From January 7th.
Wow it's so wet today. I'm unendingly grateful for a warm and dry
house and happy that I learned how to provide for myself, gain safety,
and have a life that is practical and free from existential threats.
I'm
grieving my old friend George, who is no longer conscious though his
body is still present I think. He could be dreaming, visiting us. I had a
dream about riding behind him on a motorcycle, whispering I love you
into his ear. He didn't respond...but I know he loved me too. We first
met around 50 years ago, a little less maybe. He attended poker games at
Hap's Garage and I was living with Hap Hazard, as he called himself
then. George was a Scorpio and about 6 months younger than me, and I
have Scorpio rising, but we connected for lots of reasons. He had a
partner but we tried to date at one later point, too early in my
personal development to have a mature relationship, but we stayed
friends and kept the trust and collaboration as we grew in community.
I've
been remembering those times and his familiar face. I don't need to
visit his body, as I know there are dozens if not hundreds of people who
also love him and want him to still be there for them. He had some
wonderful qualities and such a soft and nurturing presence, plus all
that charisma. I greatly admired him even though we didn't always agree,
and I think I saw his true nature. He made a powerful impact on many
lives and I am proud to be one of the artists he supported with his
vision. Even though I was "just the screenprinter" I also got to paint
the Treehouse, twice, and we shared fifty years of t-shirt projects,
which makes him my longest and oldest collaborator.
I kind of do
want to go sit with him, to be honest. I just don't think I will help
anyone who needs help right now. I told them my heart is with them. I've
always been chicken about dealing with death, since my dad's was so
traumatic, and I was young then, and I always think I will do better. I
also think I prefer to grieve in private. I'll talk about it, I'll help
spread the news, but I don't want to have to say any platitudes or join
in any group tears. I'll continue to work on it, as we're solidly in the
time of our lives when we will be losing everyone, until we are the one
lost.
I heard a new term today that seems useful, the shame
spiral. It's the reaction that happens when you feel shamed, and are
sent into a process of defense, self-protection, and full display of
your woundedness in that area. I've felt it, and seen it happen to
others, but it's good to remember that this can help explain the
seemingly outsize reaction people have when their errant behavior is
addressed and acknowledged. They can't acknowledge it until they see the
spiral themselves, track the process, identify their wound, and get to
the healing. All of these types of healing take years. Shame is such a
powerful emotion, imposed from without.
As someone raised as a
Catholic, I'm well aware of how it feels. I can sometimes distinguish it
from guilt, which is about what you did, not what someone else thinks
about it. They get locked together sometimes, when the shame makes you
feel guilty...but sometimes your outrage is because you don't feel like
you did anything that deserved being shamed. And sometimes you didn't. I
often find myself framing things as if there were a courtroom and a
judge and jury, with all of my evidence and justifications. But I think I
am learning to just sit with the guilt feelings, which usually can
point out at minimum something I could have done better, and put the
shame back on the source.
I told someone they didn't have the
right to scold me, and it's the same with shame. People don't have the
right to shame you. However, often, they didn't, but your woundedness
tells you they did, and you go into the spiral. If you did something
that hurt them, or caused a problem, people have the right to bring it
up and look for redress or point out a better action, but not to attack
you for it. If they don't have the skills to have a rational and
productive, problem-solving discussion, perhaps they are not the person
who should address it with you. It takes skills and practice to keep
that kind of discussion helpful.
Many of us revert to
parent-talk, bringing back the way our parents dealt with their need to
guide or correct our behaviors. I felt lots of shame as a kid, sometimes
put on me intentionally and sometimes just the reaction I had learned
to feel as a little kid under attack. It was the 50s. My Mom was pretty
good at parenting after helping raise her 9 siblings, but my Dad was
toxic and barely tried to learn. My parents had a lot of late night
discussions but I don't think there was any evidence that my Dad learned
any better ways. I think he did carry a lot of shame. But all of that
is decades old and it's more useful to pry into current issues and look
at what I could be doing better.
Any kind of righteous crusade is
fraught and I know I am falling close to that line with my need to help
the market to get better management and get back on track. I'm
frequently feeling shamed and scolded for telling the truth, which makes
me even more determined to keep doing that. It's probably useful to go
back to one of the primary experiences with lying that happened to me
when I was maybe 8 or 9, not sure exactly. My older sister and I got to
go to the yacht club with my dad, one of the only times I remember
having any kind of nearly one-on-one experiences with my dad. He sent me
up to the bar to get cokes for us, a huge treat we never got except at
the yacht club, and on the way back along the dock, I took a sip from
mine, and then because I had less than my sister, I took a sip from
hers. I proavly did it twice, because my deprivation was a prime driver
of my actions then. I had no idea that I was being watched the whole
time and I lied about it, denying trying to somehow get myself on equal
footing with my sister, which was the underlying problem which of course
was not understood or ever addressed. My sister and I were adversaries
in many ways until we were adults, and talked about out mutual feelings
of not being seen and heard as children. We took it out on each other
for at least two decades until my dad's death changed the subject.
But
anyway, I was full of bad feelings and must have been promised some
kind of discipline when we got home, and the day was spoiled. My father
chose to make his point about lying by washing my mouth out with a bar
of soap, witnessed by the whole family. It wasn't the first time I had
lied. Lying was no doubt an adaptive behavior I had learned to get
myself some safety in the previous years. One of my friends' mothers had
written about it in my autograph book, and I can still see that entry
in my mind, on the pastel page, reading "Oh what a tangled web we weave,
when first we practice to deceive." I was always grateful to her for
even noticing me at all, but I puzzled over this and didn't really
understand the level of my lying, and it could have been a major problem
among many problems. I was also a bully to my little sisters, as
secretly as I could be, which is just part of the same attempt to get
out from under domination and control. We often try out domination and
control as that's what we're seeing and feeling.
So a complicated
early memory and I doubt I vowed that day to never lie again, because I
focused on the cruelty of the punishment and the feelings of being
utterly unloved, misunderstood, and threatened, as well as hurt. I don't
eat cilantro...just one persistent soap issue. I vividly remember the
incident in great detail. I wonder if I confessed anything about it.
Confession was also a shame and guilt experience with a male authority
figure so I probably did, or didn't. I remember confession vividly as
well but not that one in particular. Someday I'll think more about my
"sins" back then. But my point is that either within or despite these
early experiences, at some point in my life I realized my main values
included honesty.
All this to say that the shame spiral is what I
believe I set in motion with my observation of someone's immature
behavior, which launched some vicious anger at me, and others, at a
really bad time. It explains to me why I don't want another interaction
with that person, even if it were an attempt to make it better, an
apology or process or whatever. I don't even want anyone to defend me
(because, oh lord, I am guilty of the following sins...) I just want it
to never happen again. I don't want the person to be punished, since
they punished themself by making the situation a hundred times worse
than my little observation warranted. Part of my guilt is paying
attention to that person in the first place. The only thing that's
working for me with this group of people is pretending as hard as I can
that they don't exist, and certainly don't have any power over me. They
try to.
Some of them are in power positions over me, and have
shown that they will exert that power, but that has only happened in
small ways and I wonder if they are in touch enough with themselves and
their own lying to realize that their power over me isn't effecting my
compliance with their control tactics. Doubting that they have any
self-awareness, but since I know I am nuanced, I try to think that they
are too, and working on their issues, which like mine, are really hard
to keep on top of. Childhood damage persists, as it is so deeply
embedded when we are so vulnerable. It drives a lot of unfortunate
behaviors.
Circling back, I don't like remembering the ways I
wasn't mature with my dying companion in life, but we got past them
rather easily as it turns out, with his insistence on reassuring me that
even though my imaginary construction of what we would create together
wasn't going to happen, we still created a lot together! We set aside
our shame and worked on friendship. Respect, openness, just loving each
other without romantic attachment worked. I do think I saw him as he
was. I do think he also saw me.
Of course we had fifty years to do
it. This other thing just happened. Other people may address it, and
because it wasn't just an incident about me, but a larger pattern, it
needs to be addressed. People with skills have to do that. That's why it
is so damn important to choose good leaders for these complex community
organizations. They need a big toolbox of skills and when they don't
have those, chaos follows and that's where we are.
George had a
lot of skills, but most of what he did in public for the last while as
he served on the Board of OCF, was to just be in the room. He was always
calm and deliberate and strong, not drawing attention to himself, but
sticking to the business of the org. I'm sure he had his weaknesses and
made his mistakes. There was plenty I didn't know, but I always remember
that he was a wrestler. He once said that Kesey and his people wouldn't
really like him if they really knew him. They connected through
wrestling and wood, and if I remember right, George was asked to make
Ken's coffin.
George will have a very well-crafted resting place
and parts of the sauna will be his legacy made visible, but his real
legacy resides in how he was able to bring so much creativity to fruit
in others. I'm going to think of him in his garden, the last place I
spent time with him really, when I was painting the Treehouse the second
time. He had just lost Katherine, and he invited me in to see where her
box was and other parts of his private sacred space. The Treehouse was
being repainted as a part of a memorial to her, which I think was
derailed by the pandemic. They had a smaller safer gathering.
I
also remember when he came by the market to connect with me after her
death. He held me while I shook and wept into that vest he always wore,
and he held me as long as I needed it, even though his grief was
obviously huge and not mine. My grief was for him, was really empathy,
very deeply. When he released me and I wiped my tears, he said "Good
talk."