Walking home from my appointment at dusk. Walking down my street, in my neighborhood, on my block. Group of kids in front of me, walking slowly, taking up the sidewalk. I walk around them, between the parking meters and the parked cars. Passing the tiny girl up front, she yells at me, "You best say 'escuse me!' I got kids here! An' you don't say 'escuse me??'" I hadn't bumped into her. Hadn't touched her at all. Her kids, a boy and girl about five or six years old, were on the other side of her from me; I was nowhere near them. She hadn't had to so much as move an inch to avoid me at all. I had simply walked around her. And now she's angrily demanding an apology from me, as if I had done something inexcusably rude. Never in my life has anyone ever said "excuse me" for simply walking past me. For bumping into me, or getting in my way, certainly. But not for simply walking by. Nor has anyone in my entire life ever expected me to excuse myself or apologize simply for walking around them. She's deliberately provoking me. And I don't understand why. I haven't done anything wrong. But I'm suddenly very aware that each of these kids is black, and I am white. And this confrontation we're having is our neighborhood, to the core. This is our home.I've lived in my neighborhood for over fifteen years now. This girl staring me down with angry eyes looks to only be about twenty, give or take five years. It's possible that I was living here before she was even born. I went to school in this neighborhood when I was a child. I feel like this is as much my home as hers. But she has no way of knowing this. This has been a traditionally black neighborhood for over a hundred and fifty years. Back then, it was the Freemen's quarter; the first people to settle on this particular piece of ground were freed slaves. This has been a black neighborhood from the very first brick. But a few years ago, it started to get very, very gentrified. Rich, white developers came in and swooped up cheap properties, fixed them up with marble counter-tops and hardwood floors and halogen track lights. Sold them to rich, white hipsters who wanted to live close to the burgeoning downtown bar scene. Back then, I was the only white person living in my apartment complex. Developers bought it and turned it into a condo. We all got letters saying we needed to buy our apartments or find someplace else to live. I bought mine. Everyone else left. And since then the neighborhood has been this uneasy mix of poor black living side-by-side with rich white. And I've seen it. Seen exactly this happening before. But this is the first time I've experienced it myself. She doesn't know me anymore than I know her. We're both making assumptions about each other. She has no way of knowing that I went to school around the corner, or that I've lived on this block my entire adult life. All she sees is another doughy white, nerdy-looking hipster who had the fucking nerve to walk too close to her without showing her proper respect.Things escalate very quickly. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude. I just walked around you." "You best watch who you talkin' to 'for I smack yo' fat ass!" There's no good way to respond here. What am I supposed to do? Fight these kids? Let them beat me up? Why? So they can feel better about themselves? So I can feel better about feeling better than them? And there's clearly no reasoning with someone who, within a matter of seconds, is willing to resort to threats of physical violence with someone twice her size for something as minor as stepping around them. Talking about it any further is clearly pointless. There's no reasoning with a bully. I learned that lesson the hard way, long ago. No choice but to simply end this as quickly and quietly as possible. I turn and walk away. To more taunts and threats thrown at my back. Victory cheers for having driven out the interloper, the outsider. For having proved her strength and dominance to the rest of the tribe. For having earned back the respect I somehow stripped her of by walking past her. I'm instantly ten years old again. On the playground again. Having my dignity stolen by a pack of fifth grade delinquents again. Being called "fat ass" again. Feeling like an outcast again. Feeling scared again. For the first time in fifteen years, I feel scared in my own neighborhood. For the first time ever, I feel like this isn't my home, and never will be. I will never be welcome here. I let them make me feel like an outsider in my own neighborhood. I let these kids make me feel scared in my own home. I don't feel like I had any choice. And there's some part of me that feels I deserve it.
Showing posts with label power. Show all posts
Showing posts with label power. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Neighbors...
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Eleven Years...
Eleven years ago today, we were packing to leave the beach.
Princess and I, and two of our friends, had just spent a lovely post-Labor Day week at my grandfather's beach cottage in Delaware, and our vacation was over, and we spent the morning packing up to return to our "normal" lives. (I didn't know it at the time, but that was the last time I would ever set foot in that cottage on the beach, where I had spent part of every summer of my entire life up to that point.) When we were finally ready to leave, and packing up the car, I turned my cell phone back on for the first time since I'd arrived a week earlier. About a minute later, I found I had a dozen voicemails from my father, all from that morning. I decided to see what all the fuss was about, and heard recording after recording of my father telling me that the United States was under attack, to turn on the TV, and whatever I do, not to come home.
We hadn't turned on the TV once the entire week. When we finally turned it on that morning, we were all horrified, and dumbstruck. And as we stood there, watching the towers burning, I remember thinking to myself, with odd clarity, That son-of-a-bitch is going to use this as an excuse to invade Iraq. My hand to gods, that exact thought crossed my mind, followed immediately by, No - no way - that's ridiculous - even he wouldn't do something that horrible.
We decided to stay another day, because no one was quite sure what was going on at that point, and it just felt a lot safer out there in that sleepy town on the seashore, then back home, next-door to D.C. That was one of the most surreal days of my life. We were glued to the TV all day, watching what looked like Hell Come To The U.S. But where we were, it was a beautiful, just absolutely gorgeous late-Summer day. It could not have been more peaceful, or serene. It produced a strange sort of cognitive dissonance that permeated the entire day for all of us. Nothing we did felt right - if it fit with the scene around us, it didn't fit with the way we felt about what we knew was going on at home; and if it fit with how we felt about the attacks, then it seemed really out-of-place with where we were at the time and what we were experiencing just then.
Not knowing what else to do, we partied that night like it was the end of the world. We did shots and got wasted and played Truth-or-Dare until we were all drunk and naked. (Trust me, it was a lot more fun at the time than it sounds now.)
And the next day, we went back home to a world that had completely changed, in ways we would have a hard time understanding or coming to terms with for many years. I still haven't completely come to terms with a lot of it.
Addendum: I didn't want to make my post today about this, because I didn't want to be perceived as disrespectful. But I feel like I have to say it, for several reasons. It's just been on my mind a lot lately, and I don't want to bottle it up and pretend it isn't there. And yes, some people might perceive it as disrespectful, but I don't agree with that opinion, and if I start basing my decisions about what to say or believe off of what other people might think about it, then I'm lost. In my opinion, today is the most appropriate time to address it; the only appropriate time to address it, really. It would seem oddly out of place on any other day, and waiting until next year will not have changed anything one way or the other, and by then I might have forgotten it, and lost the opportunity to express these feelings for good.
Let me preface this further by saying, I am not a conspiracy theorist. I do believe that conspiracies can and do occur, but I am also a skeptic by nature, and 99% of the conspiracy theories I hear are clearly, demonstrably, ridiculous. However, that said, there is something about the official story of what happened that day that has just never sat right with me. I know a lot of people are going to consider me an ignorant, monstrous anti-patriot for saying this, but that doesn't change the way it appears to me.
I have never believed the story of United 93.
I am truly, truly sorry if that bothers you in any way. I don't want to upset anyone, and that certainly has nothing to do with why I'm writing this here. But it also doesn't do anything to change my perception of the situation, either.
It just always struck me as too neat, too tidy, too... American. It's like something out of a storybook, or a fairytale. Or a Hollywood movie. It's just too perfect to be real. The fact that they just happened to be lucky enough to crash in an uninhabited area. The fact that the one plane that didn't hit its target just happened to be the last one, and just happened to be the one headed for the White House. The fact that on that day, of all days, for this story that is fairly dripping with patriotism and Americans-Are-The-Greatest glory to come out, from the government, has just been a little hard for me to swallow. From the first time I heard it, it has felt exactly like the "your dog went to live on a farm upstate" story a father would tell to his child.
I tend to follow the "Occam's Razor" style-guide when it comes to conspiracy theories: the simplest explanation is the most likely. That's one of the many reasons why I've never believed that 9/11 was an "inside job" (even though it would've felt so good to blame Cheney and Rumsfeld for it); the idea that the federal government could organize a conspiracy on that massive a scale is simply ludicrous, and laughably so.
But the idea that they might shoot down a passenger plane that they believed was on a suicide mission to crash into the White House, especially after three other planes had already hit their targets, and without knowing how many more there might be? And that if they did, in fact, shoot down that plane, that they might, on such a tragic day, tell us an up-lifting story of everyday American heroism, rather than the truth - that the United States government had been forced to kill some of its own citizens, in order to prevent the murder of far more? Those really just don't seem that far-fetched to me. In fact, they seem kind of plausible.
And the more I've been thinking about it lately, the more I've come to realize, that if that is what happened, I wouldn't even blame them for it.
Even if the U.S. shot down United 93, they wouldn't be responsible for those people's deaths. The terrorists who hijacked that plane, and pointed it at the White House are the ones responsible. There is simply no argument about that. I mean, honestly, what else should the government have done? Let the plane destroy the White House, just so that those Americans on that plane could live another hour? Is there anyone who could truly argue that there was some safe way to quickly bring that plane down without injuring anyone? If the government had the means and opportunity to take down that plane - and I don't think there is any reasonable argument to be made that they didn't - then, if I'm honest with myself, I don't see what other choice they had.
And you know what? I wouldn't even blame them for lying to us about it. Those men and women on that plane are everyday American heroes, no matter how they died. Just like every single person who died in New York or D.C. that day is a hero. Don't they deserve to be remembered as heroes? Don't they deserve better than to be remembered as innocent victims caught in the crossfire between their government and a handful of sick assholes?
Yes, you could make the argument that the lie was self-serving to the ones who told it. And I don't necessarily think you'd be wrong. But I think it's just as true that the lie honors the memories of those men and women in a just way; in a way fitting of Americans who gave their lives, willingly or not, so that others could live.
The official story of United 93 might be a mythology, but they deserve that, and much more. A beautiful mythology to honor their deaths is, literally, the least we can do.
Princess and I, and two of our friends, had just spent a lovely post-Labor Day week at my grandfather's beach cottage in Delaware, and our vacation was over, and we spent the morning packing up to return to our "normal" lives. (I didn't know it at the time, but that was the last time I would ever set foot in that cottage on the beach, where I had spent part of every summer of my entire life up to that point.) When we were finally ready to leave, and packing up the car, I turned my cell phone back on for the first time since I'd arrived a week earlier. About a minute later, I found I had a dozen voicemails from my father, all from that morning. I decided to see what all the fuss was about, and heard recording after recording of my father telling me that the United States was under attack, to turn on the TV, and whatever I do, not to come home.
We hadn't turned on the TV once the entire week. When we finally turned it on that morning, we were all horrified, and dumbstruck. And as we stood there, watching the towers burning, I remember thinking to myself, with odd clarity, That son-of-a-bitch is going to use this as an excuse to invade Iraq. My hand to gods, that exact thought crossed my mind, followed immediately by, No - no way - that's ridiculous - even he wouldn't do something that horrible.
We decided to stay another day, because no one was quite sure what was going on at that point, and it just felt a lot safer out there in that sleepy town on the seashore, then back home, next-door to D.C. That was one of the most surreal days of my life. We were glued to the TV all day, watching what looked like Hell Come To The U.S. But where we were, it was a beautiful, just absolutely gorgeous late-Summer day. It could not have been more peaceful, or serene. It produced a strange sort of cognitive dissonance that permeated the entire day for all of us. Nothing we did felt right - if it fit with the scene around us, it didn't fit with the way we felt about what we knew was going on at home; and if it fit with how we felt about the attacks, then it seemed really out-of-place with where we were at the time and what we were experiencing just then.
Not knowing what else to do, we partied that night like it was the end of the world. We did shots and got wasted and played Truth-or-Dare until we were all drunk and naked. (Trust me, it was a lot more fun at the time than it sounds now.)
And the next day, we went back home to a world that had completely changed, in ways we would have a hard time understanding or coming to terms with for many years. I still haven't completely come to terms with a lot of it.
Addendum: I didn't want to make my post today about this, because I didn't want to be perceived as disrespectful. But I feel like I have to say it, for several reasons. It's just been on my mind a lot lately, and I don't want to bottle it up and pretend it isn't there. And yes, some people might perceive it as disrespectful, but I don't agree with that opinion, and if I start basing my decisions about what to say or believe off of what other people might think about it, then I'm lost. In my opinion, today is the most appropriate time to address it; the only appropriate time to address it, really. It would seem oddly out of place on any other day, and waiting until next year will not have changed anything one way or the other, and by then I might have forgotten it, and lost the opportunity to express these feelings for good.
Let me preface this further by saying, I am not a conspiracy theorist. I do believe that conspiracies can and do occur, but I am also a skeptic by nature, and 99% of the conspiracy theories I hear are clearly, demonstrably, ridiculous. However, that said, there is something about the official story of what happened that day that has just never sat right with me. I know a lot of people are going to consider me an ignorant, monstrous anti-patriot for saying this, but that doesn't change the way it appears to me.
I have never believed the story of United 93.
I am truly, truly sorry if that bothers you in any way. I don't want to upset anyone, and that certainly has nothing to do with why I'm writing this here. But it also doesn't do anything to change my perception of the situation, either.
It just always struck me as too neat, too tidy, too... American. It's like something out of a storybook, or a fairytale. Or a Hollywood movie. It's just too perfect to be real. The fact that they just happened to be lucky enough to crash in an uninhabited area. The fact that the one plane that didn't hit its target just happened to be the last one, and just happened to be the one headed for the White House. The fact that on that day, of all days, for this story that is fairly dripping with patriotism and Americans-Are-The-Greatest glory to come out, from the government, has just been a little hard for me to swallow. From the first time I heard it, it has felt exactly like the "your dog went to live on a farm upstate" story a father would tell to his child.
I tend to follow the "Occam's Razor" style-guide when it comes to conspiracy theories: the simplest explanation is the most likely. That's one of the many reasons why I've never believed that 9/11 was an "inside job" (even though it would've felt so good to blame Cheney and Rumsfeld for it); the idea that the federal government could organize a conspiracy on that massive a scale is simply ludicrous, and laughably so.
But the idea that they might shoot down a passenger plane that they believed was on a suicide mission to crash into the White House, especially after three other planes had already hit their targets, and without knowing how many more there might be? And that if they did, in fact, shoot down that plane, that they might, on such a tragic day, tell us an up-lifting story of everyday American heroism, rather than the truth - that the United States government had been forced to kill some of its own citizens, in order to prevent the murder of far more? Those really just don't seem that far-fetched to me. In fact, they seem kind of plausible.
And the more I've been thinking about it lately, the more I've come to realize, that if that is what happened, I wouldn't even blame them for it.
Even if the U.S. shot down United 93, they wouldn't be responsible for those people's deaths. The terrorists who hijacked that plane, and pointed it at the White House are the ones responsible. There is simply no argument about that. I mean, honestly, what else should the government have done? Let the plane destroy the White House, just so that those Americans on that plane could live another hour? Is there anyone who could truly argue that there was some safe way to quickly bring that plane down without injuring anyone? If the government had the means and opportunity to take down that plane - and I don't think there is any reasonable argument to be made that they didn't - then, if I'm honest with myself, I don't see what other choice they had.
And you know what? I wouldn't even blame them for lying to us about it. Those men and women on that plane are everyday American heroes, no matter how they died. Just like every single person who died in New York or D.C. that day is a hero. Don't they deserve to be remembered as heroes? Don't they deserve better than to be remembered as innocent victims caught in the crossfire between their government and a handful of sick assholes?
Yes, you could make the argument that the lie was self-serving to the ones who told it. And I don't necessarily think you'd be wrong. But I think it's just as true that the lie honors the memories of those men and women in a just way; in a way fitting of Americans who gave their lives, willingly or not, so that others could live.
The official story of United 93 might be a mythology, but they deserve that, and much more. A beautiful mythology to honor their deaths is, literally, the least we can do.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Convention Season 2012...
I've so far managed to diligently avoid posting anything about politics in this space, but I just have to get this one thing off my chest, and then I'm done.
Last election, I watched every minute of both conventions, obsessively, and was riveted for two full weeks.
This election, I haven't tuned in at all, don't plan to, and you couldn't pay me to watch a full hour of either one.
I still believe that the Right is clearly the worse of the two sides (at least, in terms of their rhetoric/platform), and so I will continue to vote Lib/Dem every two years. But neither side is actually democratic, neither side is actually concerned about doing what is right for this country or its people, and both sides are populated exclusively by liars, thieves, and egotistical asshats who are clearly interested only in maintaining and increasing their own power. And I can no longer delude myself into believing that I have any hope whatsoever of affecting that situation in the slightest.
This country is run by corporations, and the wealthy. They own us. They own you. And as long as we continue to have a capitalist global economy, they always will. That's just a fact of the 21st century.
There will never be another New Deal.
And since I can't do anything about that short of armed revolution (which, let's face it, the situation isn't anywhere near bad enough to warrant - we're hardly Syria or some shit), I'm just going to do my best to ignore it, and try to make the most of the life they allow me to live. They give me access to plenty of shiny toys and baubles to distract me and keep me docile, and hey, that's not really so bad a way to live, when you think about it. I'd rather be a pet than a stray any day. (Sure a stray is more "free," but who has the better quality of life? Which one, at the end of it all, is hanging on with the hope of just one more day, and which one is glad to finally be done with all of this?)
Sure, I could picket, and protest, and campaign, and donate, and put bumper stickers and magnets all over my car and signs on my lawn; I could spend 90% of my waking hours taking in political media (which is basically just The News at this point; it's almost impossible to find old-style, major-events-of-the-day, non-political news in this country anymore) and watching the conventions and debating all the ignorant blowhards out there... but to what end? I've done all of that. Spent years of my life doing it. It didn't change anything.
All I got from it was an ulcer, and a raging case of misanthropy.
Since I can't do anything to actually make a difference, and since all it does for me is make me miserable, I've had to just let it go, and go on with my life. I've built a good life for myself, and I'm enjoying it, and I don't want to ruin it by constantly agonizing over shit that I have no control over. They're going to destroy the world, or they're not. Either way, all I can do is make the most of what I have.
So, for now at least, I'm strictly concerning myself with local politics, where I can actually make a difference, about things that actually affect my life in a direct way.
And that's all I have to say on the subject.
Last election, I watched every minute of both conventions, obsessively, and was riveted for two full weeks.
This election, I haven't tuned in at all, don't plan to, and you couldn't pay me to watch a full hour of either one.
I still believe that the Right is clearly the worse of the two sides (at least, in terms of their rhetoric/platform), and so I will continue to vote Lib/Dem every two years. But neither side is actually democratic, neither side is actually concerned about doing what is right for this country or its people, and both sides are populated exclusively by liars, thieves, and egotistical asshats who are clearly interested only in maintaining and increasing their own power. And I can no longer delude myself into believing that I have any hope whatsoever of affecting that situation in the slightest.
This country is run by corporations, and the wealthy. They own us. They own you. And as long as we continue to have a capitalist global economy, they always will. That's just a fact of the 21st century.
There will never be another New Deal.
And since I can't do anything about that short of armed revolution (which, let's face it, the situation isn't anywhere near bad enough to warrant - we're hardly Syria or some shit), I'm just going to do my best to ignore it, and try to make the most of the life they allow me to live. They give me access to plenty of shiny toys and baubles to distract me and keep me docile, and hey, that's not really so bad a way to live, when you think about it. I'd rather be a pet than a stray any day. (Sure a stray is more "free," but who has the better quality of life? Which one, at the end of it all, is hanging on with the hope of just one more day, and which one is glad to finally be done with all of this?)
Sure, I could picket, and protest, and campaign, and donate, and put bumper stickers and magnets all over my car and signs on my lawn; I could spend 90% of my waking hours taking in political media (which is basically just The News at this point; it's almost impossible to find old-style, major-events-of-the-day, non-political news in this country anymore) and watching the conventions and debating all the ignorant blowhards out there... but to what end? I've done all of that. Spent years of my life doing it. It didn't change anything.
All I got from it was an ulcer, and a raging case of misanthropy.
Since I can't do anything to actually make a difference, and since all it does for me is make me miserable, I've had to just let it go, and go on with my life. I've built a good life for myself, and I'm enjoying it, and I don't want to ruin it by constantly agonizing over shit that I have no control over. They're going to destroy the world, or they're not. Either way, all I can do is make the most of what I have.
So, for now at least, I'm strictly concerning myself with local politics, where I can actually make a difference, about things that actually affect my life in a direct way.
And that's all I have to say on the subject.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
We May Just Go Where No One's Been...
This is a song about magick, life, and the endless possibilities inherent in humanity.
Black
then
white are
all I see
in my infancy.
Red and yellow then came to be,
reaching out to me.
Lets me see.
As below, so above and beyond, I imagine
drawn beyond the lines of reason.
Push the envelope.
Watch it bend.
Over-thinking,
over-analyzing,
separates the body from the mind.
Withering
my intuition,
missing opportunities and I must
Feed my will
to feel that moment.
Drawing way outside the lines.
Black
then
white are
all I see
in my infancy.
Red and yellow then came to be,
reaching out to me.
lets me see
there is
so much
more and
beckons me
to look through to these
infinite possibilities.
As below, so above and beyond, I imagine
drawn outside the lines of reason.
Push the envelope.
Watch it bend.
Over-thinking,
over-analyzing,
separates the body from the mind.
Withering
my intuition,
leaving opportunities behind.
Feed my will to
feel this moment
urging me to cross the line.
Reaching out to embrace
the random.
Reaching out to embrace
whatever may come.
I embrace my
desire to...
I embrace my
desire to
feel the rhythm, to
feel connected
enough to step aside and
weep like a widow, to
feel inspired, to
fathom the power, to
witness the beauty, to
bathe in the fountain, to
swing on the spiral, to
swing on the spiral, to
swing on the spiral of
our divinity and
still be a human.
With my feet upon the ground
I lose myself between the sounds
and open wide to suck it in,
I feel it move across my skin.
I'm reaching up
and reaching out,
I'm reaching for
the random or
whatever will bewilder me.
Whatever will bewilder me.
And following our will and whim
we may just go where no one's been.
We'll ride the spiral to the end
and may just go where no one's been.
Spiral out. Keep going.
Spiral out. Keep going.
Spiral out. Keep going.
Spiral out. Keep going.
-"Lateralus"
Tool, Lateralus
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friendships In Chaos, pt. 2...
We also did a ritual last weekend, my friends and I.
I haven't done that in a very long time. Not even by myself, let alone with my old Temple-mates.
It wasn't even a proper ritual, really. Just a little, nothing, throw-away rite. But I was amazed at how it made me feel. To be in that place. To be with those people.
To be doing magick.
I had completely forgotten just how much I love doing that. How much I love even just the sensation of doing it! The feeling of energy flowing through me, like a conduit. Finding the sense of the "flow" of the ritual, and then letting it pull me along. The pleasure of power coming into me, and erupting out of me. The drama, the spectacle, the art, the dance and the poetry of The Ritual.
It felt like making love with a best friend I hadn't seen in years.
When it was over, I found myself swallowing back tears. And once again, I was struck by the sudden and almost overwhelming realization of just how desperately I missed this thing that I had willingly let go, honestly believing that I no longer had any use for it.
And maybe I didn't have any use for it back then. And maybe I still don't. But it's clear to me now, that I need to find a reason to do it. Because it is obviously a lot more important to me than I had allowed myself to believe. It is clearly filling a hole in my life that I didn't know was there; that I thought I had already filled long ago.
I know now that I need to do this. I don't know why I need to do it yet, but I know I need to do it.
And I can't help but notice that this all happened only two weeks before I get the opportunity to spend an entire week doing nothing but playing with magick, with a group of the best magickians from all over the world. Isn't that strange?
I'm sure it's just a coincidence.
I haven't done that in a very long time. Not even by myself, let alone with my old Temple-mates.
It wasn't even a proper ritual, really. Just a little, nothing, throw-away rite. But I was amazed at how it made me feel. To be in that place. To be with those people.
To be doing magick.
I had completely forgotten just how much I love doing that. How much I love even just the sensation of doing it! The feeling of energy flowing through me, like a conduit. Finding the sense of the "flow" of the ritual, and then letting it pull me along. The pleasure of power coming into me, and erupting out of me. The drama, the spectacle, the art, the dance and the poetry of The Ritual.
It felt like making love with a best friend I hadn't seen in years.
When it was over, I found myself swallowing back tears. And once again, I was struck by the sudden and almost overwhelming realization of just how desperately I missed this thing that I had willingly let go, honestly believing that I no longer had any use for it.
And maybe I didn't have any use for it back then. And maybe I still don't. But it's clear to me now, that I need to find a reason to do it. Because it is obviously a lot more important to me than I had allowed myself to believe. It is clearly filling a hole in my life that I didn't know was there; that I thought I had already filled long ago.
I know now that I need to do this. I don't know why I need to do it yet, but I know I need to do it.
And I can't help but notice that this all happened only two weeks before I get the opportunity to spend an entire week doing nothing but playing with magick, with a group of the best magickians from all over the world. Isn't that strange?
I'm sure it's just a coincidence.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Hope and Regret, part 3...
On the heels of all of these thoughts on my addiction and
recovery and sobriety, I started thinking about how I feel about my
history of using. And I feel a need to state here, strongly and
clearly, and in no uncertain terms, that I have no regrets
about my past behavior. None. If I could do it all over again, I
wouldn't do it any differently. Even the very worst moments, where I
hurt myself badly or scared myself half-to-death or nearly died, I'm
still grateful for. Because each and every one of them taught me
valuable lessons that I wouldn't have learned any other way, and I have
in each instance become a better person for having learned them.
And those scary moments were few and far between. The vast majority of the years I spent drunk and high, I laughed my ass off and just had a wonderful time. I learned a lot about myself through those experiences, and I feel lucky and privileged to have had the chance to spend so much of my life feeling happy and stimulated and satisfied. I've had a great run of it up to this point. But it's just becoming a little old, a little stale, a little tired. And so am I. After all these years, it's taking more and more of a toll on me than it ever has before, right as I'm getting less and less out of it than I used to. And as I get older, and my priorities for what I want out of life shift from more immediate pleasures to bigger-and-better things, it's just becoming less and less worth it for me to keep going like this.
And I always knew that it would have to end one day. And I always knew there would be a price to pay for all those years of self-indulgence. And I always knew that this was that price. And I always knew that one day I would pay it. And now that this day seems to finally be coming around, I am paying it. Gladly.
But I'm still glad I did it, too.
And I wouldn't change a thing.
And those scary moments were few and far between. The vast majority of the years I spent drunk and high, I laughed my ass off and just had a wonderful time. I learned a lot about myself through those experiences, and I feel lucky and privileged to have had the chance to spend so much of my life feeling happy and stimulated and satisfied. I've had a great run of it up to this point. But it's just becoming a little old, a little stale, a little tired. And so am I. After all these years, it's taking more and more of a toll on me than it ever has before, right as I'm getting less and less out of it than I used to. And as I get older, and my priorities for what I want out of life shift from more immediate pleasures to bigger-and-better things, it's just becoming less and less worth it for me to keep going like this.
And I always knew that it would have to end one day. And I always knew there would be a price to pay for all those years of self-indulgence. And I always knew that this was that price. And I always knew that one day I would pay it. And now that this day seems to finally be coming around, I am paying it. Gladly.
But I'm still glad I did it, too.
And I wouldn't change a thing.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Hope and Regret, part 2...
And speaking of breaking the cycle, the 2nd, and possibly most, important thing
I learned in my session this week, was the existence of an organization
called SMART Recovery.
I've considered going to AA or NA meetings before, but having some past experience with them and knowing the gist of what they're like and how they work, I've never really felt like they would be a good fit for me. The central core of the X-Anonymous twelve-step programs starts with two things: 1) submit your will to a Higher Power, and 2) admit that you are powerless over your addiction. The rest of the program builds off of those two ideas, so if you can't do those, then the rest of the program isn't going to be much help for you, either. And neither of those ideas really work for me. More to the point, they're basically the exact opposite of what I feel I need in order to get and stay sober.
I don't believe in a sentient being that controls the Universe, so the entire concept of "Higher Power" would be difficult for me right from the start. I could use Tao, but that wouldn't really work, either. Because Tao is not a sentient force, it's just a pattern. It's the pattern of Nature seen throughout the Universe. It is the Set of All Things. It is the Universe, and everything it in, and everything outside of it (if there is anything outside of it) and the motion of all things that repeats in the same way from the spinning of galaxies down to the spinning of electrons. It is the cyclical pattern of motion that is all creations, that spurs all nothings to become some-things. So, it's not really a Power, and it's not really Higher, either, since there is nothing that is not Tao. And how would I "submit my will" to it, exactly? How can I submit to something that I'm already a part of, merely by virtue of my existence? And then there's just the whole idea of submitting my Will, at all, which I'm not real keen on.
Which actually ties in with the 2nd step, admitting that you're powerless over your addiction. Submitting my Will, admitting I am powerless... these are not things that I've ever been good at. In fact, I have spent the majority of my adult life strengthening my Will, to the point that I was able to convince myself that I can actually bend Reality to it. "Powerless" is not something I ever want to feel, or believe I should ever have to feel. And more to the point, it's not something I believe I am.
I'm not powerless over my addiction. That fact is self-evident. If I were powerless, then I would've ended up deranged and out-of-control, like my mother, or her mother before her. Or like one of those poor, pathetic people on Intervention, who are incapable of caring about anything beyond their drug use. I have never been like that. Throughout my entire history of using, I have always carefully monitored myself, my cravings, the amount of my intake; constantly limiting the amount I use to "just enough;" never letting myself use as much as I really want; dialing back my use whenever the cravings started to become more intense; etc. I used always knowing that I was an addict, and that I was walking a fine line between having fun and losing it all, and always on the lookout for signs that it was getting out-of-hand. (That's one of the reasons I'm actually feeling kind of done with all of it at this point. That kind of constant self-intervention takes a lot out of you, and it's getting to the point that getting high is no longer worth the effort it takes to maintain anymore.) In my entire history, I've only ever let myself use with abandon, to my heart's content, a couple of times. And every one of those times, things quickly got out of hand, and I scared the shit out myself, and ended up getting my shit together in a new and better way as a result. And even at my worst, even when I've hurt myself badly with liver damage and ulcers and near-overdoses, I've still never been even half as bad as my mother, or my grandmother, or the sick souls on TV, or any of the people whose stories I heard in those church basements as a child. So, if I have to start that program by admitting that I am powerless over my addiction, then I have to base that entire program on a lie. And what is the point in that?
And, honestly, if we're really "powerless," then what are we even doing in recovery? If we were truly powerless over our addictions, then wouldn't we be out getting drunk and high right now? For me, my sense of my own power, my sense of my internal strength, my strength of Will, is exactly what I've used to keep from going off the deep end my whole life, and exactly what I've relied on to get sober. So why on Earth would I want to just abandon that?? The whole idea just seems completely counter-productive to me.
And adding to all that the fact that my mother used to take me with her to AA and NA meetings when I was a kid, and that she left one of those meetings and went straight to the hotel room where she took her life, it would be a significant understatement to say that I have some emotional baggage associated with those programs. And if I went, the only reason I'd be going would be to try to get and stay sober. I really wouldn't want to also have to work through a bunch of my childhood mommy-issues at the same time. So, for all of these reasons, I've never really considered the X-Anonymous twelve-step groups to be a valid option for me in my recovery.
So I always assumed I would just have to do this on my own. I thought that the X-A groups were the only ones out there, and since those wouldn't work for me, then it must be up to just me doing the work, and the best help I could hope for would be the occasional 1-on-1 counseling session. And I was ok with that, honestly. But then my counselor tells me about this other recovery group called SMART Recovery.
They're basically an alternative to the twelve-steppers, that emphasizes scientific methods of recovery (constantly evolving as the science of recovery evolves; none of that watered-down, psuedo-JudeoChristian psychology "Higher Power" bullshit), self-empowerment as the main recovery tool (as opposed to submitting your Will and pretending to be powerless - more pseudo-JudeoChristian nonsense; and none of this Will-undermining "my addiction is a disease and I am sick and I will always be sick" crap, either), and recognizing that there is no one right way to become sober that will work for everyone - that everyone is unique and different and that each individual has their own best method of recovery - and so the key to recovery is finding your personal method and working it (which is completely in-line with the way I have lived the entire rest of my life; SMART Recovery is to traditional recovery what Chaos Magick is to traditional Western occultism - find what works best for you, and use it). They try to get at the root of addictive behavior itself and deal with that, using modern Cognitive Behavior Therapy methods, rather than focusing on the particular substance or thing one is addicted to. (SMART stands for "Self-Management And Recovery Training".) As such, they aren't just for alcoholics or drug-users, but accept any kind of addict at all. A meeting could include people ranging from alcoholics, to drug-users, to sex addicts, or gambling addicts, or hoarders, or anyone else who would fall under the category of "I'm exhibiting compulsive behavior that I would like to stop."
I was astounded that I'd never heard of this before. They sound perfectly tailored for me. I found out there's a meeting in my area, and I'm going to attend my first one next week. I'm going to try to reserve judgement, though. In my experience, things that sound too-good-to-be-true usually are. And while the base description sounds fantastic, some of the material I've found on their website absolutely screams "MOTIVATIONAL SEMINAR," and that could be a big turn-off for me. So, I'm going to keep my expectations low, attend a few of the meetings, and get a sense of what they're really like. It'd be nice if they turned out to be even half as great as they sound, and it'd be nice if I could actually get some extra help from them. But it would be just that - extra. So if they turn out to be not-quite-right for me, then oh, well. I still have no problem doing all of this on my own.
And no reason to believe that I can't.
concluded in part three tomorrow...
I've considered going to AA or NA meetings before, but having some past experience with them and knowing the gist of what they're like and how they work, I've never really felt like they would be a good fit for me. The central core of the X-Anonymous twelve-step programs starts with two things: 1) submit your will to a Higher Power, and 2) admit that you are powerless over your addiction. The rest of the program builds off of those two ideas, so if you can't do those, then the rest of the program isn't going to be much help for you, either. And neither of those ideas really work for me. More to the point, they're basically the exact opposite of what I feel I need in order to get and stay sober.
I don't believe in a sentient being that controls the Universe, so the entire concept of "Higher Power" would be difficult for me right from the start. I could use Tao, but that wouldn't really work, either. Because Tao is not a sentient force, it's just a pattern. It's the pattern of Nature seen throughout the Universe. It is the Set of All Things. It is the Universe, and everything it in, and everything outside of it (if there is anything outside of it) and the motion of all things that repeats in the same way from the spinning of galaxies down to the spinning of electrons. It is the cyclical pattern of motion that is all creations, that spurs all nothings to become some-things. So, it's not really a Power, and it's not really Higher, either, since there is nothing that is not Tao. And how would I "submit my will" to it, exactly? How can I submit to something that I'm already a part of, merely by virtue of my existence? And then there's just the whole idea of submitting my Will, at all, which I'm not real keen on.
Which actually ties in with the 2nd step, admitting that you're powerless over your addiction. Submitting my Will, admitting I am powerless... these are not things that I've ever been good at. In fact, I have spent the majority of my adult life strengthening my Will, to the point that I was able to convince myself that I can actually bend Reality to it. "Powerless" is not something I ever want to feel, or believe I should ever have to feel. And more to the point, it's not something I believe I am.
I'm not powerless over my addiction. That fact is self-evident. If I were powerless, then I would've ended up deranged and out-of-control, like my mother, or her mother before her. Or like one of those poor, pathetic people on Intervention, who are incapable of caring about anything beyond their drug use. I have never been like that. Throughout my entire history of using, I have always carefully monitored myself, my cravings, the amount of my intake; constantly limiting the amount I use to "just enough;" never letting myself use as much as I really want; dialing back my use whenever the cravings started to become more intense; etc. I used always knowing that I was an addict, and that I was walking a fine line between having fun and losing it all, and always on the lookout for signs that it was getting out-of-hand. (That's one of the reasons I'm actually feeling kind of done with all of it at this point. That kind of constant self-intervention takes a lot out of you, and it's getting to the point that getting high is no longer worth the effort it takes to maintain anymore.) In my entire history, I've only ever let myself use with abandon, to my heart's content, a couple of times. And every one of those times, things quickly got out of hand, and I scared the shit out myself, and ended up getting my shit together in a new and better way as a result. And even at my worst, even when I've hurt myself badly with liver damage and ulcers and near-overdoses, I've still never been even half as bad as my mother, or my grandmother, or the sick souls on TV, or any of the people whose stories I heard in those church basements as a child. So, if I have to start that program by admitting that I am powerless over my addiction, then I have to base that entire program on a lie. And what is the point in that?
And, honestly, if we're really "powerless," then what are we even doing in recovery? If we were truly powerless over our addictions, then wouldn't we be out getting drunk and high right now? For me, my sense of my own power, my sense of my internal strength, my strength of Will, is exactly what I've used to keep from going off the deep end my whole life, and exactly what I've relied on to get sober. So why on Earth would I want to just abandon that?? The whole idea just seems completely counter-productive to me.
And adding to all that the fact that my mother used to take me with her to AA and NA meetings when I was a kid, and that she left one of those meetings and went straight to the hotel room where she took her life, it would be a significant understatement to say that I have some emotional baggage associated with those programs. And if I went, the only reason I'd be going would be to try to get and stay sober. I really wouldn't want to also have to work through a bunch of my childhood mommy-issues at the same time. So, for all of these reasons, I've never really considered the X-Anonymous twelve-step groups to be a valid option for me in my recovery.
So I always assumed I would just have to do this on my own. I thought that the X-A groups were the only ones out there, and since those wouldn't work for me, then it must be up to just me doing the work, and the best help I could hope for would be the occasional 1-on-1 counseling session. And I was ok with that, honestly. But then my counselor tells me about this other recovery group called SMART Recovery.
They're basically an alternative to the twelve-steppers, that emphasizes scientific methods of recovery (constantly evolving as the science of recovery evolves; none of that watered-down, psuedo-JudeoChristian psychology "Higher Power" bullshit), self-empowerment as the main recovery tool (as opposed to submitting your Will and pretending to be powerless - more pseudo-JudeoChristian nonsense; and none of this Will-undermining "my addiction is a disease and I am sick and I will always be sick" crap, either), and recognizing that there is no one right way to become sober that will work for everyone - that everyone is unique and different and that each individual has their own best method of recovery - and so the key to recovery is finding your personal method and working it (which is completely in-line with the way I have lived the entire rest of my life; SMART Recovery is to traditional recovery what Chaos Magick is to traditional Western occultism - find what works best for you, and use it). They try to get at the root of addictive behavior itself and deal with that, using modern Cognitive Behavior Therapy methods, rather than focusing on the particular substance or thing one is addicted to. (SMART stands for "Self-Management And Recovery Training".) As such, they aren't just for alcoholics or drug-users, but accept any kind of addict at all. A meeting could include people ranging from alcoholics, to drug-users, to sex addicts, or gambling addicts, or hoarders, or anyone else who would fall under the category of "I'm exhibiting compulsive behavior that I would like to stop."
I was astounded that I'd never heard of this before. They sound perfectly tailored for me. I found out there's a meeting in my area, and I'm going to attend my first one next week. I'm going to try to reserve judgement, though. In my experience, things that sound too-good-to-be-true usually are. And while the base description sounds fantastic, some of the material I've found on their website absolutely screams "MOTIVATIONAL SEMINAR," and that could be a big turn-off for me. So, I'm going to keep my expectations low, attend a few of the meetings, and get a sense of what they're really like. It'd be nice if they turned out to be even half as great as they sound, and it'd be nice if I could actually get some extra help from them. But it would be just that - extra. So if they turn out to be not-quite-right for me, then oh, well. I still have no problem doing all of this on my own.
And no reason to believe that I can't.
concluded in part three tomorrow...
Friday, May 11, 2012
Hope and Regret, part 1...
(When I originally wrote this piece, it turned out to be a lot longer than I'd anticipated, and it just seemed like way too much to include in one posting. So, I've decided to break it up into three parts.)
I learned at least two really important things at my counseling session this week.
First of all, I was reminded of something that I had previously known, but apparently forgotten. That this thing I'm going through right now, this period of depression and low-energy/motivation, is a really common psycho-emotional/bio-chemical reaction in addicts, in response to a relapse. It's almost textbook. Basically, once you've sobered up a bit, then the crash from even just a little bit of use is much more pronounced, and much more noticeable. (It's always there, really - it's just that when you're getting high all the time, it's a lot harder to notice it.) And so that's what's happening with me right now.
I've learned that lesson before. I used to know this. So I kind of felt like an idiot for somehow managing to forget it. But I was also very glad to be made aware of it again. Oddly, it made me feel better somehow to know that this was a common phenomena, that many other people have gone, and are going, through it, that it's been studied and cataloged. Made me less sad about giving up what I'd lost.
Speaking of which, I was reminded of something about that, as well. That period of time in early sobriety, where life is beautiful and being clean just feels so good and everything comes so easily and naturally - that period that just ended for me after Walpurgisnacht, what I've been calling my "state of grace" - in recovery-speak, that period is called "the pink cloud." Also common, also well-studied and cataloged by men in white coats.
And also another trap. At least for me, anyways. Because, when I think about it, I realize that the pink cloud is just another high. I can see the pattern in my behavior so clearly now. I use until I get bored with it, or until it becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of health, energy, etc. Then I sober up and ride the pink cloud for all it's worth for as long as I can. And then as soon as that wears off, as soon as that becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of effort and sacrifice, then I start using again. And round and round we go on the merry-go-round of rotating knives. Basically, I've been cycling back and forth between being high on drugs, and being high on life. But no matter what, I've always been high.
So, that's what I'm trying to work on now. Breaking that cycle. And not just learning how to live a life without using, but learning how to live my life, truly sober - meaning not high on anything at all, completely regardless of whether that thing is seen as a positive or negative influence. Figuring out how to live my life completely down to earth. (And figuring out what "down to earth" even means for me.)
Takin' it back to formula.
continued in part two tomorrow...
I learned at least two really important things at my counseling session this week.
First of all, I was reminded of something that I had previously known, but apparently forgotten. That this thing I'm going through right now, this period of depression and low-energy/motivation, is a really common psycho-emotional/bio-chemical reaction in addicts, in response to a relapse. It's almost textbook. Basically, once you've sobered up a bit, then the crash from even just a little bit of use is much more pronounced, and much more noticeable. (It's always there, really - it's just that when you're getting high all the time, it's a lot harder to notice it.) And so that's what's happening with me right now.
I've learned that lesson before. I used to know this. So I kind of felt like an idiot for somehow managing to forget it. But I was also very glad to be made aware of it again. Oddly, it made me feel better somehow to know that this was a common phenomena, that many other people have gone, and are going, through it, that it's been studied and cataloged. Made me less sad about giving up what I'd lost.
Speaking of which, I was reminded of something about that, as well. That period of time in early sobriety, where life is beautiful and being clean just feels so good and everything comes so easily and naturally - that period that just ended for me after Walpurgisnacht, what I've been calling my "state of grace" - in recovery-speak, that period is called "the pink cloud." Also common, also well-studied and cataloged by men in white coats.
And also another trap. At least for me, anyways. Because, when I think about it, I realize that the pink cloud is just another high. I can see the pattern in my behavior so clearly now. I use until I get bored with it, or until it becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of health, energy, etc. Then I sober up and ride the pink cloud for all it's worth for as long as I can. And then as soon as that wears off, as soon as that becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of effort and sacrifice, then I start using again. And round and round we go on the merry-go-round of rotating knives. Basically, I've been cycling back and forth between being high on drugs, and being high on life. But no matter what, I've always been high.
So, that's what I'm trying to work on now. Breaking that cycle. And not just learning how to live a life without using, but learning how to live my life, truly sober - meaning not high on anything at all, completely regardless of whether that thing is seen as a positive or negative influence. Figuring out how to live my life completely down to earth. (And figuring out what "down to earth" even means for me.)
Takin' it back to formula.
continued in part two tomorrow...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)