FRIENDS WHO GO DARK --- THE OAK AND THE ASPEN TREE:
This has been on my mind a bit lately, maybe because it's the shank of sailing season up north. Years ago, when I crewed regularly on two boats every week (and irregularly on others from time to time) I had a friend who was what we'd call in the Sailing Fraternity a "Stalwart Shipmate" (yes, we liked to sound like we were rounding the Horn while we were piddling across Long Island Sound and invading New England on beer runs), and he was a good friend on dry land as well.
After I left the great North Shore and moved to the Spanish Main (that being Miami), he and I kept in touch regularly, and when I traveled back to New York I always managed to visit with him.
And then, one time, I called him (from Florida); he didn't pick up, and never returned the call. Thinking that "Everybody has lives" I didn't think anything of it, and from time to time tried again. No response. Finally, after a few attempts over the course of time, I left a very precise message:
"I don't know why you don't return my calls. I have to assume it is by choice. If I have done anything to offend you I am not aware of it. Please call me so we can clear the air. If I don't hear from you after this, so be it. This will be my last call. But I hope I do hear from you."
Nothing.
Most of my friends are people I've known for many years (Sandra Daum Berger were talking the other day about how we've known each other for about 40 years, and I've known Karen Wagner Peters for over 50). Literally lifelong. And during those decades there have been times when we haven't kept in regular touch, but we also never lost touch or lost track of each other. There have been people who have come and gone, but I consider myself very fortunate to know people who have stood the test of time, and more than a few. And there are people who are more recent, but whom I believe will be around for a long time, like Claudia Banta and Bud Jiho and Debra Myoan Annane, my sangha family, and others.
I'm troubled by the fact that some of these people have chosen to "go dark" recently. We all have lives and issues, and as we're growing a bit older some of those issues are becoming more serious --- our own health concerns, concerns (as I understand) about aging parents, issues with grown children who may be in need in this "wonderful" economy, issues with spouses.
We are at a time of life when mutual support has become utterly crucial, and far too many of us are not getting that support.
I know far too many men who have NO FRIENDS except their wives; they are completely isolated, utterly within themselves, and their only socialization outside of home consists of beer-drinking and watching the Giants trounce the Pats on Sunday afternoon. But they can't confide in their beer buddies. It wouldn't be "manly." Whatever that means. And unless a man is fortunate enough to organically develop a "bromance" (in which all the world becomes a buddy movie) he can't turn his Sunday crew into an encounter group. I recently came across one guy who was desperate to be "wanted" by his wife; he went so far as to break down tearfully in front of her, to which she responded by telling him how much he did for her, how much he was valued --- in short, how much he was "needed." That's a very different thing, and he felt worse than before. The poor bastard.
Men are made to suffer in silence because our vulnerability equals our own destruction. I have been around just long enough to have learned that that is utterly wrong, but there are men out there who will disagree with me until the day they die. The poor bastards.
Such men are the types who engage in adolescent dick-measuring contests when they are no longer adolescents, the types who call "dibs" on women they see at a distance (this goes on even among adult males, sadly), the ones who tell the bad jokes we laugh at in some embarrassment --- "Hey, what's that useless piece of flesh around the vagina? It's called a woman!" --- the types who turn every interaction with another male into a contest, as I experienced a while back: "Thanks, dude! You just fucked up any chance I had of getting laid!" It was disrespectful on several levels and I didn't like it, not one bit, so I responded, "Oh, well. You could always go fuck yourself." He wasn't worth any more than that. But he was just stupid, and I'd seen it happen before, so I still felt a little sorry for him. The poor bastard.
And I say poor bastards because they just don't know any better. Hopefully, they will learn as I did and they will know better, but I'll vouch for the fact that that learning curve is paved with broken glass. That curve leaves wounds, but not of the obvious kind.
Many men, too many, are too conditioned to macho-ing it out, to taking the beating, to valuing their wounds and scars not for the experience they represent but for the appearance they create.
In 19th Century Germany, swordcraft was still an art, and it was commonplace for young men to allow themselves to be cut about the face as proof of their masculinity. Of course, the idea that only a less-adroit swordsman would allow an enemy within their defenses to be wounded held no currency. The reality is that the most skilled swordsman is the one with the least scars.
And even I've seen fights where men literally kept getting themselves hurt to prove how much they could stand. Until they literally couldn't stand any more. And fell down. But they were proud of themselves. Even lying in their own blood they laughed.
There's a misapprehension about evolution, that somehow only the strongest survive, which is taken to mean the largest, most muscular, toughest, most stoic, and the most inflexible, standing against all challenges like a stone wall (to reference an old Civil War moment), but Zen says that in a windstorm the aspen tree is more fortunate than the oak. We need to teach ourselves to be aspen trees. Too many of our oaks die too young. I must have about a dozen people now on my Facebook Friends List who are simply "Remembered." A grove of oaks which I honor with my own peculiar druidry.
We are living through a strange and, dare I say, evil period in our cultural history. This may surprise many of you --- I was never very political. I also was a Republican for 25 years and considered myself moderately conservative, by which I meant "live and let live." I never gave a damn about who married who, or whether you chose to terminate your pregnancy --- that wasn't my business --- and I believed --- and still believe --- that Civil Rights are universal and not based on classes, protected or otherwise. Everybody gets to vote in my universe, everybody gets to access the social safety net, and you even get to keep your goddamn guns if you behave responsibly with them.
Politically, the most I would say is that I was a Progressive (they used to be Republicans) and a Bull Moose, after my favorite President, Col. Roosevelt.
My cousin Keith was the real politician in our family, and we would debate --- not argue, debate --- the issues of the day. As the GOP drifted into Jesusland and then into Naziland I realized that it had no place for me. Now I'm fighting fascists in my own country. I'm sorry if some of my Trump-supporting friends and relatives took umbrage at my outrage and cut off contact, but I am fighting in my own way for a better America where we are all created equal. "With malice toward none, and charity for all," to quote my second favorite President, also a Republican.
As usual I've digressed, but it's all to a point. I have friends who have "gone dark" on me, long-term friends, and even a few relatives. It troubles me. Life is too damned short for long silences. If the reason is political, I call bullshit on it. Long after the worms have eaten Trump's eyeballs and other balls we will still be kith and kin, so knock it the fuck off. Am I really worth so little to you? Because you are worth much more than Trump to me.
I've tried contacting several of these people. I know they get the messages. They don't respond. I don't know why. Sickness? Divorce? I don't have a clue.Like my "stalwart shipmate" of years passed by, they choose to remain silent. I'll respect that decision, but I don't like it a bit. Listen, you idiots, I love you. If you are having troubles I am here for you. If I can help, I will. That's the message.
I can't make anybody pay attention, but damn it all, it's about time we all started paying attention to one another again. Life would suddenly become infinitely better if we did. We ought to try it.
Be an aspen tree. There's plenty of time yet to be an oak.
This has been on my mind a bit lately, maybe because it's the shank of sailing season up north. Years ago, when I crewed regularly on two boats every week (and irregularly on others from time to time) I had a friend who was what we'd call in the Sailing Fraternity a "Stalwart Shipmate" (yes, we liked to sound like we were rounding the Horn while we were piddling across Long Island Sound and invading New England on beer runs), and he was a good friend on dry land as well.
After I left the great North Shore and moved to the Spanish Main (that being Miami), he and I kept in touch regularly, and when I traveled back to New York I always managed to visit with him.
And then, one time, I called him (from Florida); he didn't pick up, and never returned the call. Thinking that "Everybody has lives" I didn't think anything of it, and from time to time tried again. No response. Finally, after a few attempts over the course of time, I left a very precise message:
"I don't know why you don't return my calls. I have to assume it is by choice. If I have done anything to offend you I am not aware of it. Please call me so we can clear the air. If I don't hear from you after this, so be it. This will be my last call. But I hope I do hear from you."
Nothing.
Most of my friends are people I've known for many years (Sandra Daum Berger were talking the other day about how we've known each other for about 40 years, and I've known Karen Wagner Peters for over 50). Literally lifelong. And during those decades there have been times when we haven't kept in regular touch, but we also never lost touch or lost track of each other. There have been people who have come and gone, but I consider myself very fortunate to know people who have stood the test of time, and more than a few. And there are people who are more recent, but whom I believe will be around for a long time, like Claudia Banta and Bud Jiho and Debra Myoan Annane, my sangha family, and others.
I'm troubled by the fact that some of these people have chosen to "go dark" recently. We all have lives and issues, and as we're growing a bit older some of those issues are becoming more serious --- our own health concerns, concerns (as I understand) about aging parents, issues with grown children who may be in need in this "wonderful" economy, issues with spouses.
We are at a time of life when mutual support has become utterly crucial, and far too many of us are not getting that support.
I know far too many men who have NO FRIENDS except their wives; they are completely isolated, utterly within themselves, and their only socialization outside of home consists of beer-drinking and watching the Giants trounce the Pats on Sunday afternoon. But they can't confide in their beer buddies. It wouldn't be "manly." Whatever that means. And unless a man is fortunate enough to organically develop a "bromance" (in which all the world becomes a buddy movie) he can't turn his Sunday crew into an encounter group. I recently came across one guy who was desperate to be "wanted" by his wife; he went so far as to break down tearfully in front of her, to which she responded by telling him how much he did for her, how much he was valued --- in short, how much he was "needed." That's a very different thing, and he felt worse than before. The poor bastard.
Men are made to suffer in silence because our vulnerability equals our own destruction. I have been around just long enough to have learned that that is utterly wrong, but there are men out there who will disagree with me until the day they die. The poor bastards.
Such men are the types who engage in adolescent dick-measuring contests when they are no longer adolescents, the types who call "dibs" on women they see at a distance (this goes on even among adult males, sadly), the ones who tell the bad jokes we laugh at in some embarrassment --- "Hey, what's that useless piece of flesh around the vagina? It's called a woman!" --- the types who turn every interaction with another male into a contest, as I experienced a while back: "Thanks, dude! You just fucked up any chance I had of getting laid!" It was disrespectful on several levels and I didn't like it, not one bit, so I responded, "Oh, well. You could always go fuck yourself." He wasn't worth any more than that. But he was just stupid, and I'd seen it happen before, so I still felt a little sorry for him. The poor bastard.
And I say poor bastards because they just don't know any better. Hopefully, they will learn as I did and they will know better, but I'll vouch for the fact that that learning curve is paved with broken glass. That curve leaves wounds, but not of the obvious kind.
Many men, too many, are too conditioned to macho-ing it out, to taking the beating, to valuing their wounds and scars not for the experience they represent but for the appearance they create.
In 19th Century Germany, swordcraft was still an art, and it was commonplace for young men to allow themselves to be cut about the face as proof of their masculinity. Of course, the idea that only a less-adroit swordsman would allow an enemy within their defenses to be wounded held no currency. The reality is that the most skilled swordsman is the one with the least scars.
And even I've seen fights where men literally kept getting themselves hurt to prove how much they could stand. Until they literally couldn't stand any more. And fell down. But they were proud of themselves. Even lying in their own blood they laughed.
There's a misapprehension about evolution, that somehow only the strongest survive, which is taken to mean the largest, most muscular, toughest, most stoic, and the most inflexible, standing against all challenges like a stone wall (to reference an old Civil War moment), but Zen says that in a windstorm the aspen tree is more fortunate than the oak. We need to teach ourselves to be aspen trees. Too many of our oaks die too young. I must have about a dozen people now on my Facebook Friends List who are simply "Remembered." A grove of oaks which I honor with my own peculiar druidry.
We are living through a strange and, dare I say, evil period in our cultural history. This may surprise many of you --- I was never very political. I also was a Republican for 25 years and considered myself moderately conservative, by which I meant "live and let live." I never gave a damn about who married who, or whether you chose to terminate your pregnancy --- that wasn't my business --- and I believed --- and still believe --- that Civil Rights are universal and not based on classes, protected or otherwise. Everybody gets to vote in my universe, everybody gets to access the social safety net, and you even get to keep your goddamn guns if you behave responsibly with them.
Politically, the most I would say is that I was a Progressive (they used to be Republicans) and a Bull Moose, after my favorite President, Col. Roosevelt.
My cousin Keith was the real politician in our family, and we would debate --- not argue, debate --- the issues of the day. As the GOP drifted into Jesusland and then into Naziland I realized that it had no place for me. Now I'm fighting fascists in my own country. I'm sorry if some of my Trump-supporting friends and relatives took umbrage at my outrage and cut off contact, but I am fighting in my own way for a better America where we are all created equal. "With malice toward none, and charity for all," to quote my second favorite President, also a Republican.
As usual I've digressed, but it's all to a point. I have friends who have "gone dark" on me, long-term friends, and even a few relatives. It troubles me. Life is too damned short for long silences. If the reason is political, I call bullshit on it. Long after the worms have eaten Trump's eyeballs and other balls we will still be kith and kin, so knock it the fuck off. Am I really worth so little to you? Because you are worth much more than Trump to me.
I've tried contacting several of these people. I know they get the messages. They don't respond. I don't know why. Sickness? Divorce? I don't have a clue.Like my "stalwart shipmate" of years passed by, they choose to remain silent. I'll respect that decision, but I don't like it a bit. Listen, you idiots, I love you. If you are having troubles I am here for you. If I can help, I will. That's the message.
I can't make anybody pay attention, but damn it all, it's about time we all started paying attention to one another again. Life would suddenly become infinitely better if we did. We ought to try it.
Be an aspen tree. There's plenty of time yet to be an oak.
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