mob

"There is, and most of us know it in our hearts, a valid test of a human defense: Is it also a human resource? Will it help us and at the same time keep our children growing? Are we sure that the doors to our future and our past are still ajar after we have used it? Or is it something that will improve our condition now but make further progress for us difficult, and perhaps impossible? Does it win the battles and always lose the war? Whether our defenses are "right" will surely depend on the answers to these questions.

But how hard it is, when we are struggling with fears, to think beyond ourselves and the present moment. Even the most responsible of us is not in a learning mood on those days, days which sometimes stretch into years, years when the quiet voice of reason is drowned out by the cries of the terrorized child within us. Time is meaningless then. How can we master it enough to swing our intelligence up and down the decades, the centuries, scanning them to see what marks our acts are leaving on them?

It is, of course, an impossible thing for an individual to do in times of acute anxiety. There may or may not be someone who cares enough to help him, to point the way, to ask the question that will set him back on the open road. If there is no one, the dead end is reached. The little security system that the child put together long ago just wouldn't work for his grown-up ordeals.

But fortunately for the future of the human race, not all of us are panicked by the same event or terrorized by the same voice. There are always some who can keep heart and head steady enough to hold the door open even when the mob rushes it; some who know and refuse to let the rest forget that improvement and progress can lead in opposite directions, and often do; that progress is not real, however much improvement takes place, unless it keeps men connected with that great reservoir in which human beings have stored the records of their wisdom and errors, discoveries and art, and triumphs and defeats, and dreams of God; unless it opens up more and more possibilities for growth and the enrichment of us as persons."


my friend Amy W. sent this to me some months ago. it’s from one of her (then) new favorite books, “The Journey,” by Lillian Smith. Amy W. has this uncanny way of emailing me right when i need to hear some timely words of comfort. and they’re not just any words, it’s her particular brand and flavor that i am grateful for. i have come to regard her as one of the steadfast in head and heart that Lillian Smith mentions, one who is able to hold the door, even as the mob rushes it, one who asks the question that urges me back on the open road. we don’t correspond frequently. maybe 3 or 4 times a year. and, it is enough.

i remember trying to read her email over and over when i first received it. it was in june or july i think, and my brains were freshly scrambled from my visit to the states, maian planet, the sesshin, the iloilo kapwa conference, finding a place to live, traveling to bacolod and dumaguete, getting over the flu, significant friend break-ups, resigning from the clinic, moving to pampanga, ek, ek.

i remember i couldn’t get past the first line. this happens to me sometimes, and when it does, i’ve learned to just set whatever it is aside. then i pick it up the next week or the next moment, or whenever the Universe plucks that particular string for me to pick it up again.

even today, i had to read force myself to read this quote thoroughly. my eyes wanted to flit and skip over words, get to the end, say it’s done, say i got it, next.

days which sometimes stretch into years…
time is meaningless then…
cries of the terrorized child…

where does this rabbit hole of mine lead?

i feel detached from my life in the states. the upcoming presidential elections, global financial crises, current events. i am vaguely aware of what’s happening. mind, i’ll cast my vote for Obama via absentee ballot, but beyond that, i really am at a loss. i’m somewhat embarrassed (or is it my inner virgo wringing her hands, distraught at my apparent lack of sobriety and groundedness?) i lack the motivation to “keep up,” and when people here find out i am from the states, they ask me to explain the mortgage scandal and political party rivalries and they seem genuinely surprised that they seem to be more in the know. well, they are.

lately, i’ve been concerned more with generational and intergenerational grief and grieving. lately, i’ve been pondering rage inheritance. it is a painful experience to be here in negros. precious to spend time with my lola. painful to witness the ways in which my kin wound and harm. alarmed as they mirror the parts of me i’d rather forget i have.

i think about sacred contracts and the wisdom of the Universe. and i wonder aloud, sometimes on my knees, why me, why now, why this place, why so hard, why this way? what is it that you want me to learn? why have i made these sacred contracts with these crazy people? aren’t i one of them? i want to separate myself, create more separation. i want to escape back to santa rita, to dumaguete, to eating, to sleeping, to fucking. anything to get away from this discomfort.

this won’t last.
yah, yah, i know.

and when i sit still and remember to exhale, the discomfort shifts.
it doesn’t go away (shit.) but it does change.
sometimes it gets worse.
mostly it just shifts.
and sometimes it lessens for a bit, until the next wave hits.

how do i move through this in a good way?
without harming?
without aggression?
with honesty
with integrity?
i stumble through this and wonder how my way measures in terms of this valid testing of human defense that Lillian Smith invites me to remember. for ‘tis true, i do believe there really is a valid test of human defense, i do know this in my heart. but, what the hell is it?

can it be quantified?
can it be qualified?

i am reading this book on catastrophe theory written by alexander woodcock and monte davis. it was published in 1978 and has to do with a qualitative theory of physics and mathematics that offers a different way of looking at sudden change. from the back cover, catastrophe theory also “makes measurable such abstract qualities as fear, anger, love, and hate.” i have no idea how this theory figures in the current state of the world, and i am only on page 12 or so, but something speaks to me about this.

it is difficult for me to read it. kinda like reading thru Amy’s email. i have to force myself to read it thoroughly, line by line. i have to control the urge to flit my eyes to the end and say i got it, good, next. in fact, i’ve started over reading this book twice now. i bought it used at green apple books or diesel books last time i was in the states. it was one of those purchases where i just added it to my pile just from glancing at the title or the cover.

i know i am healing and addressing generations of grief, grieving, and unresolved rage. i have no idea how to go about it, except to keep putting one foot in front of the other and to get back up when i fall down over and over and over and over and over again. lizards jump down from the ceiling onto my chest. they land heavy on my heart, startling me. then they jump down to the floor and scurry away. they remind me to keep my heart open even when i want to close it, hardened and hurting. they remind me to exhale. and after that way, the inhale just comes naturally.