Family in Reality and Delusion (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 226)

My dad has told me several times over the recent past that he can’t talk to my brother like he talks to me. My brother is a highly intelligent and professionally successful forty six year old man and what my dad means specifically by his statement is that he can’t speak truth or have a genuinely open conversation with my brother about anything. If my dad were to attempt to do so, my brother would have a temper tantrum and yell abusively at him or withdraw immediately from the conversation and my dad’s presence or somehow punish my father in a retaliation like ostracizing him from his grandson forevermore.

This isn’t an overstatement or a paranoid delusion. It is a reality and I know that my father is speaking truth when he makes the statement. I believe he has reminded me of this reality as of late for two primary reasons.

I think it saddens him to know that he can never actually engage in a profoundly genuine interaction with my brother. He can’t speak his real mind or thoughts to his own son or be a father who can offer hard truths and external insight in the hope of helping his direct offspring slay his demons.

I also believe that my dad reminds me of this fact to let me know how happy he is that I allow him to express his core feelings, emotions, expressions, and reflections with me, without imparting a reflexive guilt, admonishment, or brandishing judgement upon him. He grew up in a family situation where less parental involvement occurred and tender heartfelt discussion was avoided. I find it to be very sad when families focus more upon pretending to be a family than actually behaving like one. To this day, I still have to remind him that it is okay for him to give me his opinion or advice. I remind him that I know he means only the best for me and that I don’t consider his recommendations an intrusive behavior or bully move. I tell him that it is okay to be my father in word and deed, that such is dearly appreciated, and that debates and disagreements do not have to cause pain, fear, withdrawal, guilt, or an end to any conversation or relationship. Those unfortunate endings, we can avoid together.

It is odd that I have spent my entire life trying to figure how to end the suffering of my mother and her “replacements” which I have always migrated towards in my relationships, without any significant success, and yet, I have been able to extract a man from the numbing collective matrix of deindividualized superficiality whom I once so falsely and so tragically perceived as the cause of every bit of all of that suffering. I have seen the transformation of my father. I have witnessed the person, the human, once lost completely within the suppressed and homogenized herd, once also nothing more than a sacrificial lamb of excuse for my mother, find his way. I have witnessed my dad’s rebirth and I believe his epiphany that real talk, real conversation, is the good stuff, the priceless tough love of the soul, that life is not made to do without.

My brother doesn’t realize that psychologically he is only a reverse imprint of my mother. Basically, he saw my mom treat my dad a certain way all of his life and his response was to then declare that no woman would ever treat him like my mom treated my dad. He suffers from severe insecurity, just like mom did and he continues to avoid any check or correction from reality that comes too close to making him face that fear. That’s why he chooses to control his reality by avoiding real conversation. That is why he is so terrified of such an interaction.

My dad expressed some guilt to me the other day for maybe not doing enough to push or convince or nurture my brother into facing his fears so that he might engage in objective reality. He felt he had let my brother down.

I had to remind my father that he had done nothing wrong. I admitted that my brother’s condition was sad and unfortunate, and potentially tragic, but that his life and his choices were solely up to him. His life and choices could not be forced upon him by someone else, even his own father. I told my dad that he had done all that he might and that he must let the issue rest until my brother decided it was time to help himself.

I said “Dad, as crazy and insane and confused as I have been, I never stopped asking the questions, never. I still remember mom asking me why, why I always asked such silly questions. I may have been mad or foolish or lost, but I always wanted to figure a way out of the trap. I wanted to overcome all of the endless shit and anxiety and anger that I felt and that I saw others experiencing. I could never dismiss the fact that such an achievement wasn’t possible. The joy and beauty I had felt in part could not be sacrificed or even balanced with all of the pain and suffering. It only made sense to figure out a path that would allow that joy and beauty to reign. I know I got lucky in many ways and I know I still make mistakes, but I figured it out. I got there because I never stopped asking questions and seeking the truths present within reality. I think you have done the same, dad, in your own way. Unfortunately, mom’s fear paralyzed her to the point where she decided to retreat within her own mind and never ask another legitimate question of the outside world ever again. She folded. That was her decision. Your other son, has proceeded in the same manner as mom. He isn’t asking any real questions of you or me because he is too fearful of where it might lead, the truths he would have to face if he did. We can’t do anything else for him until he decides he is ready to ask those real questions for himself. I wish it were different, but it’s not. I promise you that’s the truth.”

Cribb          2018

Make Love, Not Waste (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 225)

We should all be making more love to one another.

Define it as you will.

We waste so much time

that is then

lost forever

on

being pitiful, broken, and invulnerable.

Why do such a thing?

Why squander such opportunity?

Why self destruct in isolation, when such love and beauty and union begs for our participation?

Cribb

2018

The Giant Screeching Metal Crayon Amalgamation (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 224)

A child comes into the restaurant with her grandmother and they both sit down together besides me. The child appears to be maybe three to five years old and she immediately displays a knee jerk response of inappropriate social shyness towards me (an unknown authority figure) when I say hello and wave at her in a goofy but amicable manner.

A moment later, the girl has changed positions and sits kneeling and prone across two seats with her butt pointed towards her grandmother. The child has now figured out that I am being silly to everyone around me and that I am not flexing my authority over anyone, including her. She becomes much more relaxed and begins smiling at me while making some silly and somewhat indecipherable noises that I know to be indications of her nervous or excitable energy. She is “playing” with me or “charming” me because she still doesn’t know for sure where she stands with me. In other words, she doesn’t know how much she can manipulate me or get away with around me, because I am a foreign authority figure to her normal existence. Her behavior is subtle enough not to threaten or upset me in any hostile manner while she gently ramps up her “dominance” or willful behavior to whatever level she can successfully achieve. This is extremely normal social behavior for a child who is highly aware and extremely intelligent, but who has not been taught appropriate structure, boundaries, and respect at home.

Meanwhile, the grandmother is rubbing and massaging the girl’s lower back. She does this as she tells me along with an sympathetic grin that “She makes me do this every night before she goes to bed.”

I smile back, because this isn’t my fight and there is absolutely nothing that I can do to help the situation even though I can accurately predict the next forty to fifty years of this little girl’s life. I slay my rational thoughts and focus on smiling like a blubbering idiot as I reply “And why wouldn’t she? I suppose that’s to be expected. Everyone loves to be massaged or get a good back and butt rub! That’s good stuff for the body and soul no matter who you happen to be.”

A brief period of time passes. I go back to being more focused on my book and eating my mid day breakfast. In the periphery of my mind and senses though, I do notice the little girl is proceeding behaviorally in the exact manner that I would normally expect for this dynamic. The child has grown louder with her nervous and excitable noises, and she has further ramped up her “assertive influence” on the environment by picking up her metal silverware in her hand, making a giant screeching metal crayon amalgamation of that silverware, and then drawing creatively with her new “instrument of attention” all over the table in front of her. This behavior continues for a few minutes, during which her grandmother appears completely obvious or perhaps satially content at the “creativeness” and/or “innocent adorable playfulness” of her granddaughter’s actions, but for anyone truly paying attention to the reality of the situation, the child’s antics are factually more disrespectful and rude in nature than anything else.

Again, I slay my thoughts as much as possible and shift all remaining unutilized reserve power to “Full Shields” on my starboard side.

The server, who happens to know this grandmother and grandchild by name, and who has been friendly and jovial with both since they came into the restaurant, walks over to the counter directly in front of them, and begins to try and take their food order from the grandmother. After a second or two, it is apparent that the noise of the giant screeching metal crayon amalgamation being wielded upon the table is making any reasonable communication and thinking, along with the order taking, nearly impossible. The server in a stable and steady firm voice says “Darling, you gotta stop that. You are scratching up the whole table top doing that. That’s not good. You can’t do be doing that. Okay?”

The little girl immediately and appropriately stopped, but then the grandmother now reflexively displaying hissyfit features and gesticulations of her face, neck, and arms, replied to the caught-off-guard server something along the lines of “Well, I guess we just won’t order then! We’ll go eat somewhere else!”, getting up and marching out the door before a further rational thought or comment might even register to anyone else.

The server had a reflexive, agonal, trailing off of “what. . . I. .what did she. . .huh. . . . . did she just. . .oh. . okay.”

Behavioral Summary:

This little girl would typically be a child of high awareness, intelligence, and drive. She is borne into a family environment that is not stable enough and/or aware enough to understand how to provide her with proper structure, boundaries, and balanced objective perception. Thus, such a child is inappropriately and pathologically addressed either through manipulative spoiling (over-nurturing) or induction of fear (overdominance). Neither leads to stability, accurate perception, or respect for others. Instead, it leads to the behavior noted by the little girl in the story above.

The grandmother displayed typical over-nurturing behavior towards her granddaughter, which unfortunately encourages the repetitive cyclical indoctrination of bad behavior and confusion of the child to “appear completely normal” to the child.

The server issued a stable and appropriate correction to the child. The correction was not over-the-top and it did not produce a fear response. It was and is precisely the type of “correction” and “tough love” that that little girl needs to develop properly in mind, body, soul, and spirit.

The grandmother ran (flight) because she knows she is too weak (or unstable) to be an effective authority figure or parent, even to an itty bitty little girl, who really needs her help. The server brought that reality into the grandmother’s focus, so the grandmother took her “victim” and her awareness and exchanged it, quite eagerly, for the anger and victim card of distraction and delusion.

Waffle House Conversations

Cribb          2018

Orwell’s Ultimate Dilemma (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 223)

Gordon was not ashamed of his surroundings as he would once have been. there was a faint, amused malice in the way he spoke.

“You think I’m a bloody fool, of course,” he remarked to the ceiling.

“No I don’t. Why should I?”

“Yes, you do. You think I’m a bloody fool to stay in this filthy place instead of getting a proper job. You think I ought to try for that job at New Albion.”

“No, dash it! I never thought that. I see your point absolutely. I told you that before. I think you’re perfectly right in principle.”

“And you think principles are all right so long as one doesn’t go and put them into practice.”

“No. But the question always is, when is one putting them into practice?”

“It’s quite simple. I’ve made war on money. This is where it’s lead me.”

Ravelston rubbed his nose, then shifted uneasily on his chair.

“The mistake you make , don’t you see, is in thinking one can live in a corrupt society without being corrupt oneself. After all, what do you achieve by refusing to make money? You’re trying to behave as though one could stand right outside our economic system. But one can’t. One’s got to change the system, or one changes nothing. One can’t put things right in a hole-and-corner way, if you take my meaning.”

Gordon waved a foot at the buggy ceiling. “Of course this is a hole-and-corner, I admit.”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Ravelston, pained.

“But let’s face facts. You think I ought to be looking about for a good job don’t you?”

“It depends on the job. I think you’re quite right not to sell yourself to that advertising agency. But it does seem rather a pity that you should stay in that wretched job you’re in at present. After all, you have got talents. You ought to be using them somehow.”

“There are my poems,” said Gordon, smiling at his private joke.

Ravelston looked abashed. This remark silenced him. Of course, there were Gordon’s poems. There was London Pleasures, for instance. Ravelston knew, and Gordon knew, and each other knew, that London Pleasures would never be finished. Never again, probably, would Gordon write a line of poetry; never, at least, while he remained in this vile (lower class) place, this blind-alley job (of not selling shit to others along with his soul to the devil) and this defeated mood (depression). He had finished with all of that. But this could not be said, as yet. The pretense was still kept up that Gordon was a struggling poet—the conventional poet-in-garret.

Keep the Aspidistra Flying

George Orwell          1936