Enemies, Come Sit At My Table.

I was walking home from the bus stop one afternoon with my friend that I played violin with at school in the late 60's-early 70's.  It was a rural street, still dirt and curiously mud covered water puddle road that we walked up and down every day.  But this day was different.  About half way down, we could see the flashers of police cars, and a lot of them.  As we grew closer, the police kept us from proceeding, and we saw a truck that said SWAT on it.  These scary men in black were up in the trees and on roof tops, and someone was talking through a loud speaker to "come out with your hands up".  All of this was surrounding and aimed strait at my friends house.

When we were finally able to approach, which I suppose is when they determined that there was no longer any danger, it was discovered that my friends father had shot and killed his mother, then himself, according to their next door neighbor.  I skid-addled home as quickly as I could, not knowing what else to do.

I only remember two interactions between me and my friend after that event.  The first was the two of us sitting outside in front of his house, in the ditch between some giant pine trees that lined the front of his property.  The only thing I remember him saying was "If my father was still alive, I would kill him".  The other interaction wasn't an interaction with him directly, but a discovery in his music locker.  It was a love letter between my friend and another boy.  I thought there was something really wrong as I had no experience or knowledge about homosexuality, and I showed it to my music teacher.  He took it from me and said nothing.

I went back to minding my own business, but as far as I can remember, that is where our friendship ended, and I lost track of him after that.  I think he and his older sister and brother moved away at some point.  I do remember thinking that he would probably be fucked-up forever, and felt guilty and helpless and wish I would have known how to be a better friend.  I remember hearing a long time ago that he was working at a gas station and was a mess.  It made me cry.

With the advent of FaceBook, I randomly and periodically search for names from my past, and lo, there was my friend.  He had followed his musical talent all the way across the country achieving a degree in teaching music, and proudly did so at several elementary schools.  He is still gay, and by every appearance, seems about as happy as any human being that I have ever read about on FB.  Not only was he accomplished, but in love, happy, living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and had somehow overcome what I can imagine is one of the most devastating life events that anyone could ever survive.  How was this even possible?

In a word, forgiveness.

I've been thinking about forgiveness for the last several months.  I have been trained for many years the importance of forgiveness in our lives, and how it dissolves resentments.  During the past couple of years, I have had a string of betrayals from people that I loved so very dearly.  I was not aware of most of them until after the fact which made them somehow even more painful.  I suppose I'd rather be punched in the face directly than stabbed in the back.  Regardless, there were several in succession, and while they were nothing like what my friend experienced, if one can overcome the kind of resentment he had towards his father, I should be able to rise above these less devastating, nonetheless painful injustices.

There were several instances of slander from people whom I treated with the utmost respect and love.  I don't know where it came from.  Perhaps I wore too many hats in those relationships which can often lead to trouble, but I am one to be able to handle dual relationships, and after considerable conversations with the other party, I was convinced that they would be able to do the same.  I was wrong, and so were they.  While painful, the infractions were fairly minor, and while I expelled her from my life as a friend, I did tell her in a separate communication that I love her, and I meant it.  I still do.  I have no resentment towards her, whatsoever.  She was simply tangled in the web of a spider of greater strength then her own and followed suit.  It wasn't her fault.  One day, I will invite her to my dinner table and hope to resume the nature of what our previous relationship consisted of.  My being a supportive role model, and in this case, one that displays the ability to forgive.

Another is a little more difficult and I haven't taken any action on this one yet.  And yes, my resentment still looms in the recesses of my grey matter.  It involves an individual who was in a position to steal from me many thousands of dollars in cash and equipment, defraud an account, attempt to corrupt my reputation with business associates and has thus walked.  I have the legal right to file criminal charges against this individual to try to recoup some of my losses, but at what cost?  I don't know if any of you have ever been involved in a lawsuit, but they are about as toxic as any process can be.

I have had other experiences where I had the choice to file suit or let it go and let Karma take care of it all, and chose the later.  Karma always won in the end when I've made this choice.  It seems like it would be an easy choice again, but that resentment is gnawing at me like a God-damned weasel in my brain wanting retaliation, and would relish seeing this person behind bars.

So, I look back and remember my rediscovered friend for the answer without even having to ask him.  I have to forgive this person.  I have to take the high road and let Karma take care of the situation.  It always does much better job than I could anyway, and I am saved all the anguish that goes along with having to handle it myself.

I remember witnessing many lessons about different forms of forgiveness, or at least the end result, and one of them cam from the play Les Miserable when I was quite young.  First of all, I don't like plays.  I do not like being made to sit in one place that long as it caused extreme claustrophobia and other various discomforts.  As far as I am concerned, the title translated to "I'm Miserable", and couldn't wait to get out of there.  But I do remember a scene where people were stealing from some man, and he knew it, but kept inviting them to eat at his table.  It seemed so odd to me that it captured my attention, and I never forgot it.

The other similar lesson was from a book I read many ears ago called The Fifth Sacred Thing where more horrible things were happening in the world, and the innocent were inviting the 'enemy' to sit at their table.  There it was again.  It was much different than the 'turning the other cheek' I remember from childhood'.  It was much deeper and much more risky.  Inviting the enemy to break bread with you.  It is not a tactic that I have implemented yet, but I intend to try it.  It has revealed itself to me again and again in ways that has stuck in my consciousness.

So, perhaps my New Year's Resolution will be to give this process a try as a means of forgiveness.  Something tells me that it is the right thing to do, and will perhaps lead to much more than forgiveness, but maybe even understanding, and maybe a little closer to them and to God.

Thank you, my childhood friend.  You set an amazing example for us all.

Gold Eyes and Middle Fingers

So, as if my astrological chart isn't anomalous enough, my eyes are changing color and becoming gold, or amber, and I just discovered that I have a triple loop on the middle finger of my left hand.

The eyes becoming amber are rare in humans, and is mostly seen in cats.  The finger pattern was discovered when I was finger printed for a background check, and the woman commented on how very rare a triple loop is.  She actually seemed a little freaked out by it.

I did a little research and found a man who is a finger pattern expert and he listed all the various types of finger print patterns from most common to most rare, and mine wasn't even listed.  So, I wrote to him and told him of what I discovered about my own print, and he immediately asked for a digital copy of it.  I tried scanning it, but too small, and I don't have an ink pad to make a copy, but I'll get one and send it off to him.  He said he has never seen one, nor has he ever hear of or read of one like mine, and is highly intrigued.

So, I don't know what it all means.  But it probably explains to some extent why my life is as colorful as it is, and always has been.  I'll let you know about the 'triple loop' if/when I ever learn more about it.

As for the eyes...meow.

Reflective Idols

An argument ensued over the last 24 that stemmed from one person having idols and the other (me) not having any.  It has inspired deep thought about myself (my favorite thing), the people in my life, the people not in my life, and people of different cultures and belief systems, and I found that this topic did not have any borders, socially, politically, economically or otherwise.

What are idols, and why do so many have them, and even have to have them, and why do I not?  Are either of these choices or needs helpful or destructive, right or wrong?  My ponderance of the day as I drink my illegal raw goat's milk cappuccino in the state of North Carolina.

It all started while discussing history with my significant other when he proclaimed that his idol lived in the 1700's and was none other than Casanova.  Giacomo Casanova.  My initial gut reaction was "Blech!" The quintessential womanizer of all time.  I was first shocked, then appalled, and then I was scared.  How could the man I love aspire to be a man of this moral character?  I must admit that I pretty much saw the writing on the wall on this one.  Those red flags that pop up from time to time were waving obnoxiously in my face like an annoying swarm of black flies as I tried desperately to deflect the swarm with my brain rather than my hands.

Immediately after receiving this tidbit of information, I gave myself a mini-education via an encyclopedic synopsis of Casanova's life, and learned that there was much more to the man then just womanizing.  He was a gambler (and a bad one), lived on the money and graciousness of other people, was imprisoned on multiple occasions, one of which he escaped from and fled that country, was allowed back many years later, only to be evicted again, was in and out of various religious venues and kicked out...it just kept going on and on, and my stomach became more and more queazy.  As far as I could tell, the gig for this gigolo was exposed, and it was up.  There was nothing nobel or moral or appealing to me in this personality type.

But the man I know is more intelligent Casanova was, by far.  It was curious to me that this would be his idol.  Upon more careful study, I found there were striking similarities in their interests, including law, language, mathematics, and the desire to mingle with high society in a desire to see himself in or be accepted into a higher class.  Seeing this, and putting my own emotions aside (that would be the continuous emotion of wanting to vomit), it made me take a closer look at what makes one idolize another.  What is it that makes one an idol of another?

First, the whole notion of idolizing someone is a turn-off for me, personally.  To worship another person would make me feel less than them, and I am not less than anyone.  And to be worshiped by another person would make me feel more than them, and I am not more than anyone either.  It is my deep belief that I am the same as everyone.  Human.  I am the good.  I am the bad.  I am the ugly.  So are you.  So was Casanova.  So was Hitler.  So was Mother Teresa and Jesus.  All human, in all its forms.  So why idol one over the other?

I believe it is more an issue of objectivity.  A desire to see one's self in another, to see our humanity in a way that is validating.  Someone in my distant past once told me that it is impossible to see oneself objectively.  I don't know if this is a true statement or not, but it stayed with me since my youth, and if it is impossible, or perhaps very difficult, finding "idols" makes perfect sense.  Seeking out people of history, past or present, with whom we can most closely identify with gives us the ability to see ourselves more clearly.  They are like having a mirror for our soul.

A personal example of this is during the past year, I went through a period of reclusivity that included a bit of mania and no interest in personal hygiene.  For a few weeks, I declared that Howard Hughes was my idol, much to the horror of my Mom.  My declaration spurred me to read more about him, and I found that there was much more to Hughes then the popular notion that he was just a crazy, stinky man with a lot of money.  He was, in fact, brilliant, achieved many tremendous accomplishments and was a man of great character who was plagued with a bit of mental illness.  Of course, now I idolized him even more.

Having showered recently, taken my morning dose of anti-depressent medication and having had a good night's sleep, I can see myself a bit more clearly, and can see that I wasn't idolizing Hughes.  I was identifying with him.  I didn't want to be like him...I was like him, just as my aforementioned significant other saw himself in Casanova.

Relieving the compulsion to puke, I now realize that our idols shift and change as our mutable souls and psyches search for new mirrors to look into.  Reflections of who we are today may come in the form of Madonna (the pop singer), Madonna (Mother Mary) or Madonna (smirking her way through eternity).  You may see yourself through your child or your dog or a stranger on a bus, or maybe, if you look hard enough into your own eyes, you can see yourself when you look in the mirror.

Regardless of how you come to see yourself, the beauty is that if you don't like who you see, you can change who you are and maybe even become your own idol.  It is then that we see ourselves objectively.

I wonder who will reflect me today.  Maybe it will be me.