Let me take a moment to set the scene here. It's 5:34 AM, I've spent the last half hour in a semi-hypnogogic state, doing my morning before work routine of medication taking, nasal rinsing, teeth brushing, body washing, and clothing putting on, so that I could leave for work if this blogging thing took too long. So what possessed me to give up an hours sleep in the first place -- and do I really still have to make myself a lunch to take to work.
I hate/love having those big important dreams. So without more ado, let me recount what I can remember of it. I'll come back and explain stuff later.
I found myself in the company of the men's intensive group, standing at some distance from them as they assembled in a circle. I was extremely reluctant to join them, struggling with whether or not I should get into my car and just abandon the entire experience/ordeal. A brother approached me encouraging me to join the circle. It took me a lot of energy to approach the circle, but I keep telling my self that it is for my own good; that I keep complaining about my social isolation; that my last experience with them was very positive; you've come all this way; you must want/need to be here; you must overcome your fear. All the while, I feel this pressure to join them, a litany of voices coming from outside of myself to conform to the group expectation compounding my own inner dialog .
I finally join the circle and my hands are firmly grasped by the men on either side of me. Words are spoken and a ritual battle begins. Collectively we begin wrestling -- all while standing and holding hands -- my awareness shrinks to the just the awareness of the men with whom I am holding hands. We squeeze each others hands and writhe and twist seeking leverage. I suddenly, find myself in a leverage position that causes one of my competitors to cry out in pain. I am flushed with a sudden overpowering rage and I want to hurt him badly. Instead, I release him and we collapse into a writhing heap. A homo-erotic moment of pleasure captures me as a I am on my knees and someone presses their groin against my buttocks. I am filled with revulsion -- a wave of past humiliation sweeps through me -- and I break free of the tangled mass of limbs bent on mutual conquest.
I want nothing more than to hide. Strangely, I shed my clothes and climb a barren tree that rises above the conflict and I am safely hidden.
I don't see any answers in this dream but it thoroughly captures and expresses some of my current issues. I am highly conflicted about whether to go to the men's intensive again.
The men's intensive -- note that this history is a summation of what I think I've heard and may not be fully accurate -- is a group of men that have been meeting semi-annually now for the past six/seven years. The group began as a men's group activity growing out classes given by David Thomson's Sacred Circles Institute. The group self-identifies as a brotherhood of shamanic healers seeking personal growth and to support each other.
I found David, just prior to Gail's breast cancer surgery last year, when I was seeking a lodge to sweat and pray in after moving north from Vancouver, WA to Bellingham, WA. After a couple sweats and participation taking down and relocating the Blackfeet Sundance Lodge for which David is responsible. David invited me to join the men's intensive group. I accepted and attended my first gathering last October.
It turned out that the gathering resulted in a powerful healing for me. I was the one and only newbie at the gathering of about a dozen men. I attended the gathering with low expectations and a lot of amorphous fear, trusting only that I had been praying to walk through my fears and accepting that Creator had put David and this opportunity in my path. I was keeping faith with my current mantra and "Showing UP!"
As I was sharing my responses to the discussion questions, one of the brother's bent over for a while and rose wailing. He turned to me and shared that he was feeling my pain. The ensuing response by the brotherhood was to table further discussions and follow the intuition of the moment. A half hour later I was willingly lead into the woods where my brothers created a protective circle, laid me nearly naked on mother earth and formed a womb from their flesh that gave me a sense of love and security. The screams of agony and torment that arose suddenly from my guts were to say the least, surprising.
As, I sputtered and choked while expelling copious quantities of snot and whatnot from inside me -- to an accompaniment of eagle whistles and drums -- David apprehended, at a great distance, a toe headed boy of only a few years running and leaping in joy towards the circle that surrounded me. As the boy neared, David explained, he slowed and came to stand silently beside one of the men holding the outer circle. David intuited that this was a part of my soul that I had lost. David, gathered the child and returned him to me, as he'd been taught, when I allowed that I was ready to accept the child.
Following this healing it came to me that my addiction to smoking was intimately tied to my father. The next day, I performed a ceremony with my last four cigarettes. I haven't smoked since.
Damn, time to go make that lunch. More later, after I get home from work.
Okay, so I didn't get back to this when I got home. Instead, I finished the "Caucusing" blog that I'd started on Tuesday. It may be hard to get back into the zone that I was in on Wednesday morning when I started this thing. Its late Thursday evening at present.
I am pretty sure that I am not finished dealing with the repercussions of that ceremony in the woods. The dream had three components that I feel/think are especially significant: Rage; Humiliation; Fear. Some might think there is a fourth, the homo-erotic thing, but I accepted that I was bisexual a long time ago and have outed myself on quite a few occasions, including at the men's intensive. Truth be told, age is impacting my libido so it is not anywhere near as important in my life as it had been.
Rage, Humiliation, and Fear, that's a pretty big load of crap to be carrying around. I would like to say more about these, but truthfully, they were feelings. I would only be speculating about their sources in my psyche if I went looking at the moment. I just acknowledge that they are present and powerful. I'd hoped that blogging about them would have moved me to a better understanding of their sources but I recognize that that might be a simplistic and vain hope.
The thing about the men's intensive is that -- to the best of my recollection -- since I was there, I have had very little contact with the members of the group. I saw one of the guys for a half hour or so when Gail and I took a 4 day vacation out on the Olympic Peninsula and three others at a sweat just before the end of 2007. For a brief while following the intensive, David stayed in touch via email and phone; I also got a couple emails relating to some events that some of the guys were involved in, but the frequency has fallen the past couple months. Now, I haven't reached out to them so I can't lay fault with them for not staying in better touch.
It seems that I am just struggling with the notion of going, wondering if the time and money will be well spent. I don't want this to be some cathartic therapeutic event where I go to purge myself of the rage, humiliation, and fears that I've spend a lifetime building. I have great difficulty thinking/feeling/believing that I have anything of substance to offer this group of men and I am doubting that those 4 days has created a bond sufficient to take me back.
I suppose this says it all, "I want nothing more than to hide. Strangely, I shed my clothes and climb a barren tree that rises above the conflict and I am safely hidden."
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Caucusing
I've lived in Washington State, since October of 1995 -- after the divorce was final -- and I've religiously participated in all the elections available to me. It was only this year that I found out that my efforts to participate in the presidential nominating process were in vain. I was more than a bit upset to find out that the Democratic Party of Washington ignores the statewide primary ballot and uses a caucus system to elect its delegates to the national nominating convention. So this year, I had to caucus. Gail, my wife, did not get the opportunity because she had to work -- just another disenfranchised voter -- oh, I found out at the caucus that she could have filled out a form to vote her preference. Too bad that little bit of knowledge was overlooked at the "Obama Caucus Training" we both attended the Saturday before this past Saturday's Caucus.
Now, I know that part of the rationale for the caucus system, is that it is supposed to foster community and participatory democracy. I can see that. Lord knows that I don't know any of my neighbors, other than the young couple who shares the other unit in our duplex. I can't say that I know them at all well. I have said hello to some of the folks living in the units immediately next to ours and the elderly neighbor lady when were were both taking out trash once. I had a brief talk with the neighbor, who just added a building for his wife's quilting hobby/business to his property. Beyond that I don't know a soul in my neighborhood.
So the caucus did bring me into contact with about 80 or so of the people living in our precinct. I suppose then that the caucus did fulfill some community building in that sense and of course we elected delegates to attend the County/Legislative District Nominating Convention, where delegates will be elected to go to the state convention, which in turn elects delegates to the National Convention. It bothers me that the Democratic Party National Leadership have approximately 800 so called super delegates, who are not elected to the national nominating convention. These super delegates are not sent with a mandate from the rank and file to vote for a given candidate.
According to the numbers I'm looking at right now, the National Nominating Convention for the Democratic Party will seat 4,049 delegates. It takes a 50.012349% or 2025 delegate votes to nominate the Democratic presidential candidate. I find it seriously disturbing to know that nearly 20% of the 4049 delegates are not elected to the nominating convention but are members of the party elite and that they are not bound to follow the preferences of the party rank and file. Ladies and Gentlemen, note the odious stench of power politics wafting through the nominating convention.
It seems that it is time to either take back our party or to start another one from scratch. Frankly, I trust the rank and file to share my interests and to safeguard them a lot more than I do a bunch of power brokers, who's agenda is not a matter of public record and I suspect may only nominally be aligned with mine and the rest of the party rank and file. God, I wish I had reason to trust our leadership, but frankly in my half century plus on this earth, very, very few political leaders in this country have demonstrated to my satisfaction that they have the best interest of the people of this country in their hearts and minds.
Ours is supposed to be a government of the people, by the people, for the people, if our political leadership, wants to restore itself to a position of trust and regard, then it must trust the will of the people and stop engaging in political machinations such as super delegates. Furthermore, I need to jump on the bandwagon, calling for the elimination of the Electoral College. This is a vestige of the past which for sooo many reasons needs to be removed from our political system.
Damn, so much to say and so little will to do so. Let me get back to the real meat and potatoes of the caucus experience for me. I went to the caucus, iPod, sketch pad, and colored pencils in hand. I figured that there'd be a lot of waiting and wanted to be prepared to entertain myself. So, I walked into Bellingham High School and was pointed to a corner of the big commons/cafeteria/lobby area that I found myself in, where my precinct was to meet. People were just beginning to gather.
I signed in and entered my initial preference for a candidate. I also immediately asked how I could raise my objections to the caucus system, explaining that my wife was being disenfranchised because she had to work and could not attend the caucus. This is not an issue with an election especially since Washington to the best of my knowledge has adopted a vote by mail election system. As I was fairly early, there were a few chairs available. So I grabbed one pulled out my iPod, sketch pad and pencil, plugged in and tuned out. Slowly, people gathered around me, bits and pieces of various conversation intermittently penetrated my visual and sound protections, prompting me to make an occasional comment to those around me.
I finally accepted that my attempts to isolate myself from the conversations around me were failing and that my attention was being drug, perhaps not with screams, but inevitably into the external world. I put the iPod and other accouterments of my isolation effort away and began conversing with the people around me. I was mostly aware that I was possessed by an undercurrent of anger at our entire political process.
Finally, the PCO (Precinct Committee Officer -- Nancy, a seemingly pleasant and petite women somewhere in my age range) announced that it was time to officially begin the caucus. Being a soft spoken woman, I barely heard her above the sedate conversation that was going on -- a sharp whistle from someone in the crowd finally brought silence and shifted the focus to Nancy.
She stated that we would now give the Pledge of Allegiance, all around me people rose and automatically put their hands to their breasts. My hackles rose and I found myself pissed off. I realized that I am extremely jealous of my liberties -- sufficiently so that this relatively innocuous yet controversial bit of patriotic verbiage -- caused me to bristle, cross my arms, and deliberately sit silent in protest to the group think that was being foisted onto me. I imagine that you are thinking that this is not behavior that is going to foster the perception of me as a team player and a good guy, and you're probably right. I know the thought passed through my head at the time as I debated within myself, whether to bite the bullet and comply with the collective expectation and I just couldn't do it.
I've been complaining about the behavior of the political elite (party leadership) in this country for a long time, and I've come to realize that mindless patriotic platitudes are part of the problem. Both suppress people's thinking process and promote the subjugation of dissent. Opps, I'm digressing again.
So once the Pledge was history, the preliminary preference (vote) count was begun using the preferences given as we signed in. Nancy, bless her, did ask for a show of hand of those new to the caucus. My guesstimate was that somewhere between fourth to a third of the people in our group raised their hands. It seem evident that the way the caucus was being conducted did not conform to a lot of peoples expectations, and Nancy appeared either unaware of or unprepared to address this.
The caucus was conducted pretty much in accordance with what had been presented in the caucus training I'd attended the week before. The announcement of a rule change allowing anyone to participate in the preference past the previously announced 1:30 cut off was discomfiting as it gave the impression that the rules are just too mutable and that the process is subject to manipulation. Nancy per her prerogative as precinct committee officer had already appointed a secretary and tally counters, whom she quickly introduced and then sent off to tally the sign-in sheets and expressed preferences, inviting an observer from any candidate preference to observe the tally process.
The tally done, the tally counter announced the counts and the resultant delegate apportionment. That turned out to be 8 delegates for Obama, 2 for Clinton, and none for the remainder of the candidates. Nancy, now called for supporters of the two candidates to step up and make a brief speech in support of their preference. She called for someone to act as a time keeper then immediately asked for an Obama supporter to speak first, a deathly silence ensued. God knows why but I held up my hand to speak on behalf of Obama and suddenly found myself taking on the role of time keeper as well as speaking for Obama.
As it turned out, I didn't so much as speak for Obama as I spoke against Hilary. As much as I wanted to vote for a woman and establish that the glass ceiling for women was a thing of the past for my daughters, I also wanted to vote for a person of color and end the dominance of white males in the pinnacle of American political power. I was confronted with a dilemma that I hated but at the same time I was provided a simple reason to select one option over the other. Hilary has baggage, too much baggage. I cannot take the risk that the antagonism felt towards Hillary might unite an opposition sufficient to leave the Republicans in the White House for another four years.
Nancy, then spoke eloquently in support of Hillary, noting her experience and a positive global reputation as primary points in Hillary's favor. The remainder of the speakers where all for Obama. An elderly man with some form of palsy, spoke with a shaking voice and hands, stating that he had enough of a Bush dynasty and did not wish to exchange it for a Clinton dynasty. An Afro-American woman, spoke and echoed the dilemma that I'd expressed, but she put forth an argument that was quite persuasive to me and I think many others. Hillary's experience and history in Washington DC have taught her what is not possible, she said, and Obama's lack of the same enables him to believe that any thing is possible. Her remarks were truly exciting and precipitated a rousing round of applause.
Following the speeches in support of the candidates a second preference count done affording anyone an opportunity to change their candidate selection, though Nancy expressed it as an opportunity for those who did not get a vote for their candidate. I found myself, suddenly speaking up, making it clear that the opportunity was open to anyone to change their preference. The subsequent second tally resulted in no change to the delegate apportionment.
The next stage of the caucus was to elect delegates and alternates in a sub-caucus. Nancy, claimed a table and a corner of the area for the we were using for the Clinton sub-caucus. I spoke up, suggesting that we gather together several tables into a circle to provide a focus and ample space for completing ballots for the delegate election. I also asked if there was anyone who wished to chair the sub-caucus for Obama. The next thing I knew was someone behind me said, why don't you do it, you've been doing a good job so far. Several other voices seconded and the group appeared to arrive at a consensus within moments and I suddenly found myself in the position of chairing the sub-caucus.
I was handed a list of rules for the delegate nomination and election process, which I promptly read to the group. I then suggested that we ask for those interested in being delegates to step forward, and immediately expressed that I would be willing, to set an example; with some encouragement we managed to get 7 more people to step forward, further wheedling and what not got 8 more people to step up to be alternates. Once we'd filled the required slots new volunteers disappeared. I called for a vote and the slate of delegates as put together in a brief amount of time was duly nominated and elected.
Oh, one of the delegates suggested that each of the delegates, say something about themselves. My remarks were that my wife, Gail, and I were relatively new residents of Bellingham and that I'd found Bellingham to be both a beautiful and spiritual place. Several people subsequently came up to me and expressed their appreciation for my leadership and one remarked specifically on my comments about Bellingham. Another individual approached me and expressed that the neighborhood association could use people such as me and provided me with contact information for the neighborhood association and himself; unfortunately, we are in a neighborhood adjacent to his.
The real story in all of this, from my perspective, was my behavior. While, I know that I am capable of stepping up, I generally haven't behaved this way in most public venues, though I must admit, that in recent years I have been more out there than I have earlier in my life. I found myself laughing at myself. It was a good kind of laughing.
Who'd of thought, me, a mover and shaker! If that ain't worth a chuckle then I don't know what is.
Now, I know that part of the rationale for the caucus system, is that it is supposed to foster community and participatory democracy. I can see that. Lord knows that I don't know any of my neighbors, other than the young couple who shares the other unit in our duplex. I can't say that I know them at all well. I have said hello to some of the folks living in the units immediately next to ours and the elderly neighbor lady when were were both taking out trash once. I had a brief talk with the neighbor, who just added a building for his wife's quilting hobby/business to his property. Beyond that I don't know a soul in my neighborhood.
So the caucus did bring me into contact with about 80 or so of the people living in our precinct. I suppose then that the caucus did fulfill some community building in that sense and of course we elected delegates to attend the County/Legislative District Nominating Convention, where delegates will be elected to go to the state convention, which in turn elects delegates to the National Convention. It bothers me that the Democratic Party National Leadership have approximately 800 so called super delegates, who are not elected to the national nominating convention. These super delegates are not sent with a mandate from the rank and file to vote for a given candidate.
According to the numbers I'm looking at right now, the National Nominating Convention for the Democratic Party will seat 4,049 delegates. It takes a 50.012349% or 2025 delegate votes to nominate the Democratic presidential candidate. I find it seriously disturbing to know that nearly 20% of the 4049 delegates are not elected to the nominating convention but are members of the party elite and that they are not bound to follow the preferences of the party rank and file. Ladies and Gentlemen, note the odious stench of power politics wafting through the nominating convention.
It seems that it is time to either take back our party or to start another one from scratch. Frankly, I trust the rank and file to share my interests and to safeguard them a lot more than I do a bunch of power brokers, who's agenda is not a matter of public record and I suspect may only nominally be aligned with mine and the rest of the party rank and file. God, I wish I had reason to trust our leadership, but frankly in my half century plus on this earth, very, very few political leaders in this country have demonstrated to my satisfaction that they have the best interest of the people of this country in their hearts and minds.
Ours is supposed to be a government of the people, by the people, for the people, if our political leadership, wants to restore itself to a position of trust and regard, then it must trust the will of the people and stop engaging in political machinations such as super delegates. Furthermore, I need to jump on the bandwagon, calling for the elimination of the Electoral College. This is a vestige of the past which for sooo many reasons needs to be removed from our political system.
Damn, so much to say and so little will to do so. Let me get back to the real meat and potatoes of the caucus experience for me. I went to the caucus, iPod, sketch pad, and colored pencils in hand. I figured that there'd be a lot of waiting and wanted to be prepared to entertain myself. So, I walked into Bellingham High School and was pointed to a corner of the big commons/cafeteria/lobby area that I found myself in, where my precinct was to meet. People were just beginning to gather.
I signed in and entered my initial preference for a candidate. I also immediately asked how I could raise my objections to the caucus system, explaining that my wife was being disenfranchised because she had to work and could not attend the caucus. This is not an issue with an election especially since Washington to the best of my knowledge has adopted a vote by mail election system. As I was fairly early, there were a few chairs available. So I grabbed one pulled out my iPod, sketch pad and pencil, plugged in and tuned out. Slowly, people gathered around me, bits and pieces of various conversation intermittently penetrated my visual and sound protections, prompting me to make an occasional comment to those around me.
I finally accepted that my attempts to isolate myself from the conversations around me were failing and that my attention was being drug, perhaps not with screams, but inevitably into the external world. I put the iPod and other accouterments of my isolation effort away and began conversing with the people around me. I was mostly aware that I was possessed by an undercurrent of anger at our entire political process.
Finally, the PCO (Precinct Committee Officer -- Nancy, a seemingly pleasant and petite women somewhere in my age range) announced that it was time to officially begin the caucus. Being a soft spoken woman, I barely heard her above the sedate conversation that was going on -- a sharp whistle from someone in the crowd finally brought silence and shifted the focus to Nancy.
She stated that we would now give the Pledge of Allegiance, all around me people rose and automatically put their hands to their breasts. My hackles rose and I found myself pissed off. I realized that I am extremely jealous of my liberties -- sufficiently so that this relatively innocuous yet controversial bit of patriotic verbiage -- caused me to bristle, cross my arms, and deliberately sit silent in protest to the group think that was being foisted onto me. I imagine that you are thinking that this is not behavior that is going to foster the perception of me as a team player and a good guy, and you're probably right. I know the thought passed through my head at the time as I debated within myself, whether to bite the bullet and comply with the collective expectation and I just couldn't do it.
I've been complaining about the behavior of the political elite (party leadership) in this country for a long time, and I've come to realize that mindless patriotic platitudes are part of the problem. Both suppress people's thinking process and promote the subjugation of dissent. Opps, I'm digressing again.
So once the Pledge was history, the preliminary preference (vote) count was begun using the preferences given as we signed in. Nancy, bless her, did ask for a show of hand of those new to the caucus. My guesstimate was that somewhere between fourth to a third of the people in our group raised their hands. It seem evident that the way the caucus was being conducted did not conform to a lot of peoples expectations, and Nancy appeared either unaware of or unprepared to address this.
The caucus was conducted pretty much in accordance with what had been presented in the caucus training I'd attended the week before. The announcement of a rule change allowing anyone to participate in the preference past the previously announced 1:30 cut off was discomfiting as it gave the impression that the rules are just too mutable and that the process is subject to manipulation. Nancy per her prerogative as precinct committee officer had already appointed a secretary and tally counters, whom she quickly introduced and then sent off to tally the sign-in sheets and expressed preferences, inviting an observer from any candidate preference to observe the tally process.
The tally done, the tally counter announced the counts and the resultant delegate apportionment. That turned out to be 8 delegates for Obama, 2 for Clinton, and none for the remainder of the candidates. Nancy, now called for supporters of the two candidates to step up and make a brief speech in support of their preference. She called for someone to act as a time keeper then immediately asked for an Obama supporter to speak first, a deathly silence ensued. God knows why but I held up my hand to speak on behalf of Obama and suddenly found myself taking on the role of time keeper as well as speaking for Obama.
As it turned out, I didn't so much as speak for Obama as I spoke against Hilary. As much as I wanted to vote for a woman and establish that the glass ceiling for women was a thing of the past for my daughters, I also wanted to vote for a person of color and end the dominance of white males in the pinnacle of American political power. I was confronted with a dilemma that I hated but at the same time I was provided a simple reason to select one option over the other. Hilary has baggage, too much baggage. I cannot take the risk that the antagonism felt towards Hillary might unite an opposition sufficient to leave the Republicans in the White House for another four years.
Nancy, then spoke eloquently in support of Hillary, noting her experience and a positive global reputation as primary points in Hillary's favor. The remainder of the speakers where all for Obama. An elderly man with some form of palsy, spoke with a shaking voice and hands, stating that he had enough of a Bush dynasty and did not wish to exchange it for a Clinton dynasty. An Afro-American woman, spoke and echoed the dilemma that I'd expressed, but she put forth an argument that was quite persuasive to me and I think many others. Hillary's experience and history in Washington DC have taught her what is not possible, she said, and Obama's lack of the same enables him to believe that any thing is possible. Her remarks were truly exciting and precipitated a rousing round of applause.
Following the speeches in support of the candidates a second preference count done affording anyone an opportunity to change their candidate selection, though Nancy expressed it as an opportunity for those who did not get a vote for their candidate. I found myself, suddenly speaking up, making it clear that the opportunity was open to anyone to change their preference. The subsequent second tally resulted in no change to the delegate apportionment.
The next stage of the caucus was to elect delegates and alternates in a sub-caucus. Nancy, claimed a table and a corner of the area for the we were using for the Clinton sub-caucus. I spoke up, suggesting that we gather together several tables into a circle to provide a focus and ample space for completing ballots for the delegate election. I also asked if there was anyone who wished to chair the sub-caucus for Obama. The next thing I knew was someone behind me said, why don't you do it, you've been doing a good job so far. Several other voices seconded and the group appeared to arrive at a consensus within moments and I suddenly found myself in the position of chairing the sub-caucus.
I was handed a list of rules for the delegate nomination and election process, which I promptly read to the group. I then suggested that we ask for those interested in being delegates to step forward, and immediately expressed that I would be willing, to set an example; with some encouragement we managed to get 7 more people to step forward, further wheedling and what not got 8 more people to step up to be alternates. Once we'd filled the required slots new volunteers disappeared. I called for a vote and the slate of delegates as put together in a brief amount of time was duly nominated and elected.
Oh, one of the delegates suggested that each of the delegates, say something about themselves. My remarks were that my wife, Gail, and I were relatively new residents of Bellingham and that I'd found Bellingham to be both a beautiful and spiritual place. Several people subsequently came up to me and expressed their appreciation for my leadership and one remarked specifically on my comments about Bellingham. Another individual approached me and expressed that the neighborhood association could use people such as me and provided me with contact information for the neighborhood association and himself; unfortunately, we are in a neighborhood adjacent to his.
The real story in all of this, from my perspective, was my behavior. While, I know that I am capable of stepping up, I generally haven't behaved this way in most public venues, though I must admit, that in recent years I have been more out there than I have earlier in my life. I found myself laughing at myself. It was a good kind of laughing.
Who'd of thought, me, a mover and shaker! If that ain't worth a chuckle then I don't know what is.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Death?
I've been thinking recently about death. It occurred to me, that death has become something entirely too remote for most of us Americans. The vast majority of Americans are isolated from it from birth until their own moment of passing is upon them. Yes, friends and family do die during the course of our lives but this is generally an infrequent occurrence which slowly increases in frequency as we age. The truth though is that we are largely removed from dealing with death. For most of us, death is an abstraction marked by a sense of loss and grief.
There are a select few Americans for whom this is not true. Our soldiers, emergency workers, a small segment of our health care industry, and our mortuary workers are such people. Another group of folks, we don't often think about, that belong in this American elite, are the slaughter house workers; oh, and lest we forget, the occasional executioner and murderer. For many people in these segments of our society death is immediate and sensorially perceived. I am not trying to be gratuitously graphic here, but these select few, see, hear, smell and tangibly experience death.
You might be wondering just what got me to thinking about this particular subject. Well now, I was lying there thinking about my spiritual journey. I have yet to undertake a vision quest or participate in a Sun Dance. I find myself shrinking back from piercing and either hanging from the tree or dragging the skulls. I have had the honor to sit in lodge and pray for the past several years. The teachings of the lodge have been powerful for me. The spirituality of these native ways resonates deeply within my soul.
I say that I walk along side the Red Path. This is my way of trying to show deference to those Native Americans, who are angry at whites for taking their lands and attempting to destroy their cultures and spirits. I do not want to participate in any further crimes against our indigenous neighbors. I am not a Native American. I was not raised in their culture and do not have their ancestral connections to this land. Yet their philosophy, their spiritually feels better to me than any other I have known.
Anyway, back to the original thread. I found myself thinking about whether I had the courage to undertake the more arduous ceremonial practices of this way. I found myself doubting that I did. When I asked why, I found myself thinking of my dad.
More specifically, I thought of him, in the context of hardship, privation, and suffering. My dad was hillbilly. A depression era hillbilly to boot. He grew up in the "holler", without indoor plumbing, hunting and fishing -- with any of the fourteen brothers and sisters that survived to do so -- to help put food on the table. My dad was 16 years 8 months and 30 days old on December 7, 1941 -- the day Japan attacked Pearl Harbor instigating the United States entry into World War II.
My dad refused to talk at any length about his time in the Navy during WW II. I haven't corroborated this, but my dad did tell me that he served aboard the USS President Adams (Wikipedia) as an assistant anti-aircraft gunner and as an LCVP driver. I know that my dad participated in the landings at Iwo Jima. He might have participated in the landings at Gaudalcanal and Tulagi as well, though at the time this occurred he would have been not quite 17 and a half years old. Too young? Perhaps, but many a hillbilly joined the military during WW II around that age.
Back to the point, my dad knew a life that was intimate with death, he killed and butchered, countless fish and a lot of animals (squirrel, possum, copperhead, deer, elk, ...) and I suspect domesticated animals as well. He landed marines onto beaches in the heat of battle, and transported the dying away from them.
Throughout a large part of this world, friends and family are directly involved in the preparation of the departed for their final rites. They clean and swaddle their dead loved ones. They slit the throat of a goat, pig, or snap the neck of a chicken. Death is witnessed with an immediacy and presence that is absent for most of us Americans.
I did the fish catching and gutting thing a few times and that was pretty much it as an active death bringer, except for squashing a host of spiders, flies, ants, cockroaches, etc. I touched my dad in his coffin, had some pet rabbits die of dehydration -- while we swam on a scorchingly hot summer day, buried a puppy -- ran over by a car -- when I was 13 or so, gathered up a decapitated red tail hawk and put it in a garbage can, and that's about the extent of my direct contact with those that did not die at my hand. Opps, I suppose I should acknowledge all, the chickens, turkeys, pigs, and cattle that I have imbibed over my life.
Then there are all those out there that participate in terrorist bombings, war, and genocide.
When I try to put all this together in my head, I wonder, if my existence -- so removed from the everyday reality of death -- is well served. How does exposure to death in direct experiential contact inform our weltanschauung?
It occurs to me that the farther we are removed from death, the farther we are removed from life. That it is difficult to truly and fully appreciate life without somehow truly and fully appreciating death. How can we honor and respect life that gives its to sustain ours if we are too far removed from it's life and death?
On the other hand, does familiarity with death breed the kind of contempt for life that permits genocide or wanton and random acts of terrorism?
Death and Life, not a simple coin.
It seems that there is a softness to my life. Is courage, something that manifest only in a world of pain and privation? For it seems, that I am ill informed and yet cower before an abstraction.
There are a select few Americans for whom this is not true. Our soldiers, emergency workers, a small segment of our health care industry, and our mortuary workers are such people. Another group of folks, we don't often think about, that belong in this American elite, are the slaughter house workers; oh, and lest we forget, the occasional executioner and murderer. For many people in these segments of our society death is immediate and sensorially perceived. I am not trying to be gratuitously graphic here, but these select few, see, hear, smell and tangibly experience death.
You might be wondering just what got me to thinking about this particular subject. Well now, I was lying there thinking about my spiritual journey. I have yet to undertake a vision quest or participate in a Sun Dance. I find myself shrinking back from piercing and either hanging from the tree or dragging the skulls. I have had the honor to sit in lodge and pray for the past several years. The teachings of the lodge have been powerful for me. The spirituality of these native ways resonates deeply within my soul.
I say that I walk along side the Red Path. This is my way of trying to show deference to those Native Americans, who are angry at whites for taking their lands and attempting to destroy their cultures and spirits. I do not want to participate in any further crimes against our indigenous neighbors. I am not a Native American. I was not raised in their culture and do not have their ancestral connections to this land. Yet their philosophy, their spiritually feels better to me than any other I have known.
Anyway, back to the original thread. I found myself thinking about whether I had the courage to undertake the more arduous ceremonial practices of this way. I found myself doubting that I did. When I asked why, I found myself thinking of my dad.
More specifically, I thought of him, in the context of hardship, privation, and suffering. My dad was hillbilly. A depression era hillbilly to boot. He grew up in the "holler", without indoor plumbing, hunting and fishing -- with any of the fourteen brothers and sisters that survived to do so -- to help put food on the table. My dad was 16 years 8 months and 30 days old on December 7, 1941 -- the day Japan attacked Pearl Harbor instigating the United States entry into World War II.
My dad refused to talk at any length about his time in the Navy during WW II. I haven't corroborated this, but my dad did tell me that he served aboard the USS President Adams (Wikipedia) as an assistant anti-aircraft gunner and as an LCVP driver. I know that my dad participated in the landings at Iwo Jima. He might have participated in the landings at Gaudalcanal and Tulagi as well, though at the time this occurred he would have been not quite 17 and a half years old. Too young? Perhaps, but many a hillbilly joined the military during WW II around that age.
Back to the point, my dad knew a life that was intimate with death, he killed and butchered, countless fish and a lot of animals (squirrel, possum, copperhead, deer, elk, ...) and I suspect domesticated animals as well. He landed marines onto beaches in the heat of battle, and transported the dying away from them.
Throughout a large part of this world, friends and family are directly involved in the preparation of the departed for their final rites. They clean and swaddle their dead loved ones. They slit the throat of a goat, pig, or snap the neck of a chicken. Death is witnessed with an immediacy and presence that is absent for most of us Americans.
I did the fish catching and gutting thing a few times and that was pretty much it as an active death bringer, except for squashing a host of spiders, flies, ants, cockroaches, etc. I touched my dad in his coffin, had some pet rabbits die of dehydration -- while we swam on a scorchingly hot summer day, buried a puppy -- ran over by a car -- when I was 13 or so, gathered up a decapitated red tail hawk and put it in a garbage can, and that's about the extent of my direct contact with those that did not die at my hand. Opps, I suppose I should acknowledge all, the chickens, turkeys, pigs, and cattle that I have imbibed over my life.
Then there are all those out there that participate in terrorist bombings, war, and genocide.
When I try to put all this together in my head, I wonder, if my existence -- so removed from the everyday reality of death -- is well served. How does exposure to death in direct experiential contact inform our weltanschauung?
It occurs to me that the farther we are removed from death, the farther we are removed from life. That it is difficult to truly and fully appreciate life without somehow truly and fully appreciating death. How can we honor and respect life that gives its to sustain ours if we are too far removed from it's life and death?
On the other hand, does familiarity with death breed the kind of contempt for life that permits genocide or wanton and random acts of terrorism?
Death and Life, not a simple coin.
It seems that there is a softness to my life. Is courage, something that manifest only in a world of pain and privation? For it seems, that I am ill informed and yet cower before an abstraction.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Now this is what makes life worth living!
"Hi Dad,
Somehow your email ended up in my bulk folder, which I rarely check. Anyway, I am very pleased to see your blog. I didn't read all of it, but enough to realize and remember that you are an eloquent man of potent words. As I read, I can hear your deep, thoughtful voice, with that twinge of melancholy, reading the words...with a thoughtful pace, an introspective rhythm that draws the listener in. I'm surprised that you doubt your talent for writing, as you are primarily the parent who fostered my own writing talent by patiently guiding me through school reports and other writing assignments. You have always been a poet, and that is why you live in your gut instead of your head. Our society doesn't privilege the intuitive, the irrational, the feeling, especially in men, so I can see how that has been a challenge for you, as it is for most of the men I love and respect. It can be hard to embrace this way of being after a lifetime of invalidation. What I see in you now is the process of embracing it, I see you BECOMING what you ARE... that is unbelievably beautiful and more inspiring to others than you realize.
I love you papa and I believe in you!
Blessings,
Novadawn"
Have I mentioned yet how proud I am of both my daughters; how it has been an honor and privilege to have been chosen by such wonderful souls to be their father!
'nuf said.
Somehow your email ended up in my bulk folder, which I rarely check. Anyway, I am very pleased to see your blog. I didn't read all of it, but enough to realize and remember that you are an eloquent man of potent words. As I read, I can hear your deep, thoughtful voice, with that twinge of melancholy, reading the words...with a thoughtful pace, an introspective rhythm that draws the listener in. I'm surprised that you doubt your talent for writing, as you are primarily the parent who fostered my own writing talent by patiently guiding me through school reports and other writing assignments. You have always been a poet, and that is why you live in your gut instead of your head. Our society doesn't privilege the intuitive, the irrational, the feeling, especially in men, so I can see how that has been a challenge for you, as it is for most of the men I love and respect. It can be hard to embrace this way of being after a lifetime of invalidation. What I see in you now is the process of embracing it, I see you BECOMING what you ARE... that is unbelievably beautiful and more inspiring to others than you realize.
I love you papa and I believe in you!
Blessings,
Novadawn"
Have I mentioned yet how proud I am of both my daughters; how it has been an honor and privilege to have been chosen by such wonderful souls to be their father!
'nuf said.
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