True love dies hard

True love dies hard. What is true love? These deep feelings I still have for Gregg, what is their source? Is it ego? Loneliness? A simple desire to be loved?

Certainly, if it is a desire to be loved, then these feelings have no right to exist. Gregg loves himself, all others stand in line. He has not shown me love. He has shown me benign neglect, abuse, abandonment. There is no logical reason why I should still have strong feelings for the man.

That he is intelligent and well read is becoming. That he has a wicked sense of humor and a boyish playfulness is endearing. I find his form beautiful.

It breaks down when relationship enters in. He cannot relate to another human being with love and compassion, because he does not feel those things for himself. He does have a huge ego, but somehow self-love does not enter into it. How can it be?

The human being is a complex creation. There is the spirit, the consciousness that allows us to be part of the Universal Consciousness, which ebbs and flows through us. Then there is the constructed ego, one might call it the soul, others might call it the mind, but it manifests as ego. This is the image we project out into the world, how we want the world to see us, the images and beliefs we have created as we have developed our perception of the world.

This is a construct. It has been growing along with the body. One might say that at some point in a man’s life, the two merge. The ego grows thinner, the spirit grows stronger, until there is a bleeding through. When we see a 60 year old making his life choices at the level of wisdom and emotional development of an adolescent, we know somewhere along the line growth has been inhibited.

What is this construct, this ego? From the earliest years we strive to please, to fit in, to conform. If we are sheltered in a family of adults who are self-actualized, who have allowed the spirit its proper place in balance with the ego, then that which we seek to conform to can be harmonious to our nature. But if we attempt to grow in a hostile environment, where the adults are still striving in an adolescent mind frame to manifest a composite ego that is full of unresolved conflict, the newly forming ego will be riddled with conflict and uneasy.

Dysfunctional families come in all shapes. His is the dysfunction spawned from alcohol addiction. I don’t think alcoholism is itself a monolithic entity, but rather a covering for a complex underlying malaise. One type evolves from the unwillingness to resolve childhood ego conflicts, perhaps because it will set us at odds with people we love, and so the drug of choice becomes the medication to numb the pain and discomfort. Early social drinking creates a feeling of fitting in, of belonging, which is in contrast to the isolation and feelings of unworthiness of a child’s conflicted ego.

With the drinking come all kinds of pathologies. One great obstructer is the need to keep secrets. “Son, don’t let your mother know I’ve been drinking.” Dad comes home stumbling drunk, but we must not remark on it. We must ignore it, take care of father’s needs and prop him up as if this is normal behavior. Lie to oneself about what is really going on. If a child feels vulnerable, frightened, confused to see his loving parent suddenly emotionally abusive and out of control, or weak and stumbling, he must stuff these feelings down. There is no one with whom it is safe to acknowledge these feelings. So he locks them away.

Then the cycle is repeated, as the child becomes an adult. Feelings are difficult to deal with, having no instructions or healthy modeling. It is easier to join the party, medicate away these painful feelings with the drug of father’s choice. Be a man; drink with the guys.
This is the man I am in love with. What am I in love with? The promise that was born inside him, which cringes in fetal form yet while the body withers, prematurely ravished by alcohol abuse. That is one theory.

AA counselors would call this a ‘rescue’ complex.

Perhaps I am a megalomaniac, a Svengali looking to bring a weaker human under my control.
Perhaps I have reached the end of my tether of loneliness and isolation. This is the first viable man who has looked at me romantically in easily twenty years, maybe more. [What a dog I must be, eh?] I am just grasping at the faintest glimmer of hope that I might not spend my dotage alone. Even if it means spending it with a crazed pickled immature addict.

And maybe I am in love with love. Not the romantic love that springs up at first blush, but the feelings that go way deep from the hair roots down to the toenails. The feeling of surrendering yourself to anothers will, needs, wishes, of blending into One.

Will I ever know the answers. One thing is for sure. It is best, wisest, if I never let that man back into my life. I must amend that to say, there is only one condition under which I would let that man back into my life, and it is upon the successful completion of a 4-week 12-step addiction recovery program.

I post this here on a somewhat public forum to make myself accountable for these words.

I Want to Address the Second Coming

The second coming of Christ will be more glorious than the first. I believe there may be a return of Christ, descending in a cloud in the East. A glorious return, with full fanfare. The gospels and epistles tell us this is what we long for. But hearts grow weary! It is contrary to human nature to have hope so strong that it counteracts the basic needs of belonging, to be loved, to be recognized. And what comfort can so vague a reward bring to someone lifting his wrecked child from the twisted remains of car.

‘In His second coming he will be clothed in light as a garment.’ ‘And the Lord whom you seek will come suddenly to his temple.’ ‘…he comes like a refiner’s fire, a fuller’s herb, and he will sit refining and cleansing.’ ‘…waiting for…the appearance of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.’

The mystics talk about Divine Union with God. We emerge from the Cloud of Unknowing into a light that has no shadow. There is radiance and joy, full of love.

To get to that place, we sit and wait for him. Over the years of sitting and waiting, we dwell in an internal space. There we participate in a parade of life, and death. We begin with the uphill struggle of just sitting in the confusion, not running away. How long does it take, before we can unwrap the swirl of thoughts and emotions and learn to just sit there, quietly observing.

Then the parade begins in earnest. We begin to relive past events. Painfully, we observe scenarios that wounded, the source of wounds that drive our external lives out of control. As in a holograph, we see and hear ourselves and another saying and doing hurtful things. In the safety of this internal space, we watch the dynamic with cool detachment, and see what a jerk we really are. Tenderness arises for that poor Other who has been roughly treated.

And so the parade continues through the years, as layer upon layer of images play out over each of the emotions that trap us. Attachment to things and people, and its opposite aversion. Pride driving us to be always first. Sloth quelling the inner voice that taps on the shoulder and whispers, “This is the path, walk ye in it.” Fear and anger, the firestorms that arise from the forces of attachment, aversion, pride, sloth.

Eventually the parade subsides. The forces that drive us are subdued and replaced. We become more like the bareback horse who is so melded to his master that the slightest touch against the withers, a mere leaning this way or that and the horse goes where his Master wills.

Now when we sit in His presence, there is a silence like standing at dawn after a rain, enveloped in a dense fog. We hear the beating of our heart, the whining of neurons firing signals on their paths, the drip of rain from the trees, the cool moist air on the face. We are there in the center of it all, calm, alone, in touch with All and nothing.

And still we sit and wait.

And one day, as awakening from a dream, we see Him as He truly is. In all the splendor and glory of creation, we see His majesty. As love arises from the core to fill and irradiant all of existence, we see things as they really are. Stripped of the illusion of right and wrong, good and bad, we truly understand the judgment and the judge. And then we know, this is His glorious Second Coming, for here we are truly in the presence of our Lord and King.

What does a broken heart feel like?

What does a broken heart feel like?

The joy of a hello kiss that tingles down to the toes.

Reaching out at night and finding a warm body,

and a hand reaching out for you.

All duded up, walking down the city street hand in hand.

The feel of his hand as it firmly grips yours

and steers you through the crowds.

A deep voice, velvety and soothing, saying mundane things.

Dreams of sailing boats, and living on a warm and sunny coast.

A tender heart, reaching out for a safe harbor.

A tender response, wanting always to wrap safely around.

Tendrils of love that weave from one heart to the other

Closing the space that separates their bodies.

A morning 'see ya' with the unspoken promise

That she is not forgotten, will be sought in the day

And missed at night.

And then the silence.

And silence.

“I need my space.”

Hopes and dreams put on a shelf called 'space'.

Tendrils of love shut out in mundane activities.

Doubts. Fears.

What happens when she finds out I am out of control?

She won't love me.

Hide.

And then it happens, and he spirals out of control.

And he is sick.

And he is ashamed.

And he is disgusted with himself.

And she comes to him, and nurses him well.

And he promises it will never happen again.

A very old, stale promise used many times with others.

Sometimes it works, at least for a while.

And when at last she sees he doesn't mean it,

A dark hole, dense gravity, opens in her chest.

Heavy, aching.

Walking, sleeping, working.

Deep empathy for the lost and hopeless.

That's what a broken heart feels like.

transcendental vs earthly love

Love hurts. It shouldn't be that way. Transcendental love may hurt if you are taking upon yourself the sorrows of another in prayer or meditation, but to walk in that state is sublime. It overcomes whatever road blocks life puts in your way, you 'float' over them.

But love between humans, love that does not also share the transcendental Reality, sucks. It seems to operate at the most base level of the human, the untranscended form. Is there a transcending love? I make observations of other humans that empirically seem to lean in that direction, but on an experiential level I have yet to discover the answer.

One friend may be on the right track. He remembers the woman who bore his children, and inspite of her rejecting and betraying him, he claims she is the only love of his life. He chooses to live his own independent life protected from making that mistake again by persuading himself that he has found his one true love. His natural bent is towards hermithood, so he has the best of two worlds.

What causes the pain? It is the rising up of untamed human emotions. Greed, ego gratification, ignorance, intolerance, impatience, the seven cardinal sins. How do people deal with it? I guess sometimes they just harden their heart, turn a blind eye, work a patch around that blind spot and move on. Denial: it wasn't my fault, it was YOU. Or they can face up to the pain together, look at it in clear light, and apply a remedy. People can change, if they are committed to change. But how many people really are?

I believe I am ready for change. I look at this shattered relationship, and I can name my faults. Because the other party is not committed to the relationship, not committed to change, I can not learn a new way to behave, when this fault tries to arise again. The fault doesn't go away just because I recognize it. It is like any other habit; it requires step by step action to reduce its power and to change. Like quitting smoking, where you have to learn to feel the impulse to smoke and then apply countermeasures to distract and eventually extinguish that impulse.

I can remember a time when I was living in community, in the early years of the new millennium. We could laugh at my clumsy, abrasive ways of expressing myself. They accepted me and all my faults. Their persistent friendship through the years and separation of miles shows that they went beyond the external appearances and saw the loving, caring heart beneath. Even with differences of age and perspectives, they love me. When in community, I found it easier to control those unrefined parts of me.

I do not believe that humans are meant to live alone, I don't care how realized they may be. A hermit in a cave is surrounded by the spirits he communes with. My living alone, my apartment inaccessible by distance from the students, the Chinese indifference to just another foreigner, no ex pat females on the staff or nearby, all this conspires to an unnatural situation. Add to that the work load put on me by my school contract, there is precious little time to search for companionship, to go out into the city to find an existing community.

I joined the gym. Usually I swim when the pool is fairly empty. But the pool was closed for weeks during the holiday, so once it opened I went for a swim regardless of the crowds. The pool was so crowded that there were two or three people in the same lane, trying to swim laps without bumping into anyone coming or going. I found that I did not watch the clock. I continued swimming longer than usual, simply because having other people there gave me energy. And that is my reality. Am I alone in this? It is not a defect, it is the way I was made. I was made to serve; to be part of a community. My positive energy flows out and into others, and this recharges me. My purpose cannot be fulfilled when I live in isolation. The only contact I have is with the students in front of the classroom. I serve them the best that I can, but I could do so much more. This looks, feels and tastes like frustration. May the grace of God keep it from slipping into despair.

Winter Love

Finding love in winter?? I don’t want to go there; don’t make me. Well, all right, if you really want to talk about it. But what’s the point?

Yes, it’s true. I have known for some time now that it is necessary to find a life partner. I am not getting any younger, I know I am growing weaker, and two are stronger than one.

Did I expect that finding that partner would bring joy in my life? I don’t need joy. I am at peace, content with my purpose in life and my efforts to realize to its fullest that purpose. I have found equilibrium, far more satisfying than joy.

Until, that is, I found my partner. Did I expect him to be Superman? Quite simply, I had no expectations. Surely he needed to be a traveler and on a spiritual path. Beyond that, the trivial things I asked for (a musician, no taller than 5’9”, to name two) were nonessential frills.

He has a noble name, although his parents ignobly denied him its full breadth, Gregory. They chose instead ‘Gregg’. And so the tone was set for his life. A luminous essence traversing a wobbly orbit, compass set to a noble course, on torturous tacks towards it. .

Surely finding each other was a joyous event. The joy was short lived, like a magnesium flash measured against the time span of eternity. Now comes the hard part. Two creaky cranky people learning how to appreciate, love and respect a space invader.

Too soon to move in together, our time is spent invading the others home for short spans, trying hard to adjust to an environment not conducive to our habits. I like my oatmeal every morning; he takes breakfast casually. I need my face cream, hair brush, morning toilet rituals not available at his cramped abode. At my abode, he wakes up wanting his own shower, not mine. He sits looking lost, finger crooked for a phantom cup of coffee, while I buzz around in my morning rituals.

And the physical! Oh don’t get me started. My atrophied body was not ready for the brutal assault of sexual awakenings. I had forgotten how messy sex is. In the habit of celibacy, desires long ago extinguished, how am I supposed to suddenly feel aroused? I remember the hot flames of desire, but weren’t they fueled by hormones now dissipated from my frame? I respect this man, I enjoy his company, I find him gentle and easy to be with, I lean on him happily. I would not want him to leave my life ever again. To return to my familiar single life would be a journey down to spiritual and emotional impoverishment where once there had been contentment. But he is still a man, hormones still course through his body, and he expects to be sexually desired and completed.

Winter love, then, is a fascinating phenomenon. It is something new, altogether not expected, not predicted by media hype. They don’t try to sell products to us, so they project us no image to help us find our way. Not a love ruled by hormones, it is the discovery of a new way of caring. With the heart, with the mind, especially with the spirit, it is a reaching out, an opening up, an expanding of Self to accommodate Other who walks into your arms a stranger.

Just at that moment in life when we old people are reputed to be fixed in our ways, unchangeable, old dogs incapable of new tricks.

All right then, now you’ve heard. The good, the bad and the ugly. On to a brave new adventure, probably the most significant of a lifetime. Certainly the toughest. One can only hope the rewards will be equal to the challenge.