Tribe Talk 2

Spent some time yesterday browsing antique and thrift shops with J. Could be my imagination but it seems like there's less and less difference between cost of things in MS and cost of things in CA. Maybe the prices are the shop owners' attempts to stay afloat post-Katrina. In any case, I resisted spending my dwindling dollars on high-priced antiques and settled for spending $5 on a couple of new skirts and one sweater at American Thrift.

We stopped in Ocean Springs at a little restaurant/bar called Government Cheese Grocery (or something like that). A comfy spot--i.e., not crowded, no blasting AC, only one TV on low volume; prompt, friendly service--to drink Irish coffee (alcohol is becoming a cheap substitute for prescription pain killer) and talk on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

It might have been the greyness of the day or the marked social isolation I've experienced during "the holidays." In any event, the conversation turned to relationship. I said that nearly all of my social relationships require a high degree of self denial and compromise and she wondered, that being the case, why I long for "tribe." It was a great question.

We discovered that while she finds relationship in and to groups a great challenge, I find relationship to individuals most challenging. In most cases, it's just a matter of time, I said, before I espouse an opinion or turn a phrase or choose an activity or something that causes the other person to burst into flames or otherwise abandon the relationship. And all the compromise and self betrayal/denial comes to naught.

For J, one-to-one interactions are a process of collecting data: enough data is collected eventually to justify choosing to move forward into deeper connection with the person; choosing, in a sense, to care what they think, to care enough to be hurt if the relationship breaks.

Listening to her, I realized my approach was different. For me, with a few wild exceptions, every encounter holds the possibility--if not outright potential--to become a relationship of deep caring. When it doesn't work out, I'm usually shattered.

I told her that I enter every relationship willingly showing more and more of my hand; but looking back on the conversation today, I see that in actuality I am ambivalent with people: simultaneously insecure--hiding parts of myself to avoid their disapproval--and....yes, hopeful--dragging out all my toys to share with someone I "hope" will become a friend, a tribe member.

What a shock! After years of trotting out my standard spiel about "not doing hope," to discover that I DO "do hope" all the time, one to one socially.

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In my tribe

• we are committed to becoming good people and we support each other's work toward that end

• we recognize and believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all beings--so when conflict arises discourse does not disintegrate into personal attack; or does so only momentarily until one or the other party reiterates our mutual belief and recognition of the inherent worth and dignity of all beings

• we each take responsibility for our feelings--so when conflict arises discourse does not disintegrate into "you make me feel so....!!"; or does so only momentarily until one or the other party reiterates our mutual commitment to take responsibility for our own feelings

• we care for each other, celebrating accomplishments and victories and commiserating in times of disappointment or grief

• we are able to apologize and equally capable of accepting apology, i.e., letting "it" go once an apology is tendered

• we start from a place of acceptance and curiosity in our interactions with each other

• we believe that everybody is an expert on something and nobody is an expert on everything

• we strive to never act with an intention to hurt--and admit it and apologize when we fail at this

• honesty, unselfishness and respect are our watchwords and the development of these traits our communal mission

• we sincerely celebrate diversity as unique external ornamentations of the core Oneness that all of Life expresses

• we embrace Ruiz's Four Agreements: Be impeccable with our word. Always do our best. Make no assumptions. Take nothing personally.

• Most of us live in close proximity to each other, perhaps even on the same piece of land
  

And none of this is window dressing; we sincerely, actively, diligently, consistently and consciously embrace these principles in our lives together. Not like the mission statements and creeds that non-profit organizations and churches espouse--where the words exist on paper or in some oath pronounced aloud in unison at each gathering and all but disappear in the real-life, day-to-day interactions of the members. In the Tribe, there are observable indicators present in social interactions all the time.

And there's probably more to add to the list. I'll let you know.

I love this: gaining clarity as a new year begins.

Benazir and Tatiana

The senseless killing continues. NPR continues to keep me up to date on the killing.

I'm not saying I'd rather not know; I'm just making an observation. Pointless killing continues unabated and my primary news source continues to keep me apprised.


It's another one of those "just the way it is" features of life in the 21st century.

I like to think it would be a good thing if other events and items of interest were regularly reported. Updates about the numbers of evacuated people and families returning to the Gulf Coast, for example, would be more useful and more beneficial to my mental health than hearing about a young man's shooting spree in a shopping center in Oklahoma.

Besides killing, though, what else occurs at about equal frequency that would be of interest to large numbers of listeners?


I'm sad and angry about the unnecessary killing of Tatiana, the tiger at the San Francisco Zoo. She was killed for behaving like a tiger--chasing a running mammal and eating it.

Earlier this week, I read a thought-provoking essay in The Sun entitled "Thought to Exist in the Wild: Awakening from the Nightmare of Zoos." (At least for now, you can access the entire piece through the link.) Zoos have seemed a bit strange or wrong to me for awhile--progressively moreso over the years--but this essay by Derrick Jensen really yanked the covers off to make plain at least a part of my discomfort.

Reports I read online today about the incident only serve to illustrate Jensen's points about Western culture's sense of superiority and separateness from "animals". SF Mayor Gavin Newsom's office said, ""Live animal attacks won't be tolerated in San Francisco, and the mayor expects immediate improvements in protocols and facilities so that tragedies such as this never happen again. It's simply unacceptable."

I sent the mayor a digital copy of the Jensen essay but I read tonight that he's involved in a sex scandal so he may not have a chance to read it.

Tatiana
beautiful teacher

Watch this Video

I'm not kidding. It's about half an hour long so maybe you don't have time right now. OK. But seriously, watch this video. And then let's talk.

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You, Henry

I know he has his own blog and I'm borrowing this picture from there

but I can't find a single image I'd rather look at more than this tonight.

(For you newcomers, this is my strong, bright, beautiful grandson holding the hand of his father--who happens to be my strong, bright, beautiful son.)

Soporific

In common parlance, I would be described as a night person: it is rare I am in bed before midnight and it is never easy to roll out of bed before 8 a.m. Practically every piece of music or writing of merit I've ever produced was begun between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m. Dinner at 8 suits me fine.

As a child, few things pissed me off more than being awakened on Saturday morning. My mother and sister were day people and Saturday was their Holy Day of Cleaning. I had no problem sleeping through the hustle and bustle of their rising; but their grand schemes always included a noisy, exuberant insistence that I get up and join them in a whirlwind of industriousness. Sleeping in was not an option. Only the lowest of the low, "triflin'" low-lifes, weren't out of bed and engaged in some meaningful, productive activity as early as possible. The Purple Heart was awarded to the one whose list of accomplishments was longest by 11 a.m.: "Why, I've already washed two loads of clothes, vacuumed the living room, mopped the bathroom and kitchen, defrosted the freezer and put on the greens for Sunday..."

I didn't aspire to a Purple Heart. I just wanted to sleep.

In the past few years, my body just won't sleep in like it used to. Some nights I'm up and down three or four times--thirsty, too hot, needing to pee, dreaming too wildly. The new development of degenerating disks further erodes my sleep in loss of quality as certain positions are now painful or uncomfortable. I long to sleep deeply for vast stretches of time. And have dreams.

When I first came to New Orleans and volunteered with the Common Ground Collective, I slept in a tiny, cluttered room in the founder's home that held two twin beds and a queen-size mattress on a makeshift platform. The beds were only inches apart. I was assigned the nicer of the twin beds, right next to the window. The other bed, essentially a thin mattress on a cot, belonged to a long-term volunteer, a male member of the Collective's inner circle. The large mattress was unassigned. Visitors or newcomers slept there usually.

I think I slept pretty good but sleeping in was not an option during the month that I lived there. The room shared a wall with the kitchen which also served as a meeting room or lounge frequently. A TV and boom box were in the kitchen. Shortly before sunrise the resident rooster would begin reveille and soon after the strains of reggae music and the sounds and aromas of breakfast prep (for 10 to 20 people) would join him to demand my return to the waking world.

Even without these stimuli, my conscience wouldn't let me sleep in. There was a city to rebuild. Get up!

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My natural sleep cycle--that is, the schedule I keep without external interference--is to go to bed close to dawn and sleep until noon. (Now and then, whether on this cycle or the cycle of the dominant sleep culture, I am awake for 24 hours or longer.) This is the schedule that my system is always leaning toward, that I must guard against if I am to maintain my current social placement and context.

As "the holidays" have arrived and disrupted all routines, my vigilance has relaxed and I have reverted to form: I've been up until 5 or 6 and sleeping until noon for the last three days. I'll have to make an abrupt turnabout in the next 24 hrs: I've promised to meet a friend's plane in Memphis at 11 a.m. on Christmas Day. I need to leave Gulfport by 5 to get there on time...

I think I'll be drinking wine instead of coffee when I get up.

Tribe Talk

I'm recycling a small-group email I sent back in April. When I use the word "tribe" --as in, "searching for my tribe"--this is some of what I'm talking about.

------------------------------------

From: Alex Mercedes
To: (bcc)
Subj: Why am I sending this to you?
Date: Mon, Apr 9, 2007 at 11:39 PM


Because the passage spoke to me
and I wonder if it speaks to you

this is not an exam
but it is a kind of test I guess
or I'm fishing or showing my hand

there's more than one kind of loneliness

Here's my dream:
I have two...or maybe even three....friends who live in my town
we might find ourselves doing anything, talking about anything
doing nothing
talking about nothing
doesn't matter

we know that when we're together
and we're real

it's God

I am sharing this Cohen quote with you, all of you,
because I don't remember us ever talking about this
not outright
but
except for the fact that we don't live in the same town
I'm either wishing or believing that you're one of the friends in [my]dream.

Glad you're on the planet and in my life.

Love

Alex


When God Listens

When people come together and get real, which means go beyond ego, a powerful presence instantaneously enters into the room. Lack of pretense equals presence. And what is that presence? It is the Authentic Self, the creative principle, the god-impulse. When people get real, God starts listening! But when there is pretense, the creative impulse doesn't listen, doesn't pay attention. It is only when human beings stop pretending and begin to authentically engage with the life process that God realizes there are some sentient life forms that are available—available for his or her creative purpose, available to be conscious vehicles for the emergence of the future.

Andrew Cohen

Ask Me No Questions

Mine is an inquiring mind. The desire to know is often secondary to a desire to inquire.

R_____ and I had not seen each other for a couple of years when he arrived in Gulfport last week. We'd kept in touch by frequent telephone and written correspondence.

We met in the San Francisco area and, while I lived there, were 'friends who had sex". (This is, admittedly, a coarse or clinical way to speak of a friendship--and I apologize to R_____ if it hurts to read this. I don't mean to imply a judgment. I mean to identify an interpersonal frame for our interactions.) When I left CA and hit the road in 2004, I was unhappy with R_____ and our relationship. My complaint was a lack of intimacy between us. I felt that after all we'd shared and explored physically and after all the time spent together, there should be more intimacy between us.

We were nice to each other, we had fun, we enjoyed each other. But it was not enough for me. I wanted to be seen and known by him. Recognized in some primal, elemental way.



My complaint was valid. And impossible.

My departure interrupted the possibility of exploring the validity together. Instead, we reached an unspoken agreement on the impossibility of my complaint and began a cordial, often deeply satisfying long-distance interaction in which we did not discuss "it". The mutual silence on my "issue" was comfortable and, ironically, we did grow closer...in some way. I felt closer. We eventually even allowed ourselves to say "love."

It was not long after R___________ arrived in Gulfport thatI noticed a recurring conversational format between us. He asked questions rather than make statements. I love questions. Good questions. Questions that open up the space between and around and within people. R____'s questions didn't feel spacious to me; they felt protective or deflective. I kept feeling his questions were posed to spare him the risky work of showing himself to me. The questions kept me in the self-disclosing spotlight and him in the cloaked comfort of the voyeur.


Ignoring my awareness that the new annoyance was actually a renewed expression of my old, impossible complaint, I talked "at" and "to" R_____ about it. Not a particularly productive approach.

For the first 12 hours after he left, I missed him. The apartment felt strange, like a wall was missing. I was anxious and unfocused. I asked myself why...

By the next day, I began to accept the paradoxical nature of our relationship: that I cherish him and that he confounds me; that I enjoy his company and am frustrated by his company; that he lives in my heart and is a stranger to me. That we are intimates and we are not of the same tribe.

On this third day, as the holiday weekend begins and people far and near gather in families of birth and choice, I consider again the meaning of "tribe" in my personal lexicon. A reader here recently invited me to expand my discussion of "tribe" and I have been thinking about it on and off in the intervening weeks.

I'm looking for a good image to open my discussion. Coming soon....

Three Beans

Somewhere between midnight and daybreak I woke up with a start, frantic to remember whether "thanksgiving" had already passed. A dream had excited tremendous eagerness to celebrate "thanksgiving." I didn't come fully awake; just realized (or remembered) that "thanksgiving" is always ahead of me and went back to sleep.



A few hours later I woke again: my air mattress was deflating. I'd already filled the bathtub with water (to try to find the leak) when I remembered having absentmindedly parked a sewing needle in the mattress last night while doing some mending. I crack myself up sometimes.


I found a quote. If you substitute "hope" for "happiness" it's a pretty accurate statement of my opinion of hope.

I am not at all interested in the pursuit of happiness. I am interested in pursuing truth, and the truth often seems to be not happiness but its opposite.
--Jamaica Kincaid

The God Sized Hole

After the Purge the other night, it felt like a good time to cut my hair. So I did. And threw away some clothes and took down the postcards from over my desk. And painted my toenails.

It wasn't enough.

I cleaned out the refrigerator (finally) and moved the lawn furniture to a new location and washed both sets of curtains (finally).

I also (finally) got the windshield on my car repaired (an errant pecan shattered it a couple of weeks ago) and disposed of the body washes and gels accumulating in my shower rack...(I know people mean well but if you've never heard me play piano, you probably don't know me well enough to make a gift of body wash.)

That old windshield was dirtier than I realized. It has shaken me to my roots driving around with enhanced visibility for four days. And there's more space in the shower stall now...something kinda inspiring about the minimalism--just me, water, soap and shampoo.

Still, I wanted more. Of something.

I've been quitting smoking for about 10 years and had considered setting my next SmokeStop for the Great American Smokeout (the Thursday before Thanksgiving) this year but the date snuck up on me. "Maybe 1st of December...." I thought. As best I could estimate, my stash of tobacco -- both loose-leaf and factory-rolled--would be running out around the end of November.

In the midst of all this, "Requiem for a Dream" arrived in my mailbox. In the Commentary, the director talks about "the hole"....ah, I hadn't thought about "the hole" for awhile.

Facing The God Sized Hole was the working metaphor for my last SmokeStop but it's been awhile since I thought about it closely. Aronofsky's comments led me to thoughts about the recent round of reflections and feelings triggered in me by new hard work with my adult son and as I learn to cope with the onset of chronic neck pain.

I hadn't thought of it yet, but, in fact, November was An Encounter (again) with the God Sized Hole. Alone in the dark on the edge of the chasm, I am surprised: How have I avoided returning to this place for so long? I look down to see I am standing in footprints I made during my last visit...There's something like comfort in that.

Well, then. As long as I am Here again...and I've run out of tobacco "coincidentally"...and I'm still itching for somethin'... Let's take on nicotine addiction.

I've been sleeping in the guest room for at least a month now. The air mattress is easier on my neck. Last night I rearranged the guest room and slept with the window open.

This morning I moved the office furniture from the downstairs living room to the upstairs front bedroom. It was a workout.

Now my living room looks like a meditation room or dance studio. The front upstairs bedroom looks ready for all kinds of desk and computer work--or sleeping, if you're a guest. The back bedroom is ready for sleeping and reading and watching DVDs and coloring with markers and other kinds of play.

My sleep is unsettled and I'm already beginning to cough. I'm mentally disoriented and emotionally fragile. My mouth tastes funny and intestinal tract is trembling.

Day Two at the Hole.

Charge of the Life Brigade

Today feels like the beginning of the second half of my life.

2 films that have recently made strong impressions on me:

Me and You and Everyone We Know and Requiem for a Dream
















Neither film is for "the squeamish"
Both tell stories that are simultaneously super-realistic and incredible

Both remind how fragile...unpredictable...horrible...complicated...and beautiful Life is.

Both make me want to live without compromise starting immediately.

Can you tell?