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I wish people would listen to their
bodies when they are being masochistic, because then they might not be like
that: Not as often, not for as long.
I thought of this on Saturday night
among people who listen well for inner signals: I sat with new agers and free
thinkers—as spiritual as they were religious—gathered at Unity Church for a
movie and popcorn. The documentary, by the way, was about Joseph Campbell and something
common to every culture on the planet: The Hero’s Journey. I respected how my
neighbors in the pews, wearing unthreatening drab everyday dress, were without
interest in fearful conforming, while being quite interested in new ways of
being. They would understand me listening to my body for signals from my better
angel, or my subconscious, or some source unexplained.
The greater mundane society, to be
sure, has some awareness too: No one ignores strong signals of fear; many will feel
but then ignore medium strength signals of being uptight, or twisted; fewer will
listen to inner whispers of opportunity, or a hushed, “Hey, I’m going against
my better judgment, here.”
For my part, sometimes I notice
such signals but push on and do it anyway, my way, only to look back long
afterwards and say, “I was wrong.” In this I am only human, like my spiritual
friends.
We had a discussion after the film.
If my fellows are keen to achieve their potential it is partly because they once
lived so far below their potential—hence they were understanding near the ending
of our discussion when an alienated man spoke up saying, “I’m not part of the
choir,” and expressed at length his frustration, dragging out our discussion
ending. Instead of being annoyed, they smiled and thanked him for directing our
attention to a “better than the film” TV series about Joseph Campbell by Bill
Moyer. I don’t suppose the man could listen to his inner signals; in his
frustration needs he pushed aside his better judgment.
And then, at the very end, a lady
pointed out briefly that yes, we here are functional middle-class people who can
benefit; we can turn our lives around from learning of the Hero’s Journey, but
what about the homeless? As it happens, this lady was somewhat entitled to her
opinion, since in her life she had undertaken some action, not just words, to help the homeless. But still, I had a
sudden image of a man, a “White liberal” as passive as a sheep in a field,
bleating with eyes sad, eyes frustrated and eyes masochistic, “What about the
homeless?” Yes, and what about those “White middleclass” guilt-without-action people?
The ones who would masochistically flog themselves and others, without anything
being accomplished? I wish they could feel
their twistedness inside, and then think
before they speak.
Sometimes masochism, while feeling
stiff or twisted inside, has a realistic purpose. Like the small town girl on
the edge of adulthood, standing on the stoop who says, “This town is no good,”
or the university student who disparages himself to other students by talking with
an inward twist about his not being “in
the real world.” The good result, for these two, is they may summon enough
energy to finally leave their sheltered campus or small town, and perhaps their
listeners can summon the energy too.
Usually, though, masochism serves
no purpose, except, perhaps, to evade the issue.
Lately, I’ve been hearing people in
everyday life saying, “This is only a first world problem!”—Meaning that others
have it worse. Sometimes they say it feeling smooth inside, achieving
perspective and happy humor. More often, though, I hear it said with a rough masochistic
judgment of themselves and others, combined, sometimes, with a desire to avoid
dealing with some little issue.
In my youth some people tried to
avoid helping Blacks get equal rights by saying, “How can Blacks complain; what
about the hill people in the Appalachians? They have it worse.” They would say
this while doing nothing to help hill people, or Blacks either, perhaps easing
their conscience with a strange penance, a twisted guilt feeling inside.
I dimly recall Senator Robert
(Bobby) Kennedy, while trying to help folks in a Black ghetto, shortly before
his assassination, answering, “The fact that other people have it worse does
not console me, and should not console anyone.”
While being unable to quote from
memory, I am reminded of a reverend (priest) standing at a reception, in an air
conditioned hotel, in the newly relocated U.S. federal capital of Denver,
eating treats and calmly saying that although the plagues have been managed, the
dying will continue, there will be further deaths from crops going unharvested,
and so forth. In Book One of The War Against the Chtorr, by David Gerrold,
the hero gets irate at this calmness. The reverend replies by asking will it
help if I am not calm, or not eating treats? And please lower your voice, I am
standing right here. The hero has no answer. The reverend is centered, the hero
uptight… because he is all jumbled inside.
The reverend helps him to straighten out his thinking. During the
series, by the way, the hero matures, and in Book Three that same reverend leads
him through some human potential training.
I can’t recommend the Chtorr series to any of my spiritual
friends, (Too violent) but I did once sit on the grass reading aloud to a
friend, Linda, a leader in Community Building. This was because I knew Linda
had just had an experience similar to a chapter in Book Three where the reverend,
leading a meeting, is dealing with those who would prefer to duck and dodge, to
quibble and comment after hearing a clear question rather than honestly answer,
or respond to a request for action. I find there are so many ways of evading,
and only one way of facing life. Linda really liked the chapter. She said she
wanted to know what becomes of the characters, adding, while looking at the
cover illustration of fighter jets strafing, and a foreground guy in uniform,
“I would never read that book on my own.”
Linda was an example to me in being
responsible. When she led a meeting, with whatever group turbulent emotions might
come up, she took care to constantly get centered before she spoke by taking
time to say her name, and then using “I (not “you”) statements.” We both came
to have more responsible lives as we learned to listen more to our inner body signals.
And, with all our ideals in this imperfect world, we had enough self-honesty
with our feelings that we never wimped out by having silly masochism with
others or ourselves. I suppose “getting centered” is partly for becoming clear
enough to examine what you feel.
If I were a slogan making man, I
could say, “Get centered before you feel” and then “Feel before you think,” and
then “Think before you speak.” May peace be with you.
Sean Crawford
Calgary
June
(Hurray, I’ve been caught in my first
snap thundershower: (from heated air rising) summer is established!)
2014
Footnotes
~I write, “White middleclass” for
my U.S. readers: I very seldom hear the term used in Canada.
~I use the past tense because Linda
is now deceased; she was the peaceful, proud mother of Corporal Nathan
Hornburg, who was killed in action in Afghanistan. Linda would think globally
but act locally, her community building was for peace.
~If a Muslim asked me how, locally,
she could contribute to peace by realizing her human potential, then after
saying, “I don’t know,” I would advise starting with understanding
“victimhood,” “science” and “boundaries.”
I would ask her to understand it
takes time: You can become aware of what victimhood is, and realize it is
unproductive while at the same time being still in the victim state yourself. Even
today, sometimes, I find myself being unscientific and feeling twisted inside—as
I said, it takes time.
“Boundaries” are not only in space
but in time, not only interpersonal but inter-geographic. And inter-group. If
someone from Edmonton “insults” my hockey team (The Calgary Flames) I have a
responsibility to choose whether it is an “insult” or whether I have a
boundary. If “my” team loses I don’t have to be a loser.
A growing student “on the upward
curve” might spend an entire semester, or season, going around having meaning-of-life
conversations to deepen understanding of these three terms. I say this with
understanding because I too have slowly grown over the seasons.