A long time ago, when someone insisted and I must have run out of Dostoyevski, I read, Only Cowgirls Get the Blues. Please forgive me for this sin. IN the book, the author posed the question; "Who knew how to make love stay?"
At the time, being twentish and full of vinegar, I thought the question conceited and a little shallow. I'm not sure what I think of it today. Love staying is a process, a path; certainly not a hormone dump and three months of sex. Who could read the mind of the author? We know what happens in Hollywood or those seeking non-ending adolescence. Back then a lot of relationships ended on the rocks for one reason or another, and I thought being young and dumb and drunk had the most to do with it. So when I was 29 and threw the bottle away (for many years to come) I was curious to see how "life would really work."
No more excuses, no water out of a hollow log or rail road trains going through the brain ala whatever kit chemical was around. I took myself earnestly into civilization. I would bring back the lessons learned of near destruction, and of what love I'd found, and would walk to my own drum pace. And I did. And it was here I discovered that good things happened to bad people, bad things happened to good people, and most of all, good people hurt good people over and over again.
IT wasn't enough that Life had its own missiles and logs to throw at you, no; we spent a lot of time killing ourselves and each other. The first time I saw the sleepy little town where I now live, I turned to my friend Charlie Bear and said, "It's a beautiful place, but there's some real problems here." And I was to find this true, when we made the valley our home several years later.
It would be paradise except for the fighting. There are all manner of God's wonders spread about, but bitterness and greed and rage and taking push those aside. There are good men at other good men's throats. Who knows why good, moral men disagree? I thought back to the line from the Cowgirl book and wondered, "Why do we take offense?"
WE know why. Because evil is rampant and we hurt. We see people breaking rules everywhere; take a drive to the grocery store and watch several misdemeanors being committed on the highway- if not felonies. We see famous adored women and men getting away with murder, we see local businessmen in league with local governments and 'progressing', often at the cost of their neighbor's benefit. We live in a society with enormous bureacratic offices whose functions extend into every part of our personal and public lives, and we see chaos, greed, favoritism, spite and a whole lot of coveting of other people's goods. And into this maelstrom the individual attempts to find his own values, his 'rules', the cross he bears, the lines he draws so that good men can know other good men when they meet.
And when someone seemingly steps outside these lines, "ah hah, we knew it all along, so and so is corrupt, divisable, stained, greedy, uncaring, selfish- you name it fill in blank let's allow that sob to fall to hell." We take offense, because the injuries we've born just living here are immense and always threatening to top over the brim and spill out into our personal and working lives. We are tired of people lying to us, and playing the system to get ahead, and when we seemingly catch someone with his hand breaking the rules we make a hard and fast decision.
A old bughouser at the Psych Ward used to call it the chicken complex; the chicken with a single speck of blood would be pecked to death by the other birds in the coop in short order.
My nephew is a wayward son. He's on the brink of doing all the things I did when I was his age. He's too smart, see's beyond, but can't get ahold and will blow himself apart instead.
"Tell him if I'd not fallen down into booze, I'd have 10 books written by now," I told my sister.
"I don't think he cares. And besides, do you know how real artists live?"
"Tell me," I said.
"They are horrible, they only care about their art, they hurt everyone around them, break families apart, their loved ones, business connections, everything; just as long as their art is safe and alive."
My Sis is a pretty good artist. If you had one of her water colors it would be a highlight in your home- I promise. But when she said these words to me, I felt bad, because I was that person, and I couldn't seem to be any better.
I should get all new aquaintences to sign a release form: "munk can be very sensitive and funny, but I acknowledge by this signature that I am also to expect apparent derision, arrogance, selfishness, spite, anger, bigotry, betrayal, and a feeling I'm being looked at like a bug in a microscope by a scientist in a hurry to get a grant."
You can't hide from what you are. And if I am the break-form person, the iconoclast, artist, then my stupid life is a reflection of that around me, and I don't mean hollywood or cult film. I mean good people will sometimes hurt other good people. It's just more obvious with the sloppy ones like me, but it affects all of us in our neighborhoods, our workplaces, churches, and government offices.
And that, is the single most painful thing I've found on this planet to date, with the possible exception of parents losing children.
It's not enough for good men and women to make boundaries; they must also make a path of redemption back to those boundaries. We cannot go forward if we keep throwing each other out.
Nothing seems to stay. Not rules, governments, forums, treaties...friends. Change is the rule. The only thing I count on in this life is love and friendship, and even those will fall short in hurt or loss. As bad as I am, I've learned to forgive everyone. Because I don't have the right not to. It is arrogance to hold onto hurt. It means you are more important than that around you. This is not a free pass for all those who would act badly; because when friends leave and your heart is broken, they only leave the truth behind, and we all know how difficult it is to sleep with the truth at three in the morning when you haven't any friends.
munk
At the time, being twentish and full of vinegar, I thought the question conceited and a little shallow. I'm not sure what I think of it today. Love staying is a process, a path; certainly not a hormone dump and three months of sex. Who could read the mind of the author? We know what happens in Hollywood or those seeking non-ending adolescence. Back then a lot of relationships ended on the rocks for one reason or another, and I thought being young and dumb and drunk had the most to do with it. So when I was 29 and threw the bottle away (for many years to come) I was curious to see how "life would really work."
No more excuses, no water out of a hollow log or rail road trains going through the brain ala whatever kit chemical was around. I took myself earnestly into civilization. I would bring back the lessons learned of near destruction, and of what love I'd found, and would walk to my own drum pace. And I did. And it was here I discovered that good things happened to bad people, bad things happened to good people, and most of all, good people hurt good people over and over again.
IT wasn't enough that Life had its own missiles and logs to throw at you, no; we spent a lot of time killing ourselves and each other. The first time I saw the sleepy little town where I now live, I turned to my friend Charlie Bear and said, "It's a beautiful place, but there's some real problems here." And I was to find this true, when we made the valley our home several years later.
It would be paradise except for the fighting. There are all manner of God's wonders spread about, but bitterness and greed and rage and taking push those aside. There are good men at other good men's throats. Who knows why good, moral men disagree? I thought back to the line from the Cowgirl book and wondered, "Why do we take offense?"
WE know why. Because evil is rampant and we hurt. We see people breaking rules everywhere; take a drive to the grocery store and watch several misdemeanors being committed on the highway- if not felonies. We see famous adored women and men getting away with murder, we see local businessmen in league with local governments and 'progressing', often at the cost of their neighbor's benefit. We live in a society with enormous bureacratic offices whose functions extend into every part of our personal and public lives, and we see chaos, greed, favoritism, spite and a whole lot of coveting of other people's goods. And into this maelstrom the individual attempts to find his own values, his 'rules', the cross he bears, the lines he draws so that good men can know other good men when they meet.
And when someone seemingly steps outside these lines, "ah hah, we knew it all along, so and so is corrupt, divisable, stained, greedy, uncaring, selfish- you name it fill in blank let's allow that sob to fall to hell." We take offense, because the injuries we've born just living here are immense and always threatening to top over the brim and spill out into our personal and working lives. We are tired of people lying to us, and playing the system to get ahead, and when we seemingly catch someone with his hand breaking the rules we make a hard and fast decision.
A old bughouser at the Psych Ward used to call it the chicken complex; the chicken with a single speck of blood would be pecked to death by the other birds in the coop in short order.
My nephew is a wayward son. He's on the brink of doing all the things I did when I was his age. He's too smart, see's beyond, but can't get ahold and will blow himself apart instead.
"Tell him if I'd not fallen down into booze, I'd have 10 books written by now," I told my sister.
"I don't think he cares. And besides, do you know how real artists live?"
"Tell me," I said.
"They are horrible, they only care about their art, they hurt everyone around them, break families apart, their loved ones, business connections, everything; just as long as their art is safe and alive."
My Sis is a pretty good artist. If you had one of her water colors it would be a highlight in your home- I promise. But when she said these words to me, I felt bad, because I was that person, and I couldn't seem to be any better.
I should get all new aquaintences to sign a release form: "munk can be very sensitive and funny, but I acknowledge by this signature that I am also to expect apparent derision, arrogance, selfishness, spite, anger, bigotry, betrayal, and a feeling I'm being looked at like a bug in a microscope by a scientist in a hurry to get a grant."
You can't hide from what you are. And if I am the break-form person, the iconoclast, artist, then my stupid life is a reflection of that around me, and I don't mean hollywood or cult film. I mean good people will sometimes hurt other good people. It's just more obvious with the sloppy ones like me, but it affects all of us in our neighborhoods, our workplaces, churches, and government offices.
And that, is the single most painful thing I've found on this planet to date, with the possible exception of parents losing children.
It's not enough for good men and women to make boundaries; they must also make a path of redemption back to those boundaries. We cannot go forward if we keep throwing each other out.
Nothing seems to stay. Not rules, governments, forums, treaties...friends. Change is the rule. The only thing I count on in this life is love and friendship, and even those will fall short in hurt or loss. As bad as I am, I've learned to forgive everyone. Because I don't have the right not to. It is arrogance to hold onto hurt. It means you are more important than that around you. This is not a free pass for all those who would act badly; because when friends leave and your heart is broken, they only leave the truth behind, and we all know how difficult it is to sleep with the truth at three in the morning when you haven't any friends.
munk
