a harsh light on new territory (final stand)

part three
an open ended end

when you take two people in any relationship with repeated conflict and only one person commits to changing themselves in order to escape the conflict, the person making the change immediately appears irrational. conflict only needs to be repeated once in order to actually be a repeat; the quicker one recognizes repeated conflict, the sooner one can attempt to escape it. but although this move sounds quite rational, watch out – it can make the person excaping the conflict appear even more irrational because of how fast they move, and as a consequence easier to attack. but nothing compares to releasing one’s self from repeated conflict, as scary as it may seem. you may feel irrational even about yourself when you’ve realized you’ve left behind a comfortable shared angst for a new discomfort to deal with all by yourself. you may feel broken. you may feel like you’re in new undiscovered territory and that does something to a person – it leads one to empowerment. in my case, the conflict lead me down one particular road while my perception shifted as different internal needs were addressed simultaneously. without this layered design, without me putting these layers together in order to reconstruct, i would carry the angst of a son unresolved, of a frustrated friend, and a man deducted. i cannot see myself for myself quite yet, but i can report that the method i am using is a living one that, if taken in consideration, can make one feel as alive as a fall to the earth.

as a result of this experience, i now expect no one besides myself to make internal changes during relationship conflict. in fact, i’ll expand that notion to cover the world – i don’t expect anyone else to change, ever. this is less a cynical conclusion than it sounds given that i have known acquaintences to make different ranges of change. i make the statement to remind me that i can only influence change within myself, and that even the biggest signs i receive don’t neccesarily mean anything to anyone else. case in point – during my argument with baby boy, after he had strayed away from the notion of helping him, i had a simple visual pop-up image of a bridge. it was not distinct, simply a bridge. it became obvious to me that i was going to cross this bridge no matter what and thus made the commitment to not look back (10). i felt it a duty because of the timing of the image to make all attempts to bring baby boy across the bridge with me, thinking that whatever was on the other side could help with baby boy’s ticking bomb sadness. my hunch that i was headed towards manhood partially stemmed from previous sub-personality work that brought out the man in me – “the cowboy” is his name, who told of his frustrations of not being in the lead. this was my alternative method vs. baby boy’s resistance to change that rolled its gears on both his willingness to say anything in order to back me off and his extensive knowledge of practical psychology that allows him to manage the defense ring like an experienced prize fighter. if there is anything near certainty with baby boy, it’s that change is not an option and to be quite frank, i wouldn’t want him to live any other way.

baby boy is an animated, sentimental and uber-nostalgic creature who treats his personal pains and rich habits with a pot maker’s hands and turns them into a unique and wildly entertaining force embracing hyper-child antics that envokes a lose-the-underwear attitude. once placed by his employer in an ugly corner with a terribly outdated computer and assigned a dumb and impossible task, he slammed the keyboard and fried the computer by pouring his coffee over it. the rebelious baby, unwilling to face the assignment opted out of responsibility in favor of lunacy and a howling “fuck off”. employees that knew of his antics let him have his day because he voiced the tension in the office while doing so in a manner that replaces shitty network tv sitcom. the once-coined yuppie that treats never-enough paychecks like icebergs against the hull which creates ingrown values that expresses itself with a parental care for his dear closest. his humor partially stems from his inner angst which mixes with betty crocker love batter to make warm cookies that’ll hurt your belly but warm your heart. he gulps on his drinks that he knows will make him sick and drinks too many of his favorites that he knows will make him ill. his tender eye for the delicacies in classic art … baby boy, will you put down that drink!? he works spends time in an industry where he carries resentment not just against the industry leaders but for the clientele; it’s nearly self-abuse while his body rejects them all at any costs. his sceptic language, born from old experience of hearing guru-types make gurusome asses of themselves, translates into a brisk and humorous slant on the problems of the many. the ending result is a you tube sensation that turns your silly bone into serious jello.

the rational walk the rain soaked streets and tisk at the idea of an adult jumping into mud puddles only to fathom the wonder of what it must feel like to crash their feet against puddled water. baby boy stomps in them, which helped me during my tao-stint of trying to live in the mud as well as under the sun (11). entertainers off all types feed of their neurosis and habits, which makes them endearing and fun to watch. baby boy is no different; he needs no laugh track. he can be frustrating to root for, however, as evidence by overheard comments as well as the ones in my own brain. so many people are aware of his potential, and wonder what’s stopping him. it all it makes you wanna root for him the same way north siders root for the cubs and if the giants can claim a world series pennant, why can’t the beloved cubbies? i can say i found myself close enough to make an influence on the cubs when i was called in by the manager as a relief pitcher to get the save. but the cubs beat themselves; have you seen them play? in human terms, this sounds like a failed attempt at intimacy not just on baby boy’s part but on mine as well. if it’s not obvious yet, an attempt to discover your authentic self is dirty business, and decisions relevant to the process must be made with a clear cut and genuine interest in the discovery even if it puts you at some type of loss. i recall before my big dive into serious deconstructive work that i thought i would lose myself and become unidentifiable. in baby boy’s case, “fixing himself” may feel like losing a large pat of what makes him so appealing to some. babies cry; it’s a byproduct of his persona that brings open-armed well-intentioned feel-my-healing people to him. the cry is rewarded. the pain makes the cry. the pain is rewarded (12).

i will only comment on my end by coming clean (partly because my hands feel dirty) and claim a glaring glitch within myself that i thought, if lost, would make me less of the person i’ve grown accustomed to being. for over ten years, i committed myself to avoiding relationships with women in order to make myself a unique writer. in other words, i built a wall of my own which i thought would allow me to float around easier in life, influenced by that funny thing called tao (or as close to it as possible, which means it wasn’t tao). several years ago, i attempted to break the wall down. slow process, it turns out, because even though i enjoy intimate moments opening up and expressing myself with someone of the opposite sex, it’s usually a one-shot deal or involves the comfortable platform of the phone-stage which makes me invisible, only voice. i fail to build off of intimate moments in order to develop something further which stems from a fear of not just a longer commitment to a person but a physical one because, i tell myself, i have nothing much to offer except what allows a person like myself to survive by themselves (13). notice how i won’t go to repeated intimacy but i won’t let repeated conflict past the “second time” mark. this blog is a part of the process to open me up to the masses but if i’m going to be honest with myself, then i’m going to be absolutely honest with everything and not just the stuff i’m partial to. simply working out my bloughts on this thog is not enough. i need to bring the wall down completely because what’s behind that wall is the authentic me just waiting to break out and run around.

i can look to my father for guidance in regards to intimacy, a man who married the first woman he ever fell in love with. he first meet my mother in their early teens and pronounced to friends that my mother was the one, and sacrificed much of himself to make sure my mother was taken care of. due to my careful avoidance of relationships, i’ve only been able to express any of my father’s values in relationships during failed attempts to woo women with poetry and the presenting of flowers & wines to call girls. but my father built his own wall. he loved to give but when it came to receiving be it hugs, gifts or advice, he put up a big defense. a man born in the 1940′s, he was also not open to fully expressing himself which i imagine is common with men coming from the second world war era. during his last months, i tried to get my dad to open up about anything to ease his suffering – unresolved issues during childhood, family grudges, work related frustrations which we all knew existed. i wanted him to receive me as an adult so we could gain new ground in our relationship together but even if i truly was the adult that i could have grown into, he saw me only as his boy. a mechanic he used to work with dropped by the house and during the end of their chat, my father was able to get some thoughts off his chest about people he used to work with. this moment for my father only came as he neared his deathbed, a hunch my father carried given his new experiences of hearing voices of deceased family members during the night. it was, however, possible for my father to open up given the proper time (last resort) with the right person (shared experience; as catholic as my father was, he wouldn’t tell anything to a priest). it just so happens that i was never that right man for him at any time.

intimacy, therefore, was not a part of my father’s way. he would never talk about his feelings, deciding to bottle them up; boil blood and keep in heated angst and you’re eyes may burn. his insistence, his stubbornness, to only listen as a measure of last resort made me furious, which tells me more about my anger towards baby boy. my father cried in pain when he was in dire physical pain and fell into depression after he quickly realized his runner’s life was now severely limited; the depressed baby boy, who barely makes it out of bed, cries for help while certainly feeling the affects physically. but at least my father cracked open enough post-cry. as an example, he would choose to suffer through spasm attacks, which would cause his foot to be pulled towards his shin well past the point of pain rather than take pain medication immediately because he was afraid of the addiction. if he could bear the pain near the ten minute mark, sometimes, the spasms would cease on their own and he could relax though this didn’t mean they wouldn’t return. in fact, taking pain medication normally kept them away but he was willing to suffer. i found my father one day on the bedroom floor yelling for the attack to stop when i told him “the hell with you and your suffering. i’m calling the damn ambulance”. he pleaded with me while in pain not to have the ambulance ordered because he didn’t want my mother to be burdened with the worry that comes along with her husband’s first ambulance call; this also broke his pride in half. my father finally took my advice to try a homeopathic valerian product which, although he had to take the maximum allowed amount of twelve and they smelled like shit, worked to the point of the spasms never returning again. perhaps you can now understand part of my conflicting anger towards baby boy’s cries. i get a close friend crying, i go to him. you suffer? i’ll help you get better. but its not just that he didn’t want the help he asked for, and its not that i’ve had success in aiding those close to me (including myself) in times of pain and depression. when i answer your cry and instead of letting me try and help, you hammer me and make me feel bad while taking no ownership of your actions, then i’ll fire you off my life as fast as don draper axing off a copywriter who can’t produce decent copy.

this frustration towards baby boy made it so much easier for me to cut him loose even though he has nothing near an unmanageable vendetta against me because i no longer want to be in this type of a relationship. i will now refer to this part of the process as method axing. a simple tool, an ax is. heavy, too. the words i used against baby boy to break apart from him needed to make it clear that there was no growing back on me with old habits (14). yet even though doing so feels counterintuitive given how ive parted ways with him, i can look at baby boy for possible inspiration. specifically, his comfort level when communicating not just with women but with people. baby boy will tell you everything about himself, period. in fact, he will tell the world because he has an open door policy that lets everyone in (and not just because his front door has a broken door knob). in addition, there’s no one i have ever met personally that has the fascination and admiration of women that baby boy owns. you can see this in his photographs of women, a personal tribute combined with a paying-soft-attention to detail. he dedicated heavy time in his childhood to learning how to please a woman. his antics and attitude make some woman link to his sweaty glowing presence. he can make women feel very comfortable.

funny thing, though. he can also make women quite uncomfortable, too (we’ll call him an acquired taste). other men own a similar attitude, the kind that is willing to break relationships of all types for the sake of sexually scoring once, or willing to manipulate the truth in order to avoid responsibility for their actions that caused harm and/or conflict; it’s an attitude that reeks of a lack of an absolutely genuine care for women. what it boils down to is this – fascination with and admiration of women is not the same as respect; that’s why we have laws against adults who take advantage of the under-aged. some male artists are able to make great gains from owning this attribute but that’s not what this rant is about. men who carry these attitudes will try to convince you that they in fact do respect women but partial respect is not the same as respect. because respect is not the core value of fascination and admiration. in fact, the core value of respect is respect itself (15).

i can look back to my father, who had a full respect for women, and determine the makings of the type of man that he was. he cared for my mother with compassion and dear love, and as a result, brought happiness to her life and the marriage. he was romantic, sending flowers to my mother when it wasn’t a holiday that called for it and taking her out to sears for a new outfit or to sizzler’s for a nice meal. my father may not have been openly intimate or willing to take hugs but that doesn’t mean he ignored his feminine side. in fact, manhood can be a bridge that allows one’s own comforting & nurturing spirit to come across with a strong diligence in order to create smiles on the other side (and that other side … could be the other side of yourself). i’m not calling my father perfect nor am i stating that this is the only way of being a man because, as one example, sometimes a man needs to exhibit himself simply as the man. this is also not an either/or or an “only this part” mode of thought in any sense. i conclude today that in order to come close to not falling apart as a man, a dimensional model of manhood as a bridge between the feminine and child is a model worth considering.

holy shit, does this sound new-agey to you? because it does to me, and that’s without a full understanding of what new-age really is. but seems as though in order for me to connect with the opposite sex to the point of trusting a woman after an initial moment of intimacy, i must allow for all opportunities to do so which pushes me to experience the feminine. obviously this is not specific at all but i cannot put a limit on how i come to learn about how to become intimate in this fashion just to keep my life in a particular comfort zone. as a result, i might end up running an all-women’s shelter and learn about the lives of the women staying there or end up becoming a professional women’s prison conjugal visitor working pro-bono where i’m forced to come back again and again and again; listening is a key to success in this regard. i have found a starting point, though. my mother and i will sit down from time to time and talk about my father. she will think of him and tell me stories of their past so that she can rekindle a wide range of memories of their marriage and childhood. my mother will smile grandly like a child because of it. this is me using the model of my father, reapplied to his wife again (16). and i can call this new age because no one said i can’t redefine the term based on my own parameters; attacking the new age with the same arguments is old vs. old, nothing new on either side. this is my next big step into the unknown man, a new age for me, and i will use any tools necessary whether they be the once-performed or the absolute new-from-my-brain in order to find and live as my authentic self and, as it turns out, to learn how to be absolutely intimate with the feminine in all due respect.

the greatest thing my father ever said to me what during a harsh moment of reality. my father had begun to use a walker, and quite well. but his condition fucked with both his equilibrium and feeling, and his ability to grasp the mere idea of what it was like to walk soon deteriorated. once day, my father stepped up to the walker but did not walk. his head was in such a world that he simply could not access his brain for the command to put one foot forward in an attempt to walk. “right foot, dad. right foot forward. good job.” is what i called out like a military general. “now what’s next. no, don’t tell me. show me what’s next … good, you moved the walker forward. now what foot do you use next to step with. don’t ask me; you tell me.” it was the same scenario once we got into the bathroom as my father struggled with understanding where the wall was, where the sink was, where the toilet was – all articles of home decor that he himself planned during a reconstruction of the space a mere ten years ago. the next day, my father brought my closer to his lips and said “thank you for being stern with me when i needed it, son.” it was here where for the first time, i felt like a man in front of him. it was also the first time we ever cried together, too.

my father’s ashes have arrived in his hometown today, representing closure. i however am not on the trip, held back due to necessary circumstances. i interpret this to mean that i am not going along with total closure, confirming my commitment to live by his virtues. but my commitment to living by my father’s virtues is not simply an either/or stand; this is again about integration. the man-as-bridge model is just one side of myself; i’ve got another one that loves being the hermit-type but simply needed some order. seems my father’s side needed some opening up in response, requiring a hammer to do the breaking. but i also need to embrace everything about me, sub-personalities and all, while committing myself to learn and express both engrained and new virtues even if i have to do so in strange and unorthodox ways. personally, i’ve felt nothing near proper nor behaved anywhere near normal during this entire process but what i gained was a new found freedom. this tells me that i, as a rational moving man, can truly brace the irrational man when necessary.

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(10) i may have even stated during my attempt to help baby boy that there was a bridge we could both cross (perhaps not in those exact words) but i can only be half certain of this.
(11) it makes me curious why, as stated in part one, baby boy insists on crying out for rational thought and critical thinking as if either the practice of it didn’t exist or he can’t find anyone using it. being a person who takes pride in not being an adult, this hints at the notion that rational thought and critical thinking are inside of him but fail to express themselves in a fuller capacity, as if they are being suffocated within his own psychological state.
(12) this is basic logic: A is B/the pain makes the cry. A is C/the pain is rewarded. thus, B is C/the cry is rewarded. another way of describing this conundrum is that the person is “stuck”.
(13) i lived under mr. hermetic disorder’s rule for a long time which meant treating myself as a burger king wrapper on the street, floating from one insignificant spot to the next. but i get it now. all spots are significant, which will perhaps make my drive for further intimacy possible.
(14) i now understand why, in film and television, one person will use dramatically strong language to try and break up with someone – they want complete closure, while the other person in the relationship will counter with something like “why you gotta be like that?” and not go away. you need to use very simple and direct language. and sometimes, you need to back this up with simple and direct action that clearly says “this is it; no more.”
(15) simply stating “respect” is a vague notion, but for now i will simply add one additional idea to the notion, and that is to honor the fullest scale of consent by a woman, and not a girl.
(16) i am not stating that this model is correct, or that it will even last as part of my method. im sure a case can be made for starting with the child and thus bridging to the feminine but so far, it seems that man and woman make child which motivated me to keep the bridge idea as a final stand.