Light is Overrated

Whether it be Christian ethics or moth analogies or near death experiences, I think light is overrated. And this is not a knock on light, in general, but just the presumption about how much better light is than darkness. I enjoy light; I do, but I also know the pain and discomfort of light; not all things that are lit are good.

Every summer I used to be a staff member at this camp called Anytown. It was an invaluable experience. Approximately, a hundred teenagers getting emotional and challenged on issues of diversity. Powerful! Wow! To watch these students move from a place of comfort into discomfort into a newfound comfort. You can't beat that experience. In many ways these students moved from darkness into light, and I can tell you, it was not a smooth transition for many of them. They had been so adjusted to the darkness most of their lives that light (e.g., the good, the right, the open) hurt them. Their lives were surrounded by people who live in the dark, and people who wanted them to continue to live in the dark. Light, to them, was the antithesis of what felt safe, what felt right.

Some of these delegates had a terribly difficult time adjusting to life at home. The light offered them -- fear, loneliness, confusion, and isolation. Some loss friends and/or family. Some traded in their time in the light for the darkness that had become all too familiar. The light caused pain; the darkness was welcoming.

The other day I awoke in the middle of the night. I had to use the bathroom. I had no difficulty navigating through my house without any lights. I saw clearly. Once in the bathroom, I turned on the lights, and was immediately met with pain, scorching discomfort. I was angry! I mentally shouted to no one and everyone: "Why must light be so bright?!?" I was angry at the light because it temporarily disrupted my homeostasis. I thought, "If light is so good, why does it have to be so painful?"

Within minutes, though, things became clearer. I felt more awake because of the light; more alive. The light enabled me to see my daughter's toy that was left on the floor. And though I thought I could see "clearly" in the dark, I realized that darkness uses shadows to mask its truest intents. Darkness hides those pitfalls that only light can show.

Still, it's not just enough to say, move to the light. Light is better. Light, like a fine seasoned scotch, needs time.

When I reflect on all my experiences, I realize that light is overrated because we do not allow time for the adjustments. We expect those who have lived and loved in the dark to readily embrace light. But are we not human creatures? Are we not built with both fight and flight instincts? In order to get others to be in light, we must be willing to give some a gentler entry -- a night lamp, a tinted color, or the best of God's creation: a dimmer.

The Bicycle Principle
A Personal Personality Assessment

I was seven, almost eight, at the time. Most kids in my neighborhood already knew how to ride a bike. In fact, if my memory holds correct, both my older brother and younger sister, Michele, knew as well. I was a late bloomer in bicycle riding. I just liked to watch. In many ways, I was frightened to get on a bike for fear of falling. I had witnessed the abrasions and broken bones of other kids in the neighborhood, and that petrified me. I wanted none of that, yet I desired to be like the other kids on the block, riding endlessly up and down the street.

Though I was frightened of falling, I studied the balance and control of other bikers; I was meticulous in my assessment. How does one stay on the bike without falling? What are the arms doing? What are the legs doing? If one is about to fall, what course of counteraction is taken? I studied and studied. And shortly before my eighth birthday, when no one was around, I picked up a neighbor's bike, set it on fire, and smashed it into a tree . . .
Oh sorry, wrong story. Allow me to begin again.

And shortly before my eighth birthday, when no one was around, I picked up a neighbor's bike, hopped on, and began to ride flawlessly. I didn't fall once. I was overjoyed! The moment I had anticipated, dreamt about, and imagined had finally arrived. Why had I waited so long to try riding? Riding a bike was so easy to my young mind. Of what was I ridiculously afraid? I'm not just a good rider, I'm great! Go Team!

And then to top it all off, on my eighth birthday, my father surprised me with a brand new Huffy bike. It was one of the best days of my life. I rode up and down that street, screaming with glee, for hours and hours. I am certain I have never been happier before nor since that day.

Years later, I began reflecting upon my experience of learning to ride a bike, recognizing that there existed correlation between that experience and the way I approach many situations, obstacles, or events. Learning to ride a bike was more than just a task I accomplished: it became the symbolic, subconscious schema I adopted to help me navigate through other challenges and events in my life. What were these principles?

For starters, I take calculated risks. I stand back and look at a given situation before investing fully into it. I attempt to weigh all the pitfalls and benefits. I am always asking myself if the harm is less than the profit. Is climbing Mt. Everest necessary? Do I really need to have my own small plane? Is there a higher chance of her rejecting me, if I ask her to dance? How vulnerable do I make myself in this relationship?

Everything is calculated. There are times in which I don't particularly like that about myself, yet, it is the way in which I operate the best.

I don't try things at which I am uncertain I will be good. I love the security of safety, yet, I do find that I can deceive people that I am a big risk taker. But in truth, I am a calculated risk taker.

Another principle of this bike story: I do it alone. For most of my life, I have walked my own path, on my own time. Unlike many kids in my neighborhood, I had no desire to practice riding a bike in front of everyone else. I wanted it to happen in my own time and pace. I am still like this. I march to my own drum, wanting to do it my way. I don't mean this selfishly, but I walk this road alone. Obviously, this can cause a great amount of discord when I am in a romantic relationship, but this is my life, and I need to do me.

I ride alone; I learn alone; and my greatest challenge is to learn how not to be alone.

I try to stay focused when I am performing, but there are moments when my mind begins to drift, and I think some of the most disparate thoughts; troubling questions of a disturbed mind. I don't apologize for these thoughts -- they are intrusive, and perhaps, it is my thoughts who should apologize to me. I decided to share some of these thoughts and questions with you, my readers. I ask of you only one thing: do Not send me more medication!

Why do men get the urge to pick their noses when peeing? If you look on the wall in front of every urinal, there are booger remnants on the wall. Why? Boredom? Competition? Inferiority?

Out of all of my performances, how many audience members have murdered or will murder someone? Have I performed in front of any future serial killers? Have any of them spoken to me after my show?

Why are we so afraid of each other?

Which audience member has the worst breath?

Will anything I say ever make a real difference?

How many people dislike me more after seeing my show?

Why does the word: Slinky: make me smile?

Why did it make you smile?

Will I die before my daughter is 18?

"I can't stand that gym teacher, playing with his nails, and whose head has been down the entire show. I should say something that will get him upset. Maybe he will want to fight me after the show, and I'll just laugh because I finally got to him."

I should be doing so much more!

If they only knew the real me; if she only knew the real me; I don't know the real me, at times.

How do I tell my mom about a marriage that will not last?

What is wrong with me?

The first thought I have in my head when I see a pregnant woman is: She had sex. (Although, thanks to modern technology, this is not always true.) Still, I think: She had sex.

Have I ever met an angel?

God keeps using me in spite of myself, and God is constantly putting roadblocks in my way when I want to do wrong. (And that, my friends, is sometimes very frustrating.)

I hope the afterlife is FUN and not just one very long church service, as it is presented by many Christian churches across America.

Will I ever learn Spanish?

Who will be at my funeral?

How many people are thinking about me right now?

I still love Fridays.

It would be fun and funny to perform for a nudist colony.

Oops! I almost said something really bad. Whew!

Oops! I said something really bad. Well, I'll never be invited back to this school.

"This woman hates me! I wonder if I can make her hate me more?"

Oh shocking! Another Christian who believes they're standing up for their beliefs by criticizing my football character. Ho hum! See all the stupid people . . .

Why is everyone staring at me? Oh, yeah, I'm performing.

I feel so shy right now.

Well, there you have it. Some of the thoughts that intrude my thinking before, after, or while performing.

Nothing to add in words right now...

Uggh!!! I have the most sordid love affair with words. She treats me with indifference, popping up when her time is right. I am the court's jester to her, a ragged nomad, a fool. I lust for her to be in my presence, but she declines and chooses to sing to me only when I am silent. Only when I am still. She only gives parts of herself. She embarrasses me with gifts of trite expressions, with 'umms' and circular atonement. Yet, I love her, though I despise her. She has wrecked my life and my other relationships. She lies as well as she displays the truth, and I am maddened by this. I will one day do to her as she has done to me. I will make a mockery of her existence, and cajole her only to control her. I will take her lust, turning it into trust or take that very same lust, and slyly with style, slide the 's' to the front of the 'l', and watch her cling to her exclusive confidence, enjoying the ecstasy of ribald men displaying a surplus of ignorance.

I just miss her today, that's all. I just wish she were able to titillate this vacuous ravine, flushing me with her almond scent. I want to covet her in silence and speech.

Haiku 202

skipping rocks on a

riverbed I discovered:

yes! yes! there is death

Poetry 133

when it flows like this

early like now, late like never

we laugh so hard

and never see the other laugh so hard

like when he said:

don't think i'd stop

like she said:

wouldn't stop you

and then the delivery was brilliant:

she bragged about vocal aptitude and altitude

sometimes i wonder

about it all

this now our now

that electric live tingling

the jolt, the admission of weakness

the pursuit of exhaustion

the melting of m&m's on mouths

not hands

sometimes i wonder

about life itself

my daughter sees the world as new

where laughter is the best high

and all things are bright and bold and raw

and how she repeats stories and words

and it's all magical to her

but how fragile she is in the end

and how i spend as much time worrying

as she spends laughing

and he and she is teaching me

not to stop laughing

to stop worrying

to just be in this moment

to love the Spring

to embrace and explore that May flower

being groomed in April

(wet flowers in May: lovely scent)

to touch all that is

bright, bold, raw

for even the prettiest of these flowers

will one day fade

This is What a Feminist Looks Like

Last night when I went out I wore a tee-shirt with these words imprinted on the shirt:

Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.

Aah, allow those words to sit for a while . . .
O.K. what were your initial thoughts? What does that tee-shirt mean? Are you laughing or nodding in agreement?

When I bought the shirt I only saw one meaning (the intended meaning) for that shirt: people who are fearful of feminism or feminists should realize that all we want is for women to be treated like people -- equal footing individually and equal footing in relationship to males. That's the intended meaning of the shirt. I didn't think it was too complex, but last night proved to be an fascinating, yet troubling, experience on gender.

I had stopped by this restaurant called, "The Sushi Lounge". It's in Morristown, NJ. Great restaurant and great atmosphere. I frequent there a couple times a week. In any case, while I was there, the bartender read my shirt and started laughing. Then he said, "You got big [guts]. Any guy who wears that shirt is basically saying, 'I don't want to [hook up] tonight'." Now, outside the fact that I'm married, I thought that was a peculiar response. I was intrigued. I asked him what he meant by that. He said that my shirt was insulting to women. This stunned me, because I thought that I had read the shirt incorrectly. So, I proceeded to show my shirt to some women who were at this restaurant. Needless to say, their response was quite different from the bartender's. They were impressed that a guy would "get it." I explained the shirt to the bartender and he had an "aah, ha" reaction. Then he gave me thumbs up, but I'm only vaguely clued in as to what he meant by that gesture.

In any case, a thought hit me: do men, in general, read that shirt differently than women? If so, what can one learn about gender? And more importantly, does the interpretation of the shirt have any specific implications concerning how men treat women? I decided to commence upon a social litmus test, a gender experiment, if you will. I needed to know if these men at the Sushi Lounge were the exception or an overwhelming majority.

I was overpowered by the data. Every man that I questioned both at the Sushi Lounge and Famished Frog (another wonderful restaurant/bar) had a similar response to the bartender: they laughed and patted me on the back for having big . . . ummm . . . guts. I guess I shouldn't be floored, but I was. I realize that for the most part I operate out of my complete self, the masculine and the feminine, and more interestingly, most guys saw my shirt as an insult because they think that women are treated equally to men. Are you kidding me? I mean, o.k., I know the way guys think. I've been around them long enough to understand the mentality, but maybe I just didn't believe that the ignorance could be that severe.

Almost exclusively, the women I surveyed about my shirt, Got It. There were a couple of exceptions, and I have my theory of why they didn't get it. I don't think those women were evolved enough to see it, to understand the oppression of the system on women. One of the women who didn't get it has a rather illustrious reputation of promiscuity, of catering to the whims of awful guys. In my opinion, her eyes have not been opened. Men want nothing to do with her beyond a drunken night of ribald behavior. The other woman who didn't get it is a peripheral friend of mine. I think two factors played into her lack of understanding: 1.) she had been drinking for a long time and 2.) she stated how much she misses the idea of gender roles, of women and men knowing their place. She felt that in today's time this wonderful relationship between men and women was lost. However, she did concede that her former husband had believed in this old system, and coincidentally was abusive in his interactions with her, believing that she wasn't fulfilling her duties as a woman.

When I explained my shirt to both women, not only did they finally get it, but they liked it, almost with an embarrassment (perhaps with shame at not getting it), but they liked it.

I've been accused of being a sensitive guy, and always took that as a complimentary joke, but last night highlighted something that was more jarring than I ever thought: I don't think like the majority of males. On one level, that's comforting, but on another level, it certainly does not add to my feelings of connectivity with males. I am on a small island. I am a heterosexual male who thinks like a minority of sensitive guys, and perhaps, a majority of gay men.

Now, in all fairness, I think some of these guys would have understood my t-shirt a little more had I been a crew-cut, gender-bending, female. I think they would have gotten it . . . to an extent. They would have understood that it is not a joke, but some of these guys would have muttered such highly sophisticated statements as, "Feminist, lesbo dyke!" And then we'd be back at square one: THEY REALLY DIDN'T GET IT.

Oh, we have so many miles to go before we sleep . . . but I don't feel defeated. Education took place last night. Thought was triggered -- in restaurants and bars, nonetheless. It's a shame that we have to have words such as feminist and feminism to connote a state of being that should always be. I suppose religion and physical strength is much to blame for this absurdity, but the three largest religions all started off with the same understanding: And God created male and female. In God's image, God created them.

And that, my friend, is true masculinity and feminism at its best.