everything zen

everything zen , everything zen? ..I don’t think so. … there’s no sex in your violence … there’s no sex in your violence….i don’t believe it … elvis is dead… i don't believe it

travelling is always mind expanding at the very least. this trip to p-town has been no exception. i have really been invited into a whole new world. i never before realized so completely that my understanding and my way of looking at the world might be skewed, and thus might be able to be changed. this is an exciting revelation to me and gives me hope I didn’t even know I needed.
i heard someone at a workshop entitled “looking for love in all the wrong places” say that they spent so much of their time worrying about how to fit someone else’s needs that they had almost lost themselves. And that if someone wasn’t emotionally unavailable, then a courtship with that individual just wasn’t’ usually exciting enough. this is my story. this is how I have lived my life. if another person is actually interested in me, then most certainly my interest won’t be sustained. somehow, i have to struggle for affection or be in pain for me to feel comfortable. and at best, I’m really just numb.
omg I have another fucking illness. and I must submit to another program and another 12 step process. eeee gaaad. but, truth be told though, i am so thankful that there is hope for me. firstly, I didn’t realize until recently that I might ever be different than i am just now discovering i am. i thought that i might just broken and beyond repair always. that’s the way I’ve always been. who knows? maybe i am.

marc- this is the post you asked for:

after the meeting saturday night , everyone went to the crown and anchor to dance. it was a gay old time really. And so many people danced. i was drinking rockstars and I was hucklebuckin’ and havin’ a ball. and, as is the custom in ptown , before retiring to bed, we went to spiritus for pizza and guy watching. the atmosphere was light and it was fluff and it was entertaining. then out of nowhere this absolutely handsome mess of a guy slips among us and proceeds to hit on me. suddenly, i feel as if i am performing in a dance that i know by heart, i might as well be in the touring company. here i am on this wonderful spiritual weekend, eager to grow in ways i have not been able to do at home, and i get whacked on the back of the head by a spiritual 2x4 that’s disguised as a 5’10” blue-eyed irishman from p-town. Sadly, i saw it coming and all i had to do was duck. if only i could learn how to duck and then do it.
he presented as a wounded one. when he found out we were with a 12step gathering, he admitted that he thought he might have a problem with his drinking. the whole posse sprang to his aid with comfort and advice, and all the while he was making innuendo and giving me the look that a caged puppy in the pet shop window gives.
then the strangest thing occurred. a fight broke out in front of spiritus, just 5 feet away from us. it was rowdy and surreal, just as if two angry chow-chows had defended their territory. one was an older caucasian guy(who I must say was the smarmiest troublemaker i’ve seen in awhile) and the other was a young woman of color who was just as determined and backed up by several friends. one or two were happy to jump in the fray as she collected herself after being pulled off, but the old screecher just kept egging things on. cops were called, came, dragged him into the street, scratching and clawing and talking shit. he was then tazed, handcuffed, his pants fell down around his ankles and he was herded to the police car like a bellowing banshee turned bikini brief runway model . would this screaming metaphor for insanity make a difference in the direction of my behavior? the answer is already guessed.
the night continued and my roundup companions went on their own way and I was left in the company of the mysterious and beautiful stranger. i am now understanding that this particular type indeed is my drug of choice now distant and wounded. we chatted for awhile inside the pizza place, he asked questions, he dodged giving answers. and of course, i met each red flag he produced with a different magic trick to make it disappear, that i have perfected for just such occasions. when he asked me if i was negative, the absolute lack of subtlety in the dropping of his face when my answer was that i was positive (for 22 years- my badge of pain) still wasn’t enough to dissuade me from the intoxicating power of being desired by someone so cute and so broken. we took a walk and ended up on the beach where he intimately showed me the spot where his sailboat sank many years before. even with this elephant-in-the-room clue that this encounter was doomed, i remained focused on savior status. we talked about the stars, we looked for the greek formations in the sky, and we continued on our way to his house.
I asked him about what he wanted to be and he said a writer. i asked him to tell me one of his favorite stories and he told me about the amish man who drifted into ptown from pennsylvania on his way to nova scotia to do some line held bait fishing. he had been the caretaker at a nursery school and had been in the basement when someone had come into the school with a machine gun and killed all the kids. the guy had come up from the basement to that scene and had decided to leave his life and head for safer shores- nova scotia to try to rid his mind of those images.
he drifted into ptown and had wandered up to a kind stranger who was at the dickdock waiting for a turn when the odd man wandered by. the stranger had some difficulty assimilating in town, as he was dressed in traditional amish clothing. It seems that everyone in ptown thought the guy cuckoo. if they only knew he had just flown the cuckoo’s nest. he was just trying to get away from a life that no longer held any sanity for him. the amish whisper left by boat, having had to discard his ethnic clothing in order to obtain work onboard.
i asked my clouded and introspective companion what it was he liked about the story. he looked puzzled and said “it just needs to be told.” I hope I don’t have to state my obvious first thoughts.
the story left me feeling puzzled and oddly determined to continue the journey. and of course that’s what I did ‘cuz that’s what I always do. suffice it to say that I couldn’t fix him. i couldn’t change him. i couldn’t even get remotely close to him. this was assured as he confided in me that he had broken up with his partner of 15 years in august and was still reeling from the change.
so i headed back to my motel at 5am with the familiar heaviness of my quietly coveted lack of fulfillment. after cuddling naked and feeling quite alone beside him for a couple of hours, i harnessed my shame and savored the thoughts of “this is what always happens” under the moonlight. i realized what a powerful night this had been and how desperately i need to change something. three years of sobriety to get to this place of being able to see just what the fuck i'm doing. gratitude for that moment.