defile the man" (Matt. 15:11, 17f). So the Christians figure that people can't eat anything that renders them unclean, so eat on. New testament trumping the old.

So logically, whatever the new testament says about homosexuality trumps the old.

Jesus says nothing about it.

Now, I understand the rationale for the proposed Christian view of homosexuality, which is first cousin to its views on extramarital sex and birth control. The prevailing attitude is that sex is akin to life, and life matters. That sex is not just an expression of love or biochemical urge, but a conduit to the creation of life, a gift from God. As such, preserving the opportunity for life is an act with value worth preserving if not outright elevating. It's an act truncated in a homosexual relationship, which includes no opportunity for the creation of life. It's an act curtailed by birth control, by eliminating the opportunity for life. It's an act that invites opportunity for abortion -- the end of life -- or pain and suffering of the partners or their ostensible offspring when it occurs outside of a sanctified relationsip. Christians believe marriage is a sacrament to house the act of sex and the creation of life. Removing the chance for life turns the act of love into a mere act of fornication, an act merely for pleasure and physical gratification without humility, respect, or honor.

However hypocritcally it might seem to those who know me, I believe in that rationale.

At the same time, I believe that people are going to do what they're going to do, and sometimes, well, following doctrine isn't the most important consideration, or at least, it's not the most compelling one in given moment. If those decisions are mistakes and lead to suffering, then to great regret, maybe that person will repent in some cosmic way, finding his or her path to greater oneness with whatever God he or she understands. Will do better next time. All people suffer, but people who find humility in their decisions to elevate themselves and learn, instead of making the same mistakes over and over. I want to be like that.

At the same time, if Jesus didn't condemn the homosexuals, then who am I to do it?

Pushing a Rock Up a Hill

My uncle visited me about eight weeks ago, and we had an interesting conversation that I'm remembering today.

My uncle and my father are precisely the same age, and they have a number of similiarities. They're both Italian. They're health conscious, intelligent, and hard workers. Honorable men. Yet, their differences are more remarkable to me. My mother's side of the family, growing up, was more nurturing and traditional than my father's, so my uncle's foundation of supportive indulgence completely contrasts my father's beginning of deprivation and instability. In their adulthoods, the differences are positively stark. The insecurities of my father's upbringing emerge in his high emotionalism and emphasis on tradition. My uncle, on the other hand, assumes life will hand him lemonade, not lemons, and proceeds accordingly. Whether divorce (two), a fairly estranged child (one), interstate moves (four +), and job changes (too many to count), he is moving this very weekend from Texas to Pennsylvania. He's selling his house and, at the age of 64, beginning anew. Again.

I remember discussing with him the aplomb with which he faces changes like moves and jobs, as opposed to the paucity of change of my father. My dad worked for the same company for 36 years, and his retirement era job in the six years since is administering where he had his second job for many years. He's lived in the same house for 37 years. Except for college, he's lived his entire life within a two mile radius. Obviously, he's confronted challenges; he's sustained a 40+ year marriage to my mother, raised two fairly well-adjusted children, and earned a graduate degree and periodic promotions. But, most of the time, he has dwelled in the comfortable familiarity of the known, choosing his "next" from within the bosom of his family in the cradle of his hometown. Seeking out change is anathema to him, as it's been for most of the rest of my immediate family. Not unless there was a good reason, an abundance of support in the form of his family, and a reasonable return on the investment of effort did he even attempt a change.

But, my uncle is a horse of another color. And I mentioned to him this obvious difference between him and my dad, whom he's known for most of his life. My father ruminates. He (over)thinks. He wonders and worries. My uncle does not. Does my uncle see that? How does he explain it?

I remember we were driving when we discussed it, and I looked at him from my perch in the driver's seat. He glanced back at me, then looked out the windshield. "I took a philosophy class in college," he told me. "I don't remember much about the whole class, but this one conversation we had there changed my life."

I could hear laughing in my head, when I imagined my father's reaction to that initial statement. My father seems almost to resent my uncle as the pampered son of misguided parents who didn't even attempt to veil their preference for sons over my mother and her sister. "Philosophy class?" I could hear my father sneer. "He's in love with the sound of his own voice, isn't he?"

I ignored my father, and I asked what my uncle meant.

"There was this Greek myth we were talking about," he began. "The one with the guy who had to push the rock up the hill. The guy pushed and pushed, and when he'd get to the top, he'd lose control of the rock, and it'd tumble back down to the bottom, where he'd have to start over again."

"The myth of Sisyphus," I said promptly, the English teacher in me emerging.

"Yeah, right," my uncle agreed, though he was placating me; the name didn't matter. "My professor asked the class what we imagined the guy was thinking when he watched the rock roll back down."

My inner-father's daughter emerged next, and I said, "He was probably thinking, 'Dammit, I have to start all over again' and getting pissed," I guessed. I knew that's what my father would have said. I knew that's what my father would have been thinking in Sisyphus' place. He speaks often enough about his disenchantment with life's arduousness.

My uncle smiled a very little smile. "Everybody said that. But my professor said, 'What if he's just glad he has a break from pushing the rock, even if only for a little while?'"

I glanced at him again. "But he's just going to have to start pushing it again. He's got to dread that."

My uncle nodded, Dumbledore-like. "So why wouldn't he feel grateful that in that moment, he has a break? That he can notice something else, even if only for a little while? Why does he have to pollute that small break for happiness with thoughts of the difficulties ahead of him?"

This is a wise idea. Very wise. Sisyphys has a small window where he doesn't push the rock, so why waste it thinking about pushing the rock? Worrying about it? Dreading it? Why not grab that small respite and enjoy it until the pushing begins again? How much of life can a person complicate when, in essence, everything is quite calm in the moment. We live for moments other than the one in which we are living.

My uncle explained that since that class, he made a focused effort not to wonder about pushing a rock in the moments in which he is not, in fact, pushing a rock. He lets everything be fine when it's fine. He plans ahead and does his part, make no mistake, but in his view, why worry about living in Pennsylvania until he is, in fact, living there? Why not enjoy the beautiful day in Texas with his niece, and let the rest of life happen as it is wont to do?

I have found a perfect way to apply this borrowed wisdom in my own life. I get scared to date. Ahead of a date, I worry incessently. Sometimes, I even dread. Why do I dwell on pushing that metaphorical rock up a hill when I'm not even doing it in the moment? Why do I let my fear milk all the pleasure out of my window of respite? Never mind that a date is never so scary once I'm there. It's the idea that scares me, the idea that I allow to punctuate every intervening moment.

As I am remembering forgiveness, I am going to try and remember the Rock of Sisyphys. I am going to try to keep each moment for its purpose, not to let the anticipation or dread of what's to come cast a shadow on my present.

Who We Are

The original germ for this study of "who we are" came from Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat Pray Love. The second germ for it came from watching the Queen Elizabeth I sequel movie with Cate Blanchett last night. I sat there in the theater and thought about the violence and the rage within people, the jealousy and the frustration, and I saw some joy, peace, and love, too. I thought, "This is who we are."

In her book, Liz Gilbert describes the story of a psychologist friend who helped Asian refugees in America who'd survived terrible trials prior to their arrival. Despite their suffering, the women lamented breakups with their boyfriends, the stress of leaving behind men they'd met during their ordeal, the reality that their boyfriends in the home counry finding new companions in their absence, that their boyfriends still loved them in spite of new relationships or even new families. Liz thought their preoccupation with men was amazing, considering what they'd survived. "This is who we are," her friend told her. This interest is what defines us, humanity. Our connections to others are among our most serious and significant characteristics.

At the movie last night, I realized that just as much, that movie represents who we are, too. Elizabeth the Queen longed for a man to appreciate her for herself, but she couldn't and wouldn't have wanted to separate her femininity from her throne. She couldn't afford to. In the movie, characters wanted power and control. Conviction of rectitude led them to terrible acts, which they justified in the name of everything from God to loyalty to country to desperate emotion. This is Elizabethan England? It looks, sounds, and if I were there, it'd smell an awful lot like modern times.

Sure, there are evil people in the world. There are wars and losses and fears and frustrations and people who serve their own self-interests for power or attention over the basic truths.

I think of Al Gore, a leader who has obtained great power and authority over his interest in "global warming." However, Gore refuses to entertain any debate whatsoever on the issue, declaring it "over," shutting down the voices of legitimate scientists who point out inconsistencies with the relationship between carbon and temperature, as illustrated by Gore. If the debate is indeed over, he must think, then why should he listen to more people, especially if they disagree with him? But then, if he's so sure he's right, what's the danger in entertaining their theories? So much for having a free-thinking country. Entering into a dialogue with those who challenge him is a chance for learning, for the genuine truth to emerge; he has nothing to fear if it's the truth that matters to him. Doesn't it take educated debate, communication, over a long time with lots of tries and lots of tests, to determine truth? But it seems Gore must maintain single-mindedly focused on only his initial agenda, and I become further convinced that the only thing that will emerge is that he's an ass.

In the same way (and lest I be accused of partisianism), I see our President doggedly pursues his own path in our "War on Terror," a path that is generating far more questions than he deigns to answer. How can what's best for the people of America and the Middle East emerge without meaningful dialogue and concerted -- combined -- agreement and effort on action? Why should his path be the only and best way? Why doesn't he want to learn from those who think differently from him? The truth is our friend. But it seems he refuses to acknowledge any other choice but the one he's chosen, and the voices that long to dialogue with him get lost in the middle ground.

But this is who we are. We justify all sorts of questionable behaviors becase we "care so much," are "so sure" we are correct," or "fear so desperately" the time "lost" for true exploration and edification. We stop looking for new answers and become wedded with our original plans. We do it to save face. We do it because, for lack of choosing to learn over the chance to pontificate, we don't know any better.

I did this when my marriage ended. I spent three years insisting that life went on quite merrily, and I made life do that very thing, but was I happy? No. It was only when I began allowing the truth to seep into my consciousness, to emerge from the ashes of my old life, that I began to understand the way things really were and how I want to them to be. It took courage to accept that truth is different than I imagined it was, that my life in the future would be different, too. But to keep my finger on the pulse of this truth is a constant courtship. Truth is truth, but truth is not constant. What's true right now may not remain true in the future. Self-awareness. Self-knowledge. Honesty and little internal polling. That's the way to remain who I am, not what I think I am or wish I were.

I see a lot of moms in my world who do this with their children. Are they raising the children they have or the children they imagine they have? The gap between the two is the space where children can play their parents like violins. Parents can't face the truth. They can't ask the questions. Meaningful dialogue may present them with answers to questions they would rather do anything but ask.

But the truth is the truth is the truth. It's not good or bad, it just IS. Far better to operate off of reality than some imagined, projected, desired, or desperately needed misapprehension. But it's harder. Imagined truths are so much more comforting than genuine ones sometimes, it's no wonder that some people live with them almost exclusively. Too hard to face that one's husband is cheating, one's child is using drugs, one's parents are sliding slowly into dementia. Harder by far to admit that years of "work" in global warming are little more than a thinly veiled attempt to control American spending and free choice. Harder than admitting that the expense of American lives has done little to alter the environment of fanaticism and divine deaths in the middle east.

But this is who we are.

Humanity makes decisions from logic, from heart, and from soul. Logos, pathos, and ethos. They are not the same. When they work in concert, they work quite well. When one emerges over the other, the inbalance can wreak havoc.

Balance in all things. Balance and truth.

Good Things

Many good things are happening right now. I've gone on two "dates" without losing my lunch, and I even liked one of the men at the time. I'm busy at work and apparently doing a job that satisfies those in charge. I'm a bit creatively stunted, but once I get back to writing some more, I think I'll find my stride there, too.

I was rereading a divorce recovery page I found shortly after my ex-husband moved out, and I found a few related links I'd not noticed before. In one of them, the author described her almost 30-year marriage and the steady decline of her then-husband's behavior and treatment of her, culminating in him moving out to spend more time with his girlfriend. She was devastated. She was middle-aged and sure she'd never find happiness or family again (her children had already moved out). A few paragraphs later, outlining her life through the grief, she added that she was actually glad that he left, because her life is so much better now.

She is actually glad he ended it! More than that, she says that the divorce was part of God's plan for her, to give her a way to grow stronger and wiser in preparation for this wonderful life she's now enjoying, complete with a second husband who really does love and value her.

I did feel loved and valued in my marriage, but I wasn't. My feelings didn't matter to my ex-husband; though he professed that they did, he behaved differently, and I was fluent in the writing on the wall. I believed in my head that I mattered, but I knew in my heart that I didn't. When I look back on the marriage now, and even more, when I examine how I expect men to treat me in the present, I am astonished to recognize that I allowed my feelings not to matter in my marriage (but then again, I was already married and trying to make the best of it), and I forget that my feelings are supposed to matter now. That it was wrong before, when ex disregarded them. At the very least he should have listened to me and attempted to achieve some resolution in partnership with me that gave both of us a voice in our allegedly shared life. Instead, he taught me that having feelings is dangerous, because they are merely a way for me to lose bits of my soul as they die for lack of attention. I learned not to have feelings in relationships, not to have needs or expectations or even dreams, because they are alive, and without nurturing, they die, and me along with them. if I have them and the man in my life chooses not to respect him, well, then I have either to put up with that treatment or else jettison the man.

And that's the whole point, isn't it? To find someone who cares about me and my feelings. Jettisoning those who don't is necessary. Important. Logical. Expected. Acceptable.

But in moving forward, I am remembering the forgiveness. I am also going to keep in mind that God needed me to go through what I've undergone, to learn and grow and mature and find some humility, because if I'm open enough to accept it, he has something even better available to me in the future.

It's not only my job, but my destiny, to get beyond the stages of grief to open myself for the stages of joy.

Forgiveness

I haven't forgiven my ex husband.

I like to think I have. I think I've said in my head that I forgive him for his weakness. It's more accurate to say that in my head I forgive him for being a lying and betraying shmuck who got out of my life before he utterly ruined it with his irresponsible behavior and whacked out value structure.

That isn't forgiveness, I don't think. That sounds an awful lot like blame. And I think I have to forgive him. I think I finally see it.

I read the bottom of this article (http://health.msn.com/dietfitness/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100169440), and I realized in all honesty that if I had to say those words of forgiveness to my ex-husband, even in my mind and not to his face, I'd choke on them. I carry my fury like a badge: "I didn't want to get divorced, so let me prove my sincerity by remaining righteously indignant. It's not okay that he up and walked out. It's absolutely unacceptable." After all, doesn't forgiveness mean admitting if tacitly that what he did is all right?

I think that until I'm able to say, and mean, "It's OKAY that this happened, that you did this, and I forgive you," it's not really ever going to be okay. But it's been impossible even to say it, to verbalize it, all these years. Even to say it insincerely. My attempts at forgiveness are, or have been, thinly cloaked accusations to illuminate his failings of character.

But what's the worst that could happen if I said to him in my head, "It's okay, and I forgive you?" Immediately, I think, "He hasn't asked for forgiveness, so he is not remorseful, so he doesn't deserve it." I fold my mental arms and furrow my mental brows, backing up for a tussle. The the more evolved side of my mind would argue that this kind of forgiveness isn't about granting restitution and reparation with him. This forgiveness is about me, about letting go of the anger and its power and control.

It has amazing power over me.

So... can it be "okay" so that I can be okay? Can I still think divorce is wrong, and can I even think that what he did is wrong, but can I grant that forgiveness and let it be okay so that I can move on?

I look at him and say in my mind's eye, and I whisper, "I forgive you for everything painful that's happened to me through you. I grant you complete absolution."

And suddenly... if I think of my anger, I remember the forgiveness.

Try that out for a healthy change of pace.

Baby with a Rattle

A baby with almost no voice,
Whose will's misunderstood to most,
With feelings equally a flush
Of energy and struggling

Does not begin to understand
The gibberish that makes his world.
All the time. Confusion swirls
His little head; it's all a blur.

It makes him scared.

But those around may know him well,
And if they're gentle and are kind
They'll give him love and make him calm.
But they cannot tell him what he needs.

He wants to sleep, he wants to play.
He wants to eat but not eat that.
He wants some peace but not alone.
He wants attention -- not from you.

But.

He has a rattle, small and loud.
It's his wand to rule his sphere.
And when he throws it, he can cry.
And always someone gives it back.

Naturally, he throws again.
He doesn't know what else to do.
Happiness lasts but a glint,
And with a thunk, another howl.

At least with this game he may cry.
Frustration finds an out to vent.
And others notice his control
Can cross from his world into theirs.

He matters, and that much he knows.

And in my mind, my rattle's blue.
I throw it, and sometimes I cry.
While others may not know the game,
Their gentleness can salve my spark.

I want someone to get my needs,
Because like him, I just don't know
What they are; it makes me scared,
Though I am "old enough to know."

I play games like two year olds.