All of us in the basket

Some of the favorites-grew the garlic from some I had bought 

I'm on of the ones who gets triggered by suicides, my little niche of PTSD that comes up now and then to remind me that mental illness is a spectrum on which we all reside. Everyone's perceptions are flawed for their own protection; our coping mechanisms of believing ours is the one true reality are sometimes just as non-functional as others: organized religion, obsessive control fantasies, and so on. I won't say a lot about it, but just recognize that lots of people walk around in fragile states every day, and it doesn't show, or you don't recognize it.

I know that when I get in that fragile state I need reassurance. I've learned that I have to work on those occluded, hidden memories that still give me messages from my earliest childhood, so I know what to tell myself, know how to identify my state, and after all these years of working on it I do feel like I have some control. But man, I can see it when people don't feel that control, can't find it. It is terrifying, especially for them, even if they are in that numbed frozen state between fight and flight. It's as real as the tomatoes in the garden, and at the same time, it is unreal, because it isn't tangible, can't be touched or seen clearly. There are tragedies every day, and insurmountable pain, and all the lesser degrees of that too. It's profoundly affecting, so we humans spend a lot of time looking away, glad that isn't us. We grab our straws of functionality and keep on working.

We feel fairly helpless around it, and embarrassed and blocked by that. We don't think there is anything we can do to help. Sometimes we are helping without knowing, though, reassuring without contact. Sometimes you can feel the need pulling you, and you can resist, not being willing to touch it. Sometimes you can just be soft with it, allow it without engaging. Once in awhile you can actually do something to fix a small part of it. You can touch the person, you can offer the reassurance. Often that is what I feel we do every Saturday on the Park Blocks. Our constant, joyful presence provides the reassurance that beauty can be created, new ideas do come, and some things remain the same. We are grounded in our traditions and we are open to all the change that we can fit within our blocks.

Many many people come to feel that joy and constancy. We call them regulars or customers or tourists or friends and neighbors, but as the community gathering place we welcome them and are changed by them, as we change their day and try to add something to their lives. It's humbling and I find a few tears nearly every week as someone lets me see inside. It is no easy task to bring all that openness and compassion downtown every week. Some of us do it twice. My Tuesday Market buddy brought all of herself down this week and didn't make a sale, and she needed the money. I wasn't able to give her a pity sale, because I was in heavy self-protection mode, waiting to see if my reaction would occur, if it would be heavy, how long it would last. I was in hypervigilance, and she was too. I was grateful for her presence and her awareness, and I hope we made each other feel safe. We talked quite a bit about depression and death, and choices, and of course that isn't so conducive to sales, so maybe she can add that to the reasons she didn't sell well. Subtle currents run deep, and apparently no one saw that she needed them to buy her work, or they had pools of their own to keep treading water in. Surely Saturday will work better for her.

Steel Web earrings, moss agate

I was going to write about honesty and honor. I lied a lot as a kid, which I read yesterday is a typical part of childhood trauma, a tactic to lessen fear and confusion. A couple of adults in my life tried to help, gently or brutally, in the 50's way of thinking, which wasn't too evolved. I can look back now and see how hard it was for them to know what to do. They were sure I would need honesty in my later life, so felt compelled to install it, with whatever tactics they knew. While washing my mouth out with soap definitely got my attention, I so wish I had the kind of adult who would have hugged me and reassured me that I would always have enough, that my fears would lessen, and who could bring me back to feeling safe. I am always brought to tears when I see parents who know how to do this, and my hope for the future is high when I view that type of evolution.

I was of course a flawed parent, but when my son was in his deepest existential struggle, I said we would only have one rule: we both had to be honest. It was hard! I had to address my drinking, my relationships, my personality, my own existential struggles, and I had to really step up for him. I hope he learned to trust me more. I hope it gave him the ground to stand on that I wanted to provide. He does seem to be a secure and honest person, but then there is all that genetic stuff that he will have to discover for himself...I'm still terrified on that level. I always want to go to him for reassurance in my triggered state, though I have learned not to.

It's funny to me, but I wanted to go to Beth as well. She is like the Statue of Liberty to me, she provides the ultimate reassurance to me that people are good, ethical, honest, forthcoming and loving. At the Board meeting, at the end, she said something I have heard her say before, that is profoundly touching. She said something to the effect of: "Let's keep everyone in the basket."

We have to keep everyone in the basket. It's not just a symbol of the variety of our crafts, it's the metaphor for our lives. We're all crammed in there with our leaves intertwined and our flowers shedding pollen on each other, waiting for the bees. We can't throw anyone out, we are all us. We need each other. I can't have a Saturday Market down there by myself, no matter how dedicated I am. I need all of you there.

I know I said that in my last post, that we are us. I don't think many people really feel that, in either SM or OCF, but that is what provides me with the greatest reassurance. We all feel left out sometimes. I can't go to things on Saturdays unless I am willing to give up a lot, so I miss out on the picnic and people's parties and weddings and writing conferences, and sometimes those sacrifices don't pay off. My sense of belonging, though, really hinges on my weekly participation in the community gathering. I love isolation, so I need that forced interaction. I've thrived within the basket for forty years, and I plan to stay in it.

It is one of the places I learned and practice honorable behavior, where I care about my reputation and all of my actions. I can't hide there. It's one of our core values: we run the Market on the honor system. I don't know if people are taught to be honorable, if modern young people think it is important to be honest and dependable and do what is right. I'm not sure how I learned it, but for me it is a weekly practice and I barely think about it. I always pay my true booth fee, no rationalizations. I don't feel that all the money I make is even mine. I owe Market far more than ten percent of my sales.

So it is easy for me, because Market made me who I am and I am so very grateful for it every day. I've been honest with Market for 40 years and Market is honest with me. The fine and generous people who volunteer respect me, and all of us, enough to be gentle and firm and loving, and ask only for a fair share, to keep going. All of the Market income comes from our members. We pay all of our bills with it. We don't get grants, or even many donations, we work for our pay and we invest in ourselves for our longterm health and for our very existence.

Earrings by Gila Fox

It hasn't been so many years since the City hated us, the farmers hated us, the activists hated us, and the public didn't trust us much either. Over the decades we have had to earn the trust and respect we enjoy now, but it isn't something we can stop working on. We have endured because we come down there every week and put it all out there to be seen. We are honest about it. We are as authentic as it gets.

That keeps us strong and alive and allows us to be there for our community. We are so much more than a celebration or a marketplace. We are so important, in our small corner of the very big universe. We are essential, and we need your honest participation to continue to thrive.

So don't rationalize and pack early and cheat on your booth fees and hate on your neighbor. Those behaviors don't become you and you don't want to become them. Follow my one rule, to be honest, and meet me down there day after tomorrow. We're still growing and developing and working on our childhood pains, all of us, and we need each other to do it. Don't opt out, come in. We want you in the basket.

And don't worry about me, I am fine today, the little storm has passed and my strategies worked one more time. I feel safe. If you don't, I hope you know I care. A lot of people do. Try to stick around and feel it.