4JUN2010
(sitting in the train station)
Your story is not who you are. It’s the How that’s you. The How you move in each moment of the story.
Maybe you start out as one, and realize the second, and one you’re conscious of both, instead of only one, that’s Maturity.
Tolle taught me that a long time ago. I know the stark difference between the Story and the How. The physical and the invisible. Trying to do my best seems to merge the two together, and it can feel volatile.
I say _Baby BOY.._ (the ‘boy’ in italics.) regularly. It’s like I’m telling him I’m here. I got this. You can look around now, you can feel, you can live. I’m you, you’re me. It’s all okay now.
When I say _Baby Boy.._ (the boy in italics) it stops the mental noise, stops the anxiety, the holding back.
I tried to get them what they wanted. A humane story. What the baby and the boy wanted was the How instead. How could they accept rape for How. How could they think rape an acceptable price along the way. As long as they were Him, they were fine with it. Rape might be a story but it rocks the soul, puts the How in jeopardy. Maybe they forgive me. Maybe I forgive me.
That’s the disconnect. The baby and the boy were fine as long as the How was strong. But rape was twisting my behavior, twisting the How against my true self, stealing it from me, taking away the Masculine I essentially was.
So all along I was the problem. For not acting right. I was just so angry. It makes me out of control, like Joe during the four day pass to ___ during the deployment.
Despite my own personal troubles and silent intimidations concerning going to school, there’s the added factor that everyone treats me differently when it comes to school, as if I’m throwing my life away.
If it was K__, blonde and blue-eyed, obviously someone from parents, someone civilian who had finished elementary school, they would say of course someone your age should be in college. But it’s me instead, and everyone assumes I’m only good for hard labor.
I remember before I chose to deploy, I told J__ about my plan to deploy, save, and then go to school. _What are you going to do in school?_ he asked, emphasizing the ‘you.’
Meanwhile he goes through the trouble of paying his stunningly lazy daughters through school. But they’re from the suburbs so they belong in school.
I remember not articulating much else about my plans for the future to him. I remember a wall going up between us just then, how I feigned politeness, good natured-ness, despite the violence implied by the wall.
I circumvented J__ and Ms J__’s family. I felt kind of bad about it. Last time I went to New York they made such a big deal of my taking cabs instead of asking for rides, and I didn’t want to deal with that drama again.
__________
It’s strange the things that will cross my mind, sitting in a train station.
As teenagers H__ always acted unafraid of the public; no wonder since she had been incidentally saved from the horrific by A__ and I.
A__ always acted like the public was what was real. She did everything for them, was funny, entertaining, good looking, she never self reflected, never used her power for herself.
I was the opposite, had found the public to have lost all credibility, all legitimacy as relevant human beings, used my power for my own soul. In a way, in the end, all of us were wrong.
All of us had to reckon with the opposite side of ourselves.
__________
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