related to the last post

Two stories:

I was sitting on the T (Boston's subway) on my way into the city.

I will never get over the view of the skyline. On the way into the city, the T (the red line) passes over the Charles River, which is flanked by Boston's biggest buildings. In the day, I look forward to the feathery winter light against the river, its frozen surface. In the night, the lighted windows of the shining John Hancock Tower flickers against the iced-over water. And all the other buildings clustered together (whose names escape me) make a beautiful subway ride!

That was a digression.

As I sat I began to look around at all the people. I began to notice the small things about everyone--so unique and surprising each one of them! Every person had their own mannerisms, ways of standing and sitting, their own cadence. I began to think that I might even predict some of each person's life story just by how one of them dressed, carried herself, etc. I don't mean stereotypes--judging who people are. I mean mundane things that are not in themselves important or interesting, but fascinating when understood as indicators of actual people's lives. A few people stood talking softly to each other, but it was clear that they were enthusiastic about their trip. Dressed nicely, they were likely off to a party or a show. They would occasionally laugh quietly together, clearly sharing enjoyment in each other's presence. And as I could sense their shared love, it then struck me how beautiful and interesting they were--and everyone else on the subway!

I suddenly felt the desire to meet all the people with me riding in this subway car. I felt an inner urge just to start talking to the nearest person, and then to mingle as if we all were at a party. I then kept myself from doing this, knowing it would likely freak out anyone I talked to (or would it?).

But this led me to another realization. Our separateness is an illusion. We had all boarded this ride, and we were together for some momentary miles. Our body language was closed and distanced--we avoided talking to each other, we avoided sitting too closely, and we even avoided looking at each other sometimes. We conceived of ourselves as individuals and strangers. You might say: but if I don't know anyone on the train, then why would I want to talk? ...and admittedly some people are harder to speak with than others. But it seemed in that moment that the basic premise upon which we operated in this little subway car was totally socially constructed. This illusion of separateness is likely necessary for proper functioning in the world, but I could think of other social constructions that would be more fun and still functional. Like what if we approached each other always with openness and interest? What if this were the posture and the premise upon which society were constructed instead of the closed and distanced one we have now?

...

Similarly, I was walking back to my apartment after a semi-disastrous afternoon. I was therefore walking quickly down the street--I felt a need to get back to my apartment as soon as possible so I could relax, collect myself and get past this crappy day. As I walked I encountered a couple--they were blocking the whole of the sidewalk so I couldn't pass them. They were walking very slowly, very very slowly. At first I became frustrated, but then I took the situation as a sign from the universe to slow down--a message I've been getting from many different directions recently. I slowed down, but in my anxiety about having to wait even longer before getting inside my warm apartment I began to consider the couple before me. One of them was carrying what seemed a very heavy suitcase. I suddenly had the urge to help him! But I knew that if I just approached him and grabbed his suitcase he would likely try to hit me with it rather than let me carry it for him. So I just continued to walk slowly until we parted ways (as it were).

When I slowed myself down enough I was able to be present to the actual situation--these people who might need help with a suitcase. I stepped out of myself and out of my own "crappy day" into what semblance of their day that I could gather. It was a wonderful feeling to want to help someone else, and a little frustrating that it might not always be possible to follow through on that desire.

We are separate only by choice it seems.

Do the Friend Dance

This post is about connection.

Firstly, if you are reading this post and it is not yet January 22, 2010 (this coming Saturday) then you should attend a connection-themed party that a friend of mine is hosting. If you'd like to go, contact me on Facebook for time/location so I can make sure you are not a psycho killer.

A few nights ago an old friend from College visited me. We spent the evening parading across each other’s immense pasts, with haphazard enjoyment. After seven months of absence, four hours over dinner, wine, etc. couldn't come close to a comprehensive retelling. So we wandered like two wobbly old friends through ideas, history--sharing in a powerful companionship I hope lasts for the rest of my life.

Today I ran into a woman who spoke angrily of many things (I won't mention the circumstance/context to keep her identity anonymous). I was taken aback when I first encountered her abrupt need to talk about past pain and to propose (at times contradictorily) radical solutions to those things she projected were the cause of her pain. Thankfully she and I were both attending a larger event, so I could quickly mingle away from her. I thought to myself: "why of all people, do I always get stuck with these ones." Then after a few minutes reflection, I returned to her (who we will call Linda).

I felt some nudging, or some inner-need (despite an intellectual rejection) to come back to Linda. I told her that I could, actually, resonate with what she was saying. I listened to her more. It came out indeed that she was lonely--she had no family. She expressed to me the conundrum she faced at the age of sixty--whether to go on living. Excluding the question of suicide, I admit that there comes a point in life when continuing to live requires the will to do it (and I don't doubt that some people for example die simply of heartbreak--people who have lost the will to live). She also expressed that this thing about which she had spoken so vehemently to me (and to anyone else who would listen) was the one thing keeping her going. She was writing a book that talked all about it.

This book seemed one of her last meaningful connections to the human world.

My old friend from college and I decided that connection means simply being with another, mutually. It doesn't mean becoming the same as someone, and it doesn't even mean necessarily developing common ground. It simply means being present: to listen, to support and to be vulnerable enough to receive listening and support in return.

When considering the question of connection deeply I also came to understand it as the basis of purpose. I am conditioned to believe that my vocation is what will provide me with a sense of purpose--whether I become a teacher, a researcher, a singer, a conflict res expert, a therapist, an elder in the contemporary liberal Quaker tradition, etc. But what are these things I just listed? They are, most importantly, socially constituted. And the reason why they would offer me a sense of purpose is not the thing itself (the job/the vocation)--what gives me meaning and purpose is this job in its social context. Everything that I do is made possible by people in a community: the people who I affect, the skills I have acquired to affect these people, and the sense of success met (through challenge) in doing whatever it is with and for people. I am connected in a web of relationships to people and actually to all beings. To lack these relationships is not only to lack connection; it is to lack a sense of place, position, or anchoring in existence. My career means nothing without other people to make it relevant and at the same time to witness it.

We could also add to the list non-vocational positions like lover, father, wife, child, sister, friend, etc.--these are also roles we play that offer a sense of direction and purpose. They come with certain identities--someone who "is" a father has "father" in his conception of self for the rest of his life. Similarly, a doctor and/or singer has these roles permanently imprinted onto her self-conception (her identity). These positions (all of them mentioned) center on connection--the fact of shared experience and witness to an otherwise meaningless universe.

Who shall witness my life and by that fact give it purpose? I hope my perennial friendships (the good solid ones), my eventual husband, my Quaker community, and my eventual coworkers and clients will all witness my life to make it whole and meaningful. I hope that I may return this witness to each of them. So connection is a sharing of support, which I earlier posited. It is also the sharing of meaning and meaning-making, in which one acknowledges that she is not the same as anyone else and she thus cannot solve anyone else's problems. Yet she can support and witness and thus make easier others' pain and make happier and more pleasant others' joy, as they say. Connection is both mutual witness and mutual support, from which meaning and purpose are derived. This is what allows me to say: no matter what happens, I will have you. It is what allows coaches, presidents and priests alike to say: no matter what happens, we will have each other.

I am hard-pressed to find anything more basic to life than connection. Can you?

In conclusion I would like to share some quotes and links:

A poem whose author I cannot find (help on this would be welcome):

Dear friends, dear souls
dear ones, be bold

it's time to forget
all the lies
we've been told

let them drop
let them fall
let go of them all

they're poison
they're dust
and they're not even us

we're much more beautiful
than we've formerly been told.

Some beautiful pros about community (the kind I really want!):

"Somewhere there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open & receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.” - Starhawk

And a link about finding the space of connectivity of which we all are aware (even if we don't know it):

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html

For now,

Zachary

this moment shines

Did you hear the joke about the pessimist and the optimist? The pessimist said, "it couldn't get any worse." Then the optimist retorted, "Oh yes it can!"

With the title of this post and with the title of this blog, I am not asserting that this moment or that moment shines like raining-happiness-kumbayyah. Every moment is immanent, simply. Every moment is visceral-meets-temporal; where material existence meets the conundrum of change and imperceptibility. In other words, moments by virtue of their being show us. Moments take as their fundamental principle demonstration, indication or illustration. Moments are moments only in so far as they are connected in relation to each other, to offer a sense that the world is concrete and physical (what I mean by material). This and that moment shine because all moments shine--illuminating the world we understand to exist around us.

Essentially, this blog is about my life. But I have chosen only to write things here that I consider to be the substance of what is shown. I want to share what I consider to be major revelations. These, other than the first post, will come from a reflection derived from my own day-to-day experiences. I have no idea what is entailed in this effort, so what follows is likely to be as confusing, fascinating, boring, odd, and rarely if ever inspiring to me as it will to you.

For now,

Zachary