Parent Lottery

I’ve downloaded a book recently into my iBooks. The Last Lecture: Legacy Edition and I am just beginning it. It is is a good read thus far but I had to stop for a moment and think about my own dad. You see the author makes the point that he won the parent lottery and he gives examples of his parents’ upbringing in shaping the person he is.

I think about my own dad. It could not have been easy for him. How many times was he faced with choices he had to make? Working at the paper mill the union went on strike and my dad with them. He’s questioned that decision ever since. I do not know how hard it was for the family to make ends meet during that time, a tribute to my dad’s tenacity in taking care of his family.

I remember him always having a quiet patience about him. It was said that he had a great temper but this is wrong. He got angry like anybody else did. Yet my dad’s anger was usually based on deep principles. What was so unsettling to some people was that when my dad’s anger did come out it wasn’t that it was wild and out of control, for I cannot remember it ever being as such. It was that the source of the anger was ideas that were rock solid and when faced with this a person quickly realizes that their own feelings was like the wind blowing against a mountain. My dad is a mountain. In pagan philosophy I would say that he is the Earth element, the direction of North. He is stone, the steady Polaris, the bare facts of the matter.

My mother was a desert sandstorm with her emotions. They came out of nowhere and blocked everything in sight. She could get angry for anything, or nothing, and she did not understand the idea of loyalty. It was about her. As I’ve begun my work in working with people who are on both sides of abusive relationships, I see how controlling and abusive my mother really was. And as I learn more I grow to respect my father even more.

My dad was always laughing or joking with people. I can easily bring up memories of him speaking kindly to someone in a store, on the road, or laughing with all of his body at something someone said. He was a hard worker, the hardest worker I have ever met, and demanded that people put in their effort as well. Yet he also knew that life was not so simple as to mark us into groups of those who work and those who are lazy. He was a charitable man and gave of himself for others.

I cannot bring up a memory of my mother laughing an innocent laugh with nothing more than joy.

My dad’s example has propelled me. I am often told I am a stand up guy, or a selfless person, or a hard worker, or a person willing to fight a worthy fight if the cause is just, or that I am kind to strangers, that I am a goofball. All of these compliments given to me are in fact behaviors modeled by my dad. While I am different in some regards, my character is born from the day-in and day-out example that my lived through hard times and good times.

Newton said that he stood on the shoulders of giants. I have not changed the world for the better (yet), though I’ve made a difference in a person’s life here and there… for the better I hope. Yet if it can be said that an interaction with me made all the difference, or if I do contribute something of greatness to the world some day, I will smile and point to my dad and say I stand on the should of a true giant. He lifted me up.

Macwriter

Mac kills PC in so many areas. I find that my workflow crashes to a halt when I have to go into the office and use their Windows systems. I hesitated in downloading any Microsoft programs onto my Mac because I don’t like anything about them, how they are organized. Even using Excel, which is still far more substantial than Apple’s Numbers program, I am quick to get in and get out. The one shining Microsoft program out there is Livewriter. It is great. I does everything that a blogger needs and wants. It has two-way communication with accounts and one can write, post, and draw from with ease.

So I am trying out MacJournal. I am hoping that the latest update will address some of the workflow problems that I had. We’ll see. A big problem for me was the lack of tag support. Not that the program doesn’t use tags, it does. But that it doesn’t draw from the list of tags one has already started on an external server. Livewriter does this well. But other programs, not so much. Instead of a seamless work environment I am forced to print out a list of tags and hang it on the wall. This. is. stupid. Either that or I am stupid and I cannot figure out a workaround.

On coming out to others about being a pagan

On a discussion board it was asked on how to handle coming out to your parents that you are a pagan. There were lots of thoughtful answers. Here is mine.

I’m throwing out a couple of different thoughts here. Some might be pertinent, or not, connected to each other, or not. But they are various trends and such that I’ve seen, read, or experienced from time to time.

1. To evangelicals we are damned and must be saved. Some very good and loving people genuinely believe they have OUR best interests at heart by trying to convert us as they believe that the real life, the lasting life, the ultimate truth, is what is in the afterlife. This is an idea that extends back to pagan thought (Plato for example) though they believe it is purely a Christian one. Point is, do not mistake hate for love. I’m not saying put up with abuse (gods know I do not) but to return with love when able to.

2. We are seen by many as a fad, a perception with more than its share of truth. There are many many books that are commercially oriented. We’ve got our share of ‘seekers’ like many other religions do. I am guessing there is an inverse correlation of age and willingness to go outside of social norms in terms of religion (a belief that isn’t too novel, but still an unfounded belief without research on my part as far as demographics). There are so many deeply held social conventions in the other dominant religions that have shaped, in major ways, the social fabric. It is easy to see pagans as counter-culturals (a term I mean in its literal sense and of which does not denote shame nor pride). What have we got other than some younger generation folks, or lasting hippies, who gather at various festivals or under moons? The answer is plenty. An approach to this might be to study traditions of the British Isle (with Mummers Dancing, hobby horses, wassailing, etc..) or Appalachian folklore, or whatever area you are in (chances are you’ll find pagan beliefs and practices well camouflaged into mainstream society). Showing these common threads is one way to assuage the fears of our following some shallow fad but that of some deeper and meaningful ‘way’.

3. The guilty person is nervous, the insincere is shaky. When questioned about our beliefs and such, an apologetic is discredited and discounted. Such tones of apology support views that there really is nothing to us, or that we’ve got something to hide. This is especially predominant in terms of sexuality in our pagan culture. Not so much within as on our edges in relations to others. When talking to non pagans some of us adopt tones that are closer to puritanism than Dionysius. For what do we have to be ashamed of? Being earthly bodies with passions? Because we acknowledge that fire exists doesn’t me we sleep with it in a bed of straw. So too with matters of sexuality, and yet some still have the ‘sinful’ attitude towards this because we are afraid of looking bad in the eyes of the puritanical majority… a majority, I believe, that has a warped, twisted, stunted, and unhealthy view of sexuality as a whole. So when talking to someone when you are coming out of the broom closet, trust in your path and feel that grounding in it giving you strength. Instead of looking for their reassurance that you are correct, wish them the same joy on their paths as you’ve found on yours. Return what comes at you with love.

4. Humor. Remember to laugh at our absurdities and hilarities. We are human, we are mammals, and mammals play. We learn through playing. We grow wise through pain. All in all this is good for your soul’s path, your journey through the phases until you too are called to go into the next world, taking what you’ve learned here with you.

A walk in the dark

Tonight was very slow in the bar. Memorial Day weekend and the State Fair going on. So I let the other bartender close and I went home. I stopped by Barnes and Noble and picked up a few books, but then I put them back down and came home. I did not buy a book. (gasp) It’s rare… but it does happen.

I took a walk in the Fanno Creek park at dusk. The images of other people were faint in this time between times, almost like ghost. As I watched a small kid try to catch up to her family across the grass, I could easily imagine how some tales of faeries perservered. Stars came out tentatively in the clear sky above. The tree frogs were not so bashful and let out a loud constant chorus in the trees around the creek. To me they sounded like little Tibetan Buddhist chants, except for many octaves higher in pitch.

I love Summer nights outside. I recalled the joy of many nights as a kid in Arkansas when I would wander the woods alone. I miss lightning bugs. There are none in Oregon. In the South they are everywhere on a Summer night and lend an otherworldly quality to an already magical ambience. Tonight I could smell the blackberries on the vine off the path to my left. I could see the distance shapes of people here and there, moving along the path, leaving the path in darkness. I kept to my self and to the edge of the tree line, aware of light and shadow and moving, quietly, from one to another, preferring not to be seen or heard. I was enjoying the night, but I was also on patrol. Tally one of the good guys in the neighborhood park at night against whatever might be out there.

In my silence i slipped up on two young girls calling for something in the woods. It was very dark and they had no idea I was there. I asked them if they were looking for a lost dog. They answered a good answer, that they were just looking around (you don’t want to tell a stranger in the dark that you are looking for something… that is an opening for him to get closer to you). I had no intention of stopping and talking with them. I never broke stride as I walked by them and I could have continued on wiithout their having ever known I was there. Yet I wanted to let them know that they were vulnerable and they HAD indeed been snuck up on (actually I was merely walking in a meditative walk, not sneaking) and hopefully it got the point across to them. Better that I startle them into using some sense than the wrong person. I’ve seen signs of sex and drug use in this park, up and down its length, so I wanted them to be careful. As I walked away they resumed their search for their lost dog (whistling into the woods and flicking a lighter for light) for a few minutes before they found what they were looking for and left (the dog showed up and as they left the little dog barked at the neighborhood dogs next door, creating a racket). I continued my walk, keeping to the edge, listening for things around me… but mostly throwing my self up into the sky to mingle with the stars and letting my heart sing with the songs of the tree frogs. I’ve read stories of forests being haunted by witches and such. In Dungeons and Dragons there was always the druid of the forest you better not anger. I always loved the storie of Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest also. Well, consider this long little park my beat, one witch keeping tabs on various areas within in, ready to aid whenever or to give a little information (I pointed out the owl in a nest to two parents and their young child. They enjoyed it very much).

My thoughts turned to a friend of mine. She is in an odd sort as of late… a war within her heart. I had handled one of my many decks of tarot cards before the walk and the Lewellyn Tarot spoke to me (though I’ve not had good readings with this in the past) and I carried it with me. I shuffled it over and over as I walked, thinking of her and trying for insight. But I put it in my little bag I carry and instead tried to balance and center myself. In the dark there are many things that come out in me… aspects of my shadow self, parts of my warrior self, parts of my spiritual self trying to connect with all, the carefree child in me wanting to romp and play… all these and more come out. I noted them all as they each fought for dominance. I wanted, instead, to be balanced. In “What Witches Do” he writes of an awareness of the four directions, of the four elements most of the time so that it becomes second nature and the balancing that results.  Hmm… sounds like what I’d like to shoot for.  I didn’t push things out of my mind as I walked, I just tried to welcome other aspects as well.

In my last therapy session the notion of writing a letter to my mother came up.  I sat down once to try and do so, today, but didn’t get more than a paragraph.  When we discussed the idea I felt rage building up in me.  When asked “the question” (how do you feel about that/ how does that make you feel/ what are you feeling right now”) I said that I felt very angry, like yelling “you were wrong!” and then I stuck my tongue out like a kid and went “nnnnyah”.  My therapist laughed.  She said that was an important part… that sticking the tongue out… it was the act of defiance of something small against something bigger.  Hmmm… that made sense and had a ring to it.  I told her that I couldn’t write the letter on a day I had to go to work.  It’d put me in a bad mood for work.  Yet when my days off came and I spent them in reading and hiking, I didnt’ want to ruin those great days with writing out that letter.  So I tried to do so today.

back from vacation

Back to the grind.

I took a week off and went home to Arkansas to see my family. I had no plans. I just wanted to see them. I left late at night and arrived in Little Rock early Wednesday morning. Mom and Dad were there to pick me up. We went home and goofed around a bit. Thursday Dad and I went fishing at a small old river that was once part of the Mississippi but was now one of the many lakes along the Mississippi’s border in the Delta. We caught some crappie and noted something that neither of us have ever seen or heard of before… big silver fish leaping six feet out of the water. I’ve seen this in trout and salmon, but not down in the South, and nothing this big down here… these fish were easily as big as my thigh… some bigger. My dad grew up in this area and fishes all over the region and he didn’t know what they were.

The weekend my sister brought my nephews to see me. Grayson is spoiled rotten. He wanted something and I wouldn’t give it to him so he began to pout and cry. I could see the expression in his eyes as trying to get his way. I laughed at him and told him that “uncles doesn’t play those games” and I picked him up and set him oustide and closed the door. HA! But he really is a good kid and smart as a whip! But he’s got his momma’s number! HA!

The rest of the week was just laying around and going fishing. Didn’t catch much fish the rest of the time. Dad and I went back to the old river again and saw lots more of those big leaping silver fish. I drove the boat and at one time three of them leapt over front of the boat while we were going fast. One hid Dad in the side and he kicked another out of the boat. I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. The fish were agistated into jumping by the boat! When we fished for a few hours and caught three crappie, we decided to have some fun and we’d go up and down the river, fast slow fast slow, while the fish, as many as four at a time, would jump near the boat, and Dad would try to catch them with a dip net. He alomst got one, but it was too big to fit in the net. When I got home I did a google search for “jumping fish arkansas” and up popped lots and lots of articles about the silver carp, that they get up to 60 lbs, that they will jumpe as high as 8 feet out of the water, that they are a danger to boaters and skiers, and so on. I printed out the info and gave it to Dad to read.

Not much else to write about. I shaved only twice, I was lazy, I ate lots and gained ten pounds, and I just hung around my Dad. I wish that we lived closer together. I miss him when I am in Oregon, and I miss Oregon when I am in Arkansas.

I am back to work now. It is Oktoberfest at the restaurant and I’ve been picked to wear the Liederhosen and be the “fun guy” for the three nights that we celebrate. Oh joy.

I did go to church while I was home in Arkansas in order to hear my nephew’s last sermon in the states for at least a year. He is going to Scotland for another degree. I was pretty impressed by his sermon and the way he delivered it. It was a good one. He’ll do well as a preacher.

Halloween

I was invited to go to Divas halloween thing. I thought I would go, only to see my friends. But I didn’t really feel up to going out in public. Tonight was a night for being alone. I watched couple groups of people cross the parking lot through the night and before sunset I took a walk around a few blocks. I got a bit teary eyed when I saw some adults walking their kids who were dressed in costume. I had no other thought on my mind, no greater yearning at that moment than to likewise be with my nephew, him in his scary goblin costume, as he went from house to house to scare adults into giving him large amounts of candy. He is 8 years old. I’ve not seen him since he was five. Oh how my heart aches to see him again and to also see his brother who is a year old and I’ve never lain eyes on him. Will they become young men and know their uncle only as a voice? My father also, I’ve not seen him since Thanksgiving of what was it… 98… 99? I miss my family. I have no family here and I feel it all too acutely when I see friends with their families. A friend of mine is throwing a birthday party for her mother tomorrow. I cannot go, though I’ve been invited. It is a painful reminder of what I left. I could have easily stayed in Arkansas, even if only transferring to the University of Arkansas. I’d see my family much more often, maybe even for holidays. Yet so strongly have I followed my heart’s desire that I’ve given up seeing my family, given up a dear love, given up accomplishments, so that I could come to Oregon. It pains me very much. When I am asked why the fear in commiting, the hesitancy in action, the half effort… I turn away my heart. Has the payment thus far been so cheaply valued? I’ve given up, more than at times I wished I’ve had. This place that I live in, it is all that I had hoped for it to be and more. I may not be the president of the Sierra Club, in a platform in an old growth tree, or working in an organic co-op… and god knows that I have made more mistakes than perhaps I should be allowed. But the one thanks that I am able to give constantly throughout is for my questioning nature. Yet it is at times heart-rending that I must choose between the following where that questioning leads me, or to be with those that I love.

My dad has since quit smoking and gained weight. All my life he has been thin and now he’s grown a belly. Its been two years since he’s quit. His hair continues to leave him, he gets greyer and greyer. The time will soon be here when he will be an old man and my opportunities to do the things we always talked about are gone. The last time we went floating a river was the summer of 89.

My sister has changed jobs many times. Has had two kids and the newest one I’ve not seen. She is a soccer mom and takes the oldest one to games and karate. He loves to compete and once got a broken collar bone but didn’t tell anyone because he didn’t want to leave the game. He was six. He is often bored in class and can sometimes be a troublemaker. He scores in the top 1% of his class on I.Q. tests and is now placed in advanced placement classes.

I try not to cry right now… the sobs are held back and are… breaking, shaking, gasping. I was once asked what is it that whispers to me in the dark. How dark do you want to get? …. …. …. I used to be afraid of the dark. I used to be afraid. But the dark allowed me to hide my self, my fears, my shortcommings… the dark became my ally. In the dark I put my trust. In the dark still lived my fear. Rarely are things that dark now, for often my mind is occupied in a thought, an emotion, a feeling and the fingers do not come. But they are still there, they are always there. Did Dante ever think of the planes of Hell while sitting in his morning garden? Likely he did. I’ve always questioned why. The route of those questions have changed, but the essence of the question has remained the same. Why? I wanted an answer. I remember prayers, deep in the night when I was a child. Several religions and other isms and I’m still going.

I’ve calmed a bit. The candles in my window give a pleasant aroma to the room. The temperature has dropped considerably in the last two hours. I can feel the change. Providence… there is none. At least not that I’ve seen. I see no other rhyme or reason to suffering than what the person percieves there to be. Meaning, like stress, is self created. I keep searching for it but I need more to hang my hat on than simply a belief. No… I’ve flung my heart out to the wind before and I cherish not the taste of cold steel to my lips. Yes, Kierkegaard was right in his wanting a truth that he could live and die for… and thus far I’ve not found it… but I’ve not found any stark naked truths that he mentioned either. Every truth is a twisting of a lie to suit a person’s needs, whether they are physical or emotional. How easy it is to see the small little worlds that the conservative radio show hosts, the dreadlocked hippy, the cocky sports jock in the club, the snob socialist… how small all of these little worlds are. How frail their gods are to a large hammer. What truth is there? The pause that I get, the distant look in my eye and the welling of tears when I think of what my nephew might be doing, how his costume might look, what he might say as he walks along the gravel edge of the roads in smalltown Mississippi going from house to house with the deepest conviction that his costume is so scary that the adults are literally frightened out of their wits and will give him lots of candy. The joy and sadness, both intimate lovers, that I feel when I think of him. That is the only truth that I know.

It has long been tradition for me to draw tarot cards on Halloween. My deck sits in a cloth bag inside a chest. They’ve not seen the light of day in over a year and were infrequently used before that. I have not the heart or belief anylonger that the universe gives a rats ass, nor that it is so much as set up that way, for any matter at all within one’s life. The only meaning that is in life is what we put into it, and day in and day out I put joy into my life. Tonight, however, joy is to be put on the nightstand and I will take to the bed with my mistress of sadness and we shall make love all night long.

Sorrow too is a human emotion.