Be it known:
that i am irrevocably placing the following restriction on the Agreement Concerning Complete Openness and Truth that exists between me and one Dr. Nancy Dreyfus.
i hold in perpetuity the right to keep certain secrets. to wit:
•any considerations, preparations, experiences, feeling, thoughts relating to a surprise delight for said Dr. Dreyfus are my privileged territory.
•any humorous reservations i hold about her high seriousness that soften such seriousness' landing without diluting its importance may be taken as an internal higher counsel.
•any pissy, pedantic thoughts that arise in the course of our conversations shall be kept in a playroom of their own where like can frolic with like.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Thursday, November 3, 2016
The Life I Want and Never Talked About
how odd to finally say it:
i want to make utterances and have them heard. and i want to hear back from beloved others and reply. yeah, i want conversations, gentle and stimulating and weird and outrageous and private and public. i want to hear and i want to be heard.
here are some pieces: i want to make pictures, i want to write poems, jokes and stories. i want to promulgate silliness. i want to create fun because i think it's the raw material of joy and joy, if it isn't nirvana, is at least the earthly paradise. my joy is in creating joy. students applauding at the end of a semester isn't about my ego, it's about the joy.
and to make that all happen, i want to teach. there is a part of me missing when i'm not teaching.
and there's love. i want this woman. i want her to want me so much that she's willing to listen and trust that i'll be there for her. i want to do with her and be with her. i want declarations, celebrations, pronouncements, awesome silence, electric contact. i want to make love with her once, just once and i want that once to destroy time or at least mock its seriousness.
and i would like rituals. i want the doing that has the meaning that supports the feeling in a big geertzian triangle. i left judaism, but it left me first and i want to feel in the sacred without feeling silly.
and of course, there's me and the outside. i need to feel, not just think, my connection with the world. i need to deny what i was told-that it's not real. i need trees and bugs and butterflies (oh, butterflies!) i need to see the birds and watch sun coming through green leaves and smells and the wonder of it all.
i know i am forever when i take my temporary self out into the forever and i see there's no distance.
i do this best on the water. i need to be near water, it's my truth.
and i need the city. i need the bop-biddy-bop of new york and philly. i need the smell of deli and cheese shop and the taste of beer and fish and fruit like at uncle charlie's. (funny: that silly guy knew me so well that it freaked me out and i never let myself get close to him). i need the variety-vitality of the mix. when i die, i want a city street named after me. if i can't have that, a library will do. or a three-tap beer bar where the management swore allegiance to delicious.
I couldn't do without old friends and the simple love of them: the whole Silkman family, Nyheim, Julio, Gilmore, Welsh. And of course-I'm almost too scared to say it: my darling Spencer who's turned into an amazing human being (and i wonder if it's in spite of me.)
and i need the non-human beings-the dogs and cats, those friendships that have no ego, just love and touch. i want to sit at the magic dinner table with bill and spike and muscular and lola and bodhi and frankie and jersey. and i don't want to have to apologize to a single human being for the holiness of these other beings.
i would like to thank Nancy Dreyfus, Lance Roberds, the Hoffman Process, Stuart Shils, Hal Sirowitz, Kathy Bonanno, Jon Deutsch and Spencer Hoffman for keeping this vision alive even when i forgot to give it water and light. oh and did i mention Nancy Dreyfus? she's the woman in question, the woman i want for the rituals, and the talk and the joy and the one-time only love.
it's odd that i got this old before she came along
it's odd that i got this old before i said this all aloud
but life is odd and that's what i want: life.
i want to make utterances and have them heard. and i want to hear back from beloved others and reply. yeah, i want conversations, gentle and stimulating and weird and outrageous and private and public. i want to hear and i want to be heard.
here are some pieces: i want to make pictures, i want to write poems, jokes and stories. i want to promulgate silliness. i want to create fun because i think it's the raw material of joy and joy, if it isn't nirvana, is at least the earthly paradise. my joy is in creating joy. students applauding at the end of a semester isn't about my ego, it's about the joy.
and to make that all happen, i want to teach. there is a part of me missing when i'm not teaching.
and there's love. i want this woman. i want her to want me so much that she's willing to listen and trust that i'll be there for her. i want to do with her and be with her. i want declarations, celebrations, pronouncements, awesome silence, electric contact. i want to make love with her once, just once and i want that once to destroy time or at least mock its seriousness.
and i would like rituals. i want the doing that has the meaning that supports the feeling in a big geertzian triangle. i left judaism, but it left me first and i want to feel in the sacred without feeling silly.
and of course, there's me and the outside. i need to feel, not just think, my connection with the world. i need to deny what i was told-that it's not real. i need trees and bugs and butterflies (oh, butterflies!) i need to see the birds and watch sun coming through green leaves and smells and the wonder of it all.
i know i am forever when i take my temporary self out into the forever and i see there's no distance.
i do this best on the water. i need to be near water, it's my truth.
and i need the city. i need the bop-biddy-bop of new york and philly. i need the smell of deli and cheese shop and the taste of beer and fish and fruit like at uncle charlie's. (funny: that silly guy knew me so well that it freaked me out and i never let myself get close to him). i need the variety-vitality of the mix. when i die, i want a city street named after me. if i can't have that, a library will do. or a three-tap beer bar where the management swore allegiance to delicious.
I couldn't do without old friends and the simple love of them: the whole Silkman family, Nyheim, Julio, Gilmore, Welsh. And of course-I'm almost too scared to say it: my darling Spencer who's turned into an amazing human being (and i wonder if it's in spite of me.)
and i need the non-human beings-the dogs and cats, those friendships that have no ego, just love and touch. i want to sit at the magic dinner table with bill and spike and muscular and lola and bodhi and frankie and jersey. and i don't want to have to apologize to a single human being for the holiness of these other beings.
i would like to thank Nancy Dreyfus, Lance Roberds, the Hoffman Process, Stuart Shils, Hal Sirowitz, Kathy Bonanno, Jon Deutsch and Spencer Hoffman for keeping this vision alive even when i forgot to give it water and light. oh and did i mention Nancy Dreyfus? she's the woman in question, the woman i want for the rituals, and the talk and the joy and the one-time only love.
it's odd that i got this old before she came along
it's odd that i got this old before i said this all aloud
but life is odd and that's what i want: life.
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