Thursday, April 21, 2016

Granny's Games


Granny still lives! At least, as a "construct" she does. "Brain play" is the issue. We humans make things up and believe them, and then we give credence to their supposed significance and pray to them, pay obeisance, and even sacrifice our natures to their perceived wants. Is that not what the Greeks and Romans did? They took their beliefs very seriously! But now we study their gods, and even dare scoff at their ignorance, their fanciful-mess, their ignobility!

Yet...

Granny was spurned by me. We were across the country being driven from having a maple-pancake breakfast and still dreaming of securing this new place at Selleck Way when I dared, from the back-seat, scoff: "As if one's ancestors are leaning over one's shoulder and guiding you!" In that moment I was more-keen to support the existentialist driving the car than I was being sensitive to the supportive spirits hovering around my sensibilities. My old friend the driver conjoined: "Yes. A bunch of molecules and atoms; all dispersed and unidentifiable, that'll be me. End of story. All else is Brain-Play!" Still, at that moment in the car something dire enveloped me. It was a foreboding. Poised as we were on the precipice of a delicate financial negotiation to secure our desired new home, I'd proven sacrilegious. I'd denounced my Gran-(nee) Selleck! And what's more, the other persons in the car knew precisely what and whom I was talking about! Still, I doubt that any one of them felt what I felt. They perhaps gave it no more thought. But all the rest of that day, my betrayal of my Granny lingered in me.

'Selleck Way' had struck me as providential from the outset. The street with my Granny's maiden name on it had guided me toward my new abode! Surely it was a sign? (And more than just a signpost, ha!) Surely Granny Selleck, my dear long-departed 'Dorothy', was monitoring me, steering me to more-better choices, being an angel in my care! But did I care back? Did I offer her sufficient gratitude? Did I acknowledge her 'presence' and her guardianship in my life? Well, certainly I did by telling my closest ones of the coincidental name! Certainly I did by telling my wife, my brothers, my sister, just how pleased I was to be living, potentially, on Selleck Way.

And then the deal fell through. That same night of my having denounced Granny at breakfast, all of six months ago, the email came through from the Realtor. We'd lost the deal; the prospective buyers of our old place were not able to get their grand piano into it, and so their conditions were not met. And we were back to 'square one.'

Square one. It's as though life itself is a game. We negotiate and create contracts and pray that our needs will be met. We bargain and manipulate and orchestrate and manage. We are not the product of our own making (only); we are the product of chance and coincidence and influence and 'who one knows'. And that Granny was so linked to Selleck Way and that I'd mocked at her influence was the reason, I felt it somewhere in my bones, that I now had lost the opportunity to purchase my dream home! And on the aeroplane, the next day, going back across the country from our visit with our friends near that maple farm, I sent hopeful thoughts toward Granny. I sent little prayers of contrition, of apology, of regret. Somehow, I felt, I was in the wrong.


It took nearly six months before the reversal of our ways. With our old house at last again sold, we yet again bid on Selleck Way, and won! Yes, Granny has been very gratefully acknowledged along the way. Thing is, those same 'across the country' friends recently visited, and though his 'brain-play' became a Granny-Game about Much-Ado, it was our conversationally re-construing co-valent bonding that left its mark. Atoms conjoin. Ghosts hover. Angels abound. Throughout history spirits (and demons) and Left-and-Right and the intersection between them has plagued mankind. Been a heart-hurt? Yes. Yet manufactured Saints and Santas and Goblins and Fairies invest themselves. So too for all our gods galore. Brain play? Indeed! 

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Eminence Arriving Imminently!


Out damned spot!

Anxiety invigorates the moments. Guest are about to arrive! Did Ben Hur receive such a welcome? Did Alexander? What of Caesar, or Napoleon, or even Hitler? Were palm leaves not spread before the passage of Jesus? Which house was not prepared for guests? Which city does not take into account the imminent arrival of eminent foreigners? Who does not think of the right food, the right drink, the right bedding, the cleanliness and tidiness and presentation (if not perfection) of at least one's best? We do try to impress. We do want to please. We do hope to make our guests comfortable and at ease and so satisfied that they may even come back! (Above all else, let us not be shamed.) Anxiety dictates the preparations; if not the presence of the moments we have with a guest. Let's give 'em a parade! And at best, everything looks as if it was easy, as if 'regular'. (Paint the slum.) After all, isn't this the way we 'always' live!

The shells with which we clothe ourselves can be complex indeed. We do not like to be seen naked, let alone vulnerable. The unexpected knock at the door can send us scurrying to tidy up, if not ourselves, then at least our hair, our living rooms or our kitchens. A single speck on the floor can have us bending, even at the last moment, to retrieve the strand of hair, the crumb, the dried-up drop. We'd prefer to be spotless. Is that what the concept of original sin gives us, this sense of being so imperfect that we must scrub away at every evidence of our living existence, as though we leave no footprints at all in the warp and woof of time? Our exoskeletons are built to belie our innards. We puff ourselves up in finery and pomp. We paint our walls and decorate the doors to our private parts of life. And those we do let inside, we show most preferably that which we want them to see; meanwhile the closets hide quantities of the untidy and the unresolved and even the indelicate. Who wants to see our dirty laundry? Who wants to inspect our soiled cloisters? Who dares invade our closed cupboards? Yet which of us does not have the very swirl of life's necessities attending us? We are perpetually caught in the need for balance between what is, what is desired, and what can be obtained. History itself grew into us with the evolution of our needs; we deceive and lie and exaggerate. As a collective we understand these implicit things. But as individuals? It remains an issue of comparisons.

Outward appearances perpetuate one's position in the status quo. The lawn is mowed, or not. The car is washed, or not. The type of car itself can be an issue. So too can the state of one's garden. It all is referenced to the self; it all can be taken so personally! One has 'made it', or not, by comparisons, most usually. And somewhere deep inside, perhaps subconsciously, one is driven to anxiety over whether one really does meet another's expectations. Paradise lost? A mother or father's inability unconditionally to love? A series of being bullied by others, by the media, by society itself? We live in states of inauthenticity for the sake of serving expectations. If not entirely because of our own making, then because of wanting to please or obey those in close relationship to us. "Go clean up your room; guests are coming!" has an enduring ring.


Yet surely the conventions of compassion, courtliness, fellowship, frankness, and purity of mind ought to suffice for any meeting between oneself and an 'other', no matter the hierarchical stance of their eminence. Surely we needs but be authentic, sincere, and caring of any other, with little fear that they will judge our city, our village, our house, our attire, our furniture, or our place of living. Surely? Still, afore any guest's arrival, we clean up, tidy up, and ensure that all is 'perfect' for their presence. (Still.) Thing is, how to do so without the attendant anxiousness, without the evident subjectivity of worrying about the recipients' opinion of oneself. How best just to give accordance to an 'other's' presence, and let the chips fall where they may, surely? Then again, oh dear, surely I didn't miss a spot?

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Humbly Human?



We repackage our lives according to our wants. An erstwhile friend wrote:As for the verbal agreement and handshake, it feels like the New South African handshake and a Zuma verbal agreement.” And he was right. Disappointment and hurt bit in his text. I felt guilty. My betrayal, my inconsiderateness, sat uneasily. I still stew. I felt ill. Yet my reaction to being called to task is reflexive; I've so many excuses! Where I grew up the consequences for actions were hardly ever worth the price of honesty! One learned to conceal, never (ever) to rat, to reveal, or to lay blame. Still, since being utterly perfect is always impossible, I’m learning to accept others' flaws too.

A verbal agreement? Oh my goodness, I actually, truly, entirely forgot about that! In my current state of predicament I sought an escape route that served me, and since I had no physical record of contractual obligations, I acted out of my own self-interest. I (unconsciously) forgot my words! No wonder he is mad at me! But, well, what of him? Is he aware that his holding me accountable impinges severely on my immediate circumstances? Yet I know it's not really him; it is me. I am guilty. (A promise is a promise.) Would he possibly accept my apology?

Yet in my time I've failed others too, in fact, failed in all of the 'deadly vices'. Even now, here in my seventh decade, I’m yet to master all moments to be 'perfect,' unconscious of intentionality as I may be.

My laziness hurts me, and others. I do not letter-write nearly as much as I should. I do not make the effort to attend social venues, funerals, meetings, or obligations as I might. Nor do I paint all the ideas that come to mind, or write down many thoughts. I all too often do not follow up on idle promises: "See you soon!" I forget some of my promises. I do not follow up on some of my momentum. I am fallible. But at least, when questioned, I'll own up, and try to make amends.

My survival instincts do not take into sufficient account the presence of others. I can at times neglect to ask if anyone else would like the last chocolate. I will take more than my share. Yet when caught, I'll do what I can to make amends, to provide for the other, to make it up to them.

My greed is too big. Because of it I have excluded others, marginalized others, seen to it that I ‘get’, even when they don't. And yes, there is in me a desire for more. I purchase things beyond my possible rate of consumption. I seek things out that I do not really need. But at the very least, when challenged about my selfish wants, I'll apologize, and offer to share, or to amend.

My arrogance can prevent me being humble enough. I grow impatient with slow talk, with idle talk, with chit-chat, with what I deem non-productive or time wasting. As such, I find those who do not offer much energy toward the exploration of life (as an alternative to a recounting of it,) of less immediate value than my own care. (Yet I do try allowing each simply ‘to be as they be’.)

Intractability occasionally creates insufficient room for me to check on myself. l can on quite rare occasions 'lose it.' Some sort of atavistic rage takes over and I simply don't give a damn about the results of my actions, such that I might swear in public, or kick a can, or even say ugly things. But I'll apologize soon as I realize it. And certainly, I will pay for any damages. If I can.

My self-satisfaction does not always consider the needs of others. At times I’ve not given the necessary consideration toward my partner, or allowed for the subjectivity of an 'other'. When treating an ‘other’ as 'object,' I’ve taken from them or acted out of my selfishness. Yet, yes, sometimes I have amended. Still, should the record be revealed, there’d be many ‘wronged’.

My deceit is horrid. Most unconscionable of all, I've lied and cheated and stolen as I still grow up, intentionally. (Small things are as guilty as bigger ones.) This is larger than unintentionally forgetting a promise! One knowingly breaks integrity. One thinks one can get away with it, but conscience, that niggle of the evolving spirit, knows there is no release until one understands not only how to stop, but to forgive the self, and all others too. Regrets? Yes; where I knew better!

A verbal agreement? It is not so good when one is imperfect. Fallible. But at least I’m learning. Caring. Wanting to make amends. I am forgiving. I am inclusive, accepting, absorbing, assimilating and integrative. I want to improve, to get more-better. I want to help. I want to be interested, to show interest, to act from care. I want to be honest and clear and sincere and authentic. I need to make mistakes, yes, but hopefully ones of oversight, not intentionality. In this case, I did not ‘intend’. That's what kind of human I am: Imperfect, always, but trying. You?



Sunday, April 3, 2016

Friends Forever?


'What kind of friend are you?' Disappointment and hurt bit in his text. I felt guilty. My betrayal, my inconsiderateness, sat uneasily. I still stew. I felt ill. Yet my reaction to being called to task is reflexive; I've so many excuses! Where I grew up the consequences for actions were hardly ever worth the price of honesty! One learned to conceal, never (ever) to rat, to reveal. Still, since being utterly perfect was always impossible, I gradually learned to accept others' flaws too.

'What kind of friend are you?' Well, what of him? Actions and interests that he might've shown me ought to've been more-better, more considerate, more.....  But I know it's not really him; it is me. I am guilty. And I've failed others too, in fact, in all of the 'deadly vices'. Even in my seventh decade I’m yet to master all moments to be 'perfect,' conscious of intentionality as I may be.

My greed is too big. Because of it I have excluded others, marginalized others, seen to it that I ‘get’, even when they don't. And yes, there is in me a desire for more. I purchase things beyond my possible rate of consumption. I seek things out that I do not really need. But at the very least, when challenged about my selfish wants, I'll apologize, and offer to share, or to amend.

My arrogance prevents me being humble enough. I grow impatient with slow talk, with idle talk, with chit-chat, with what I deem non-productive or time wasting. As such, I find those who do not offer much energy toward the exploration of life (as an alternative to a recounting of it,) of less immediate value than my own cares. (But I do try to allow for each to simply ‘be as they be’.)

My laziness hurts me, and others. I do not letter-write nearly as much as I should. I do not make the effort to attend social venues, funerals, meetings, or obligations as I might. Nor do I paint all the ideas that come to mind, or write down many thoughts. I all too often do not follow up on idle promises: "See you soon!" But at least, when questioned, I'll own up, and try to make amends.

Intractability occasionally creates insufficient room for me to check on myself. l can on quite rare occasions 'lose it.' Some sort of atavistic rage takes over and I simply don't give a damn about the results of my actions, such that I might swear in public, or kick a can, or even say ugly things. But I'll apologize soon as I realize it. And certainly, I will pay for any damages. Certainly.

My survival instincts do not take into sufficient account the presence of others. I can at times neglect to ask if anyone else would like the last chocolate. I will take more than my share. Yet when caught, I'll do what I can to make amends, to provide for the other, to make it up to them.

My self-satisfaction does not always consider the needs of others. At times I’ve not given the necessary consideration toward my partner, or allowed for the subjectivity of an 'other'. When treating an ‘other’ as 'object,' I’ve taken from them or acted out of my selfishness. Yet, yes, sometimes I have amended. Still, should the record be revealed, there’d be many ‘wronged’.

My deceit is horrid. Most unconscionable of all, I've lied and cheated and stolen as I still grow up, intentionally. (Small things are as guilty as bigger ones.) One forgets a promise! One breaks integrity. One thinks one can get away with it, but conscience, that niggle of the evolving spirit, knows there is no release until one understands not only how to stop, but to forgive the self, and all others too.


'What kind of friend?' Imperfect. Fallible. Learning. Caring. Wanting to make amends. I am forgiving. I am inclusive, accepting, absorbing, assimilating and integrative. I want to improve, to get more-better. I want to help. I want to be interested, to show interest, to act from care. I want to be honest and clear and sincere and authentic. I need to make mistakes, yes, but hopefully ones of oversight, not intentionality. That's what kind of friend I am: Imperfect, always, but trying. You?