"And I found that all the world could love you save for one. And I don't know why it is, but that kiss will be the haunted one. You'll pine and weep and you'll lose good sleep and you'll think your life has come undone, until you learn to turn and spurn that bitter wind." -- Ferron, 'Cactus'

There is an intense amount of pressure placed on teens today, on teens always. They receive this pressure from parents, from teachers, from coaches, from self, and from those love objects. My heart really goes out to those students who come to me after a break-up, whether they are the initiators or recipients -- love is a painful thing. I particularly feel deeply for those who were the initiators, but now feel trapped by the threats of those who were the recipients. I'll illustrate this.

A girl came up to me after my show the other day and she was frustrated because her ex would not leave her alone. He kept calling her, telling her how much he missed her and how depressed he was without her in his life. During these conversations she would stay firm, telling him that she cares for him, but she cannot romantically be with him anymore. It was getting out of control for her. He then increased the intensity of his messages, telling this girl, that without her, he was unable to function and now felt suicidal. He started making suicidal threats, if she would not be with him. She still refused, but was now living in constant fear.

Oh, love's jungle! Unfortunately, this desperation is not just relegated to the teenage wasteland; it is equally dispersed in the grown-up fairyland. What do you do if you are confronted by a former lover in this manner? That's a toughie. Create some distance, without rudeness or coldness. Also, telling that former lover, in direct terms, that threatening suicide is not o.k. -- this will not get the job done. Be angry, but be gentle -- you are dealing with a heart.

For those of you who threaten ending your life, YOU ARE BETTER THAN THIS. You survived before you met your love object, and you can survive without him or her. Screw Romeo and Juliet (that play sickens me). See love as pathways of growth -- "the world owes us nothing; we owe each other the world." -- not as a destination. Within this life are many destinations, within your love there are many vessels. Love must flow free or it fails to be love. Possession is never love. We cannot possess each other for we are each the wind.

I leave you with the words of one of my favorites, Kahlil Gibran. This is what he says on love:

"When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; For love is sufficient unto love."

This is the post from my friend John Morello's blog. Pass it on!!

http://www.johnmorello.com/2005/08/find-or-loot.html

It happened on Friday, September 9. I was preparing to perform at Freehold Intermediate School. I was in the Cafetorium waiting for the elementary kids to clear out. I just sat observing all the wild, fun energy of K-5 graders, thinking about my own daughter, and her venture into this realm within a few years. It spread oodles of smiles upon my face. At one point, there were these two brothers walking in, holding hands. One looked to be in the second grade and the other one appeared to be in the fourth grade. The older one continued to hold his younger brother's hand until they could identify where the younger one needed to be. Once that was established, the older brother watched as the younger one scurried across the floor to meet a new friend, then he (the older brother) found his own seat.

I was struck by how beautiful that image was, the two brothers taking care of one another; the older one assuring that his younger brother was going to be safe. I pondered how quickly siblings can forget how to take care of one another; how in time those two boys may never be as close as they are now. It made me think of my brother Roy and how he used to take care of me. He was my protector, my hero growing up -- no one could harm me. He was my big brother, my Bunny, and I was his Wingy. He watched to see if I sat in the right seat. He allowed no harm to come to me. He got angry with me when he found out that I drank a beer when I was 11. He told me that he would beat me up if he ever heard that I drank again. He protected me against neighborhood kids who wanted to beat me up because I ran my mouth so much. He told them, "You gotta come through me first," and then they walked away. I remember one time how he took the brunt of a beating from our father who tore into us with his belt; he covered me with his body as my father's heavy hand whipped and whipped. I did the screaming, my brother took the welts that time. I remember crying when he ran away from home for a week during high school; I remember crying again when he left for the Navy, hoping that I would see him again. I recall feeling scared when we hadn't heard from him in months while he was in Guam. Then there was my senior year in college and I had broke the security codes of my college's phone system, and called my brother. I completely broke down when we spoke because I hadn't heard from him in such a long time. I lost it. I was inconsolable. I was going through so much -- graduating, the memories of what Dan had done to me, my future, my past, the whole package. I wanted to tell him that I just wanted to play baseball with our baseball cards again, smacking around pieces of balled-up foil as if we were the true heroes on those cards. I wanted to be so much younger again.

Then he was kicked out of the Navy.

He came home for a short time. He didn't tell me not to drink anymore, because he was drinking and smoking frequently, but he was still my brother, and he was still "cool". Then my first year in grad school, he started to do Crack-Cocaine, and Crack cured him of his alcohol addiction, and it took me years to realize that I had lost my Bunny, my big brother --

These days, I guess I'm the older brother, the rescuer, and I never got the manual to read when I was younger. So, I'm winging it. He lives in two extremes nowadays: an addict of the streets or as a religious fundamentalist zealot. It's tough sometimes for me to choose which one I prefer. I just want him to be out of his pain, to forgive himself, to forgive Dad, to move on. He left when he was 17 and never grew a day more in his relationship with our father. He's still a teenager and he turned 36 this summer. I didn't call him for his birthday this year. I wanted to call, but it's too much sometimes . . . just enough to put you in the space of a dark winter night with no warmth around, and I wasn't ready to make that trek right then.

I was preparing to perform at Freehold Intermediate School on Friday and I saw two brothers holding hands, taking care of each other, and the older one watched the younger brother walk to his seat, making sure he was going to be safe.

And I started to cry uncontrollably, and I had to cover my face and walk away.