The End

I dedicate my life to achieving self-actualization;
I dedicate my life to helping others achieve self-actualization;
I dedicate my life to peaceful acts;
I dedicate my life to peaceful thoughts;

I meditate on compassion;
I meditate on cause and effect;

I forgive;

I release all attachments.
I release my self;

I let go.

Week 52

The Spike

(an op-ed)

My great great grandfather was named Col. Thomas Wentworth Peirce. My name is Tom Jr., although technically I'm Tom IV.

Col. Tom has an interesting background. At one point he was one of the richest men in the country, having financed the construction of a railroad down in Texas. You can google him and read about it on-line, if you're interested.

While Col. Tom was away, he made arrangements to have his house built in Topsfield, Mass. It was to be a large three story manor overlooking fields and a lake. He chose the location because it took only one change of horses to ride into Boston.

He returned from Texas to find the house completed with a small problem: it was constructed facing the wrong direction. The Salon was supposed to overlook the view, but the entire house was reversed so that the beautiful library looked onto the horse fields behind the house.

I'm not sure what Col. Tom thought about all that, but perhaps it was an omen of sorts, indicating that great success can have unexpected consequences.

I've heard that Col. Tom died fairly young of a heart attack, perhaps also an alcoholic. One item I treasure, however, is a collection of humorous verses with his name hand signed inside, dated 1855. It makes me feel happy to believe that he had a sense of humor.

His son was also named Tom Peirce. Despite a market crash that wiped out a considerable amount of the family fortune, Tom still inherited a comfortable life. He became a gentleman farmer. Col. Tom had made a gamble with some of his wealth by buying up land in Mexico.

He bought up enough land equal to the size of Rhode Island and was gambling that the United States would be bold enough to annex Mexico, or a good portion of it, into the Texas territories. His son, Tom Jr., spent much of his life trying to get back claims to this land. It was a fruitless endeavor as Mexico took most of it back. I'm not sure of all the details but have a stack of his letters and land journals to sift through to figure it out at some point.

Tom Jr.'s wife was a bon vivant of the 1920s who apparently thought Tom to be a pretty boring guy. She married him and then went onto a fast lane life of parties and horse races, making the scandal papers of the day. They had one son, also named Tom, then divorced.

Tom remarried a sweet young thing and had four kids, one of whom was my grandfather. Since the name Tom had already been taken, my grandfather was called John Peirce. He had three brothers. Their father, my great grandfather, died fairly young of a heart attack, so the mother was left to raise four boys. Eventually, they inherited what remained of the family fortune...greatly diminished by vulturous lawyers but still relatively bountiful by the standards of the day.

My grandfather's brothers were neer-do-wells who threw their fortunes away, marrying multiple times, leaving broken homes and lives behind them. My grandfather, however, felt a great burden of family history. He also married well, into a family arguably more wealthy than his own, the Minots. They were descended from French petite aristocracy and re-made their fortune through shipping on the China seas. There was only one problem with my grandfather: although extremely smart, he lacked the capacity for empathy and was, from everything I saw and heard, a rather mean alcoholic.

My father was named Tom Peirce out of my grandfather's effort to reestablish the family heritage. Sadly, he was sent away to boarding school very young, I think about in third grade. He wrote letters home each week which I have. They are heartbreaking. Clearly he was an exceptionally intelligent and sensitive child starving for affection. My grandparents, though lacked the capacity to give affection, most probably due to their own sad childhoods.

After my grandfather came back from World War II, he apparently took over the household in a belligerent way. My memory of my grandfather is of him yelling at me every summer vacation because I didn't remember how to sail from my week there visiting a year earlier. I dreaded contact with him where every comment would only serve to reinforce how stupid and worthless he perceived me to be. I can only imagine what my poor father had to experience.

My father was a smart guy. He went to Stanford and Harvard Business School and was a vice president of international marketing in Geneva. I'll jump ahead a bit and let you know that he died when I was in college in a car crash. I went to a college counsellor at Tufts after it happened at the suggestion of a friend. The counsellor, a very nice guy, asked me to describe my father. I forget what I said, but it was something I felt was rather innocuous. "What happened to your father to warp him so profoundly?" the counsellor asked me.

That was the beginning of confronting my father's legacy, but it took another twenty odd years to fully come to terms with the past.

--

I don't have a lot of memories of my father. My earliest one was when I was about three. We lived in Canada (where I was born) and I got a train set for Christmas. I was so excited I kept pestering my father to help me set it up. This made him furious. Finally, later in the evening, he stormed up to the playroom to put the train set together.

As he was angrily setting it up I took two trains that were wired together and bent them. "Now you've broken it!" my father yelled. He stormed away. It was the first time I experienced such anger so it made a deep emotional impact on me. I never understood what I had broken or why it couldn't be fixed. The train set was thrown out.

--

We moved to Switzerland and, based on letters I found after my grandfather died, my father almost immediately began an affair with his much younger secretary. Her name was Ilse (later they married, thus, she is Ilse Peirce). I have few memories of my father in Switzerland except for him taking me to her apartment.

He would drop me off with her and leave, I suppose in some truly distorted way trying to get me to form a bond with her. There was nothing for me to do there. Ilse sat on the couch smoking, probably as uncomfortable as I was. Eventually I'd panic and want to see my father.

After much pleading Ilse would reveal to me my father's location, typically downstairs at the bar. i remember her laughing as I tried to figure out the locks on the door and then telling me that she would only let me out if I kissed her. Out of desperation I complied. I see now that this was the defining moment where I began to hate myself because I could not comprehend such manipulative evil. As soon as my father returned she would transform into a sweet innocent person. Truly Hans Christian Anderson and others who have written about evil stepmothers are among the most perceptive of the world's psychologists.

--

I rarely saw my father except when he came home to drink and beat up my mother. He tried to kill her multiple times in front of me. He told his family that my mother was crazy and a gold digger. Meanwhile, my father had some sort of bad opium trip while on business in the Mideast. He got into parapsychology and thought he could talk to ghosts and manipulate people with his mind. It's hard to know exactly what his problem was - clearly drinking two bottles of scotch a day and a bad drug trip didn't help. My father divorced my mother, who always loved him, and married his mistress.

--

While I rarely saw my father after that, he did have some lucid moments on vacation. What he told me repeatedly was that he wanted me to be happy and to inherit the spike which he kept on his desk. The spike is a silver spike that my great great grandfather, Col. Tom, had symbolically hammered into the ground at the completion of the railroad. "This will go to you," my father told me.

--

Due to my father's emotional and substance abuse issues, he lost his job and hit rock bottom. His new wife had her green card and had no more use for my father. My father called my sister and told her that his wife was leaving him. My father was killed a couple of days later in a car crash. He died without a will.

--

Ilse was the grieving widow to be consoled by family. Of course she received all my father's possessions and would not give anything, even a photo, to his children. My grandfather, who always struck me as in lust with her (turning into a beat red school boy in her presence) made sure she inherited a significant portion of my grandfather's assets and changed my grandmother's trust documents to have monies go to Ilse.

And the spike? I asked Ilse if could have it as the one memory of my father, as he told me he wanted me to have it. "No! you'll never get it!!" she shrieked. I see her once a year at an annual summer family gathering. All my father's family hugs her and calls her darling.

In college my grandfather took me to dinner for the purpose of telling me that I should grow up and accept her as my "real" mother. I considered throwing my wine into my grandfather's face, but decided to simply walk out instead. I'm still chastised by my relatives for my "childish" behavior in not welcoming her into my heart.

--

I let go of the spike.

Week 51

Illusions
I release the illusions that I may carry, especially related to love.

I was accepted into a creative writing program, focusing on poetry, at The Johns Hopkins University. This is an excerpt of a fictional prose piece about attachment to illusions and the pain of change:
--

the witches danced as harry departed, a geddes baby breathes only stars, rosaries in the choir fell forgotted, saint leslie ann, wanderjahr; leslie parrish wore many faces, harry's muse he loved them all, each one had many graces, gracing his heart with their siren call;

only one of them is real, the rest celluloid desires past, and alone with his last meal, its that face that keeps harry steadfast; he saw flora and loved true, with no other purpose at all, but cursed he couldn't reach through, her mirage in that marbled hall;

life, pain and hurt, release desire to move beyond, unless living in denial is less work and sings a softer song; i know which face i love (he said), 1978 eyes shined 1776 in truth, misty eyelashes glistening above (he said), lips below touched with vermouth;

her as her because then he became fully human, receiving hope from above, receiving sacred communion; but defeated at trentonious, truth and compassion disengaged, "what might have been between us," harry asked, contemplating the waves;

Week 50

Happiness.

I had a muse who brought me happiness. I let go.

Week 49

Relationships

I am thankful for having had a meaningful relationship with a woman I am very deeply in love with and who told me, at the time, that she loved me. All things must pass; I let go of this relationship...I release it.
--
to distract my mind….
from my lost love….
i went to Idle Time Books….
to have some looks….

poetry is relaxing….
let’s see, looking….
browsing….
soothing….

oh, Richard Wilbur….
Things of This World….
my sweetie’s favorite….
she could quote it and ….

hmmm...Louise Erdrich….
Baptism of Desire….
until, Michael Dorris, a bag over his head….
she crushed his heart until he was dead.... no pass...

Marianne Moore….
Tell Me, Tell Me….
Poems of New York….
oh, my Sweetie loved (loves?) New York too…. well, maybe, then...

Barbra Guest….
Moscow Mansions….
isn't she of the New York School?….
New York times two (pass)….

i’ll switch to art….
let’s see, Picasso, Cocteau, Marsh….
my Sweetie was (is?) an art scholar….
renaissance maps, she was too smart...pass….

er, ah, psychology?...
there’s the ticket… i might learn a thing or two….
Freud on Eros…. Adler on love and power...hmmm...our peace was so sweet…
(no, pass on them all, damn it! excuse me, let me through...)

head for the exit…. give a pass on Blink….
pass Homer (classics, her favorite) and his Iliad, I think....
pass Dumas (The Count of Monte Cristo) 'cause she loved (loves?) Hugo too....
pass them all and run though the thicket of memories and glue....

and, forget….
forget….forget….I wonder what she’s reading now?
pour another double…. blur the vision….
blur the past….blur the pain….and write, to remember not to forget.

Week 48

Week 47

Week 46

REGRET
The deepest pain I feel is the regret at having hurt a woman I deeply loved by having acted in a thoughtless and self-absorbed way. There is nothing I can do to change the past and the regret has eaten away at me. I meditate on cause-and-effect, let go of the past regret, and dedicate myself to a life of self-actualization and positive, supportive energy towards those around me.

Week 45

TRAUMA

I recently saw the movie The Killer Inside Me starring Casey Affleck, Jessica Alba and Kate Hudson. Affleck plays a sociopath and I had to keep my eyes closed through much of it, the violence was so intense. I have never hit or yelled at another person and try to avoid aggressive confrontation; violence to me seems the lowest level of ignorance. What resonated with me was the fear and incomprehension that was reflected in Alba's and Hudson's eyes when Affleck first started hitting them, after having told each that he was deeply in love with them and having seduced them. Even as he was killing them, they told Affleck "I love you." The reason their eyes resonated with me is that it reflected the same incomprehension I felt when my I was experiencing abuse as a child. The mind isn't meant to comprehend such betrayal; emotions of love and trust are so profound that they last even when the abuser is hitting. I meditate on cause-and-effect and let go of the trauma of my past.

Week 44

NEEDINESS

I've written elsewhere about the difficulty of coming to terms with an abusive past. Since then, I've certainly come a long way. For instance, I am now a volunteer counsellor with the DC Rape Crisis Center. When I was in my lowest point in life I reached out to the three people I felt I could trust and open up to. My neighbor slammed her door in my face. My ex-girlfriend hung up on me. Another simply stood mute. As I was crying in front of them asking for their help, I could not understand why these people who had told me they cared about me were so filled with scorn and disdain. I can come up with endless theories but, far more importantly, what I see now is that I need to feel compassion for myself. I am working on getting over the need to be loved; that awful, destructive neediness which leads to a blubbering expression of insecurities. No one can fulfill that but myself. I meditate on cause-and-effect and on compassion for myself and for others. I let go of neediness.

Week 43

If I Were To Die Today
(a poem in progress by Wentworth)

If I were to die today

Three days from today my receptionist at work
would ask: "where's Tom, today?"

The police would arrive and say,
"Another lonely corpse today."

The EMS would say, "It stinks his having been
rotting away."

The morgue intake-clerk would ask,
"Who is his next of kin, anyway?"

My Mom would say,
"I'd hoped to sleep in today."

My Dad would say,
"I'll greet him at the Pearly Gates today."

His second wife would say,
"Sweet revenge came my way."

My Grandad would say,
"I never much liked him, okay?"

My GrandPops would say,
"Let's do an accounting before we pray."

My sister would say,
"This really isn't convenient today."

My other one would say,
"He was a nice guy, anyway."

My ex would say,
"Break out the Champagne, today."

Her girlfriend would say,
"It's like Mardi Gras today!"

Her childhood friend would say,
"This calls for a party today!"

My neighbor would say,
"i'm gonna grab some swag today!"

My boss would say,
"Who is next for a window office, today?"

My colleague would say,
"Not me, but I'd like his chair, anyway."

My broker would say,
"Someone's got a nice payday."

My personnel officer would say,
"He's saved Uncle Sam money today."

My Dalai Lama would say,
"Life's all emptiness, anyway."

My God would say,
"I'm not too pleased with how you
used your way."

--
But I haven't died yet.

So, I've got another day, today

Week 42

CHILDHOOD

I read somewhere that all of us, no matter what our age, are who we were at age 7. The rest of our lives are living in reaction to the narrative we created for ourselves during those formative years.

My father neglected his children as we were growing up, spending most of his time with his much younger Austrian mistress, occasionally returning "home" to drink, yell, beat up my mother and then to disappear. After he divorced I'd see him two weeks a year (he lived overseas). His new wife was, from my perspective, insanely jealous of his kids receiving any attention and throughout the visit she would moan on and on about her tragic childhood of deprivation. My father would listen transfixed, completely ignoring his kids during their yearly visit.

What is interesting to me as an adult is that most of my memories of my father's interaction are of him telling me that I was stupid, "retarded" or spoiled. I understand now that he was projecting unresolved childhood issues onto me and onto his mistress in a counter-intuitive manner.

The absorption with his mistress reflected attention he craved. He was unconsciously projecting himself onto the mistress and giving her the attention he lacked as a child (he too was severely emotionally neglected and abused as a child). As his child I was part of him and because he loathed himself, he loathed me.

I tried at many points to broach these insights with him but he would always respond that I was naive or just didn't get it (a defensive mechanism on his part). His starkest trait was that he completely lacked the capacity for empathy.
--
It is fascinating to me that years later the woman who I fell deeply in love with is one who has difficulty expressing empathy. My experience with her reflected the emotional experience of my childhood; her telling me that she loved me (even moving in with me) but keeping me off balance emotionally in a number of ways. Whenever I tried to create emotional intimacy with her she simply responded by giving me the silent treatment, eventually cutting off all contact and telling her friends to never talk to me either. My persistence in trying to communicate with her reflected the pattern I had become accustomed to as a child. In other words, I was reacting to my narrative developed as a seven year old boy.
--
A college friend got divorced after his wife accused him of emotional abuse. I suggested to him that we both had areas where we could improve and that we could give each other advice on our weak areas. His response was to yell at me and accuse me of thinking I'm better than him. He then sent me a list of bible verses such as "he who throws the first stone should look at himself," and such. I told him to forget it and dropped contact.
--
The most painful episode of my life dealt with that former girlfriend I mentioned above. Three years after she cut off contact I wrote her an email taking responsibility for my shortcomings, explaining how I had grown as a person and reaching out to her to offer her support and friendship and love (typical of abuse survivors constantly blaming themselves for the abuse of others). She responded with anger.

--
All of the above responses are reflections of those damaged seven year-old children still within each of the adults. They haven't confronted their wounds and so are acting out in the best way children know how: temper and anger. It is tragic.
--
My goal is to not focus on others or to blame them but to heal wounds I carry so that I can be a source of support for others. There are those who teach a way forward, like the Dalai Lama. And I shall try to live as one who is a trustworthy, reliable, supportive and compassionate person, to reach a life of value to others.

Week 41

Form is Emptiness, Emptiness is Form.

Week 40

FEAR

I meditate on freeing myself from the fear generated by the anger and hostility of others and living for self-actualization.

Week 39

DEPRESSION

I meditate on cause-and-effect, let go of the past, let go of the future and embrace the present. I live for self-actualization and the freedom from my ignorance. I believe in happiness.

Week 38

DESPAIR

It is easy for me to feel despair and often I do. I am essentially living in a prison created by myself. And this realization is the path out: to let go of the past and future, to live in the present, to meditate on cause-and-effect, to study the sutra's, to strive for self-actualization, to free myself from ignorance, and to live for the purpose of helping other's in emotional pain. At my lowest point, when I reached out to my ex-girlfriend for support only to have her viciously reject me, I wondered how could I go on?

There are two people I've known who committed suicide. My close friend Francie in the Peace Corps was a stunningly beautiful woman who was very friendly to me. I appreciated this since I am generally not outgoing but do want friends. She ended up marrying a fellow volunteer and I went to her wedding. Her father was so proud and her husband deeply in love.

I lived in Takoma Park near where she lived so ran into her from time-to-time. The last time I saw her she was parking her car in Takoma Park. I considered going up to say "hello" but she looked extremely frazzled and upset so I thought maybe I better not intrude. A week later I learned that she killed herself. I am left always wondering: what if I had gone to her that day and reached out as a friend? Could it have made a difference? I'll never know.

The other person was my grandmother's brother (my great uncle?). His name was Bill Lewis and he lived in Fort Worth, Texas. he was one of the original cartoonists for Walt Disney. When I was about 15 I was visiting my grandmother when she received a call from Texas. She was at first thrilled to hear from a relative but then sunk as she learned the purpose of the call: to inform her that her brother had shot himself. Later that summer I went on a family trip. We went through Fort Worth and I met the niece of Bill Lewis. She told me how she had found his body. He had shot himself in the kitchen. It was awful and traumatic for her. She gave me a pile of his drawings which she didn't know what to do with. I have many of them framed in my apartment.

I am sure that my "Uncle Bill" never considered how much it would have meant to me to meet him, since I too love cartooning. I doubt he considered the traumatic effect his suicide would have on his niece.

Of course, the person who commits suicide is in such emotional pain that thinking of others is the last thing on their mind. In fact, suicide is really an attempt to gain some sort of emotional control by people who feel emotionally alienated. Still, suicide is a selfish act with unintentional consequences on the emotional lives of others.

If I committed suicide out of despair it would on most levels go either unnoticed or be celebrated by some, like my ex-girlfriend (I imagine). But, I wonder, what would the unintentional consequences be that I don't see? There is a chance I can have a positive effect on the life of another in the future....and giving up that chance seems selfish no matter what pain I am facing.

Also, I like to believe in the idea of reincarnation. It is a useful idea because it is centered on the idea of creating merit to achieve a higher rebirth. We only come around as humans once, for the purpose of achieving self-actualization. To commit suicide would halt the path towards self-actualization, this opportunity I've been given.

I understand the roots of my despair, the childhood I experienced created certain patterns of behavior that were counterproductive, like distrusting relationships, so that now I am alone. That is a cause for despair. But knowing that, through self-awareness I can create bonds with people and find happiness. I thus visualize a positive future where I can be an empathetic, supportive friend to others. I meditate on freeing myself from despair and finding happiness.

Week 37

DESIRE

I learned how to love too late. By then she was gone into the sands of time.


There is no question that through her I believed in love at first sight. I loved her the moment I saw her. It was an odd twist of fate that brought us together.

I had decided to learn about art and so started a subscription to ArtNews. She had placed an ad for a painting in the first issue I received. I went to the gallery to look - and there she was.

I still love her and always will. I haven't dated since her. I realize that most people won't understand, but let me share a secret with you: most people don't love beyond their ego.

With her I was set free. For one shining moment, with her I truly lived.

When my relationship ended I was in deep pain; I didn't want it to end but to evolve to a higher level of intimacy and understanding.

The hardest thing was to believe in another person and yet to not be able to effectively communicate and to convince them to share the same vision. I misguidedly pounded my head against the wall trying to communicate, communicate, communicate.

What has helped me finally, was coming to an understanding of the Buddhist saying: "Form is emptiness, emptiness is form." The core meaning here is that all is transitory. She was the person I knew; she was never the person I knew....she is who I knew, she is someone different.

In other words, the concept of any person's "self" is simply an illusion. I clung to that "self" of her that I knew and profoundly loved, not understanding that, in fact, it no longer exists and really only existed as an illusion.

And from this I learned, always appreciate the moment.

Here is a link explaining the concept of emptiness in Buddhism:

http://www.thebigview.com/buddhism/emptiness.html


"Marvelously, Love squeezes me tight and holds me all the time, as a painter locks his gaze on a model to make a painted likeness, so fair lady do I, who within my heart carry your face." (from a Renaissance poet)


I still physically feel the pain of love and loss for her. I see why I loved her: she's one in a million. Of course there's a part of her I'll never know.

I am not an angry person and am scared of her relentless anger towards me. I feel compassion for her, for whatever root cause of her pain she carries, the basis for the anger which is projected onto me.

But, sometimes, for no reason at all, I'll involuntarily say her name.... A plea or a prayer? It goes unanswered, either way. I meditate on releasing desire.

Week 36

EXPECTATIONS


An insightful author wrote that the cause of anger is misplaced expectations. Years ago, I told an ex-girlfriend that I wanted to be "friends." What I meant by this, but didn't know how to express, was that I wanted emotional intimacy. She reacted with fury, cutting off all contact. I tried to repair the damage by writing to her thoughtful letters which only served to fuel her anger. Anger has always scared me and I struggled to understand hers. I now see that she must have had expectations of me that went beyond seeing me in the context of my environment and as a person. When these expectations weren't met, her natural reaction was anger. This has taught me that letting go of expectations is critical. As our knowledge is limited, one can never fully have realistic expectations. What is more productive is to communicate feelings and goals and the means to achieve such goals. How little I knew many years ago. It is very hard to be the focus of her relentless fury. I meditate on the release of expectations.

Week 35

SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS

A recurring theme in Buddhism is t let go of the "self". I've always struggled with this because I've grown up with such low self-esteem that I didn't feel I had much of a "self" to let go of. Yet, I've come to understand that my small ego can be compensated for by speaking in a way that comes across as judgmental or "self-righteous". This is the "self" I feel I need to let go of. Self-righteousness is dangerous because it blocks self-actualization. It does this by relinquishing insight into cause and effect to the illusion of the superior sense of "I". I meditate on cause-and-effect to relinquish self-righteousness.

Week 34

IGNORANCE

In The Connected Discourses on Causation, (a section of The Connected Discourse of the Buddha -copyright Wisdom Publications, 2000) the Buddha said:

"...I will teach you dependent origination. With ignorance as condition, volitional formations come to be; with volitional formations as condition, consciousness; with consciousness as condition, name-and-form; with name and form as condition, the six sense bases; with the six sense bases as condition, contact; with contact as condition, feeling; with feeling as condition, craving; with craving as condition clinging; with clinging as condition, existence; with existence as condition, birth; with birth as condition, aging-and-death, sorrow, lamentation, pain, displeasure and despair. Such is the origin of suffering. This is called dependent origination."

--

The great revelation by the Buddha is that ignorance is the basis of suffering. It would be easy for me to complain about the ignorance of others, but as I have awoken I've found that my ignorance is so great as to be the only ignorance worthy of my focus. Years ago, a former girlfriend ended a relationship by sending me a one sentence email at work which read: "I don't know why but our relationship is over, don't contact me again." Emotionally, this was like experiencing the suicide of another. What remained was overwhelming guilt and the unanswered question: "why?". I wrote to ask what happened which resulted in a torment of anger. This weekend I came to the realization that I had burdened her too much with my own needs and was insensitive to hers. These many years later I sent her an email saying that I could be a positive and supportive person for her, should she wish.

And now I live in total terror and fear. I don't know what possessed me to write her. I had a dream that she called the militia to arrest me and to burn me at the stake for that transgression. Such is her anger towards me that that may only be a minor exaggeration. I must have unconsciously known that would be her reaction. Thus, I can only fathom that I wrote out of a deep sense of self-loathing. Why would I continue to reach out to a person who hates me? What is it about myself that looks for contact with people who don't want me? I think the answer is ignorance. I have taken forms of my past - the actions and words of others who in my childhood told me that I am worthless - and incorporated these into my own identity. The Buddha's words that, "form is emptiness and emptiness is form" help me here. I see the form I have manufactured of my own image as one created in ignorance, causing my current suffering (fear and terror). If I can see that this form I've created is mere emptiness (not real but an image of the mind), I can release my ignorance in this regard. I believe it is a life-long process but have made this a current focus of my meditation practice. Today I wait for the call of the militia; her "J'accuse!" (as Zola wrote). I take refuge in the Buddha.

Week 33

ANXIETY

Unfortunately, I had anxiety instilled in me at an early age.

I attended the International School of Geneva. Teachers would routinely hit or mock the students, based on what I experienced anyways, especially the ones who were neglected at home and the most vulnerable. The worst, in my experience, was Mr. Peter Barnett in Fourth Grade, a teacher who hit me repeatedly in the head and knocked my head against the heads of other children (this was his favorite technique) and who frequently mocked and belittled me. In my opinion, he derived great pleasure from inflicting this abuse on me; from what I saw, he only did this to children who lacked parental involvement, insulating him, presumably, from complaints. Typically, I had no home discipline and so would only rarely shower or bathe. My choice of clothes was torn jeans and a t-shirt...my parents never noticed. Of course, I never did homework or brought a lunch. The teachers, especially in fourth and fifth grades, continually hit me, telling me that it was the only way to knock sense into me. They would line up all the class students from best dressed and best looking to worst dressed and worst looking. Inevitably, I would be place at the end of the line and mocked by the teachers. I generally had to walk home a few miles (I'm not sure how long the distance was, but it took about two hours) because no one picked me up from school. Eventually, my parents would return home. If my father was around he would begin to drink until about four in the morning and would beat up my mother and yell at her. Multiple times he almost killed her but for my intervention, pulling him off her, for instance. Then back to school to be hit by teachers and beat up by my "friends", and the cycle continued. By eighth grade I was sent to boarding school where I was violently assaulted and suffered sexual and emotional abuse by the first teacher who had acted kindly to me. I reported it but the head of the institution threatened me to remain silent. For high school I became rather quiet, where other students at The Peddie School either beat me up or ignored me as "weird."

As I look back on the end of the relationship that meant the most to me, I place the blame ultimately and squarely on myself. I was my own worst enemy. I was consumed with anxiety that I couldn't be loved or safe. When I finally confided in the woman I loved and who told me she loved me, her response was to laugh, hang-up on me and cut off all contact, telling her friends to do likewise. I've told the story elsewhere and won't rehash it all. The point is to explain that I did ultimately let go of anxiety and learn to manage it.

The critical method I found was meditation as taught by the Dalai Lama. There are many different types of meditation and his methods are what worked for me, so I've adopted them. The power of meditation is that it can actually rewire the brain. What I didn't understand at the time when I was asking my ex-girlfriend for support is that adults who have suffered emotional trauma as children carry an emotional loop in their hypothalamus. The proper processing of emotions is to store the memories in the amygdala, but until the experience is normalized this can't happen. Talk therapy is one very important means of doing this as is cognitive therapy (I recommend reading Albert Ellis to learn more about this). Meditation is the other critical component which works the frontal lobe (when undertaken properly); this ultimately increases the higher cognitive functions to overtake the emotional residue of the hypothalamus. A useful meditative practice to reduce anxiety is to meditate on the needs of others, taking the focus off of oneself.

Three years after my ex-girlfriend hung up on me, I wrote her what I hoped was a thoughtful email explaining what I had gone through, my road to recovery, and my wish to be supportive of her happiness. I felt that I could be a positive and supportive person for her, as I can see that I had been rather self-absorbed as I dealt with my own baggage. Her response was difficult for me. This isn't the person I knew who told me she loved me. That person has gone into hibernation. But I am no longer the person she knew either. I was a mass of anxiety and perhaps it was too much for her to take, certainly her right and not mine to question. I meditate on compassion and on positive thoughts towards her. I suppose she carries deep suppressed pain too. I meditate on her healing from her pain and do not personalize it. And, I will strive to reach out constructively to others where I can. I have released anxiety from my life, or am working daily to do so.

Week 32

LACK OF SELF-CONFIDENCE

As an adult I've heard two things consistently enough that I know they must be true: I have beautiful eyes and I lack confidence. It took me a long time to figure out what confidence is. Throughout my childhood I was told in words and actions that I was worthless and stupid. This never quite rang true because I had enough insight and sensitivity to discern that the adults who conveyed this message were profoundly disturbed. But, inevitably, the power structure was so imbalanced, and the barrage of negativity so relentless, that I began to hate myself and believe that I didn't deserve to be happy. A consequence was that I kept breaking off relationships and became increasingly isolated. Finally, though I met an amazing woman who told me she loved me.

The cycle repeated itself where I began to pull away, thinking I didn't deserve to be happy. But, midstream I stopped. I called her up to explain it all, to reveal my dark childhood and to ask her support in my moving forward. I was sure she believed in me since for nearly two years we had had a completely peaceful relationship where she had repeatedly told me that she loved me. Her response, however, was devastating.

She laughed and hung up. I thought there must be a misunderstanding so I determined to persist in trying to communicate in a positive and constructive way. She told her friends to cut off all contact with me. Talk about a spiral of despair! For the first time in my life I allowed myself to believe that I could in fact be loved and the rug was pulled right out from me! It was a painful road to move ahead in the face of her reaction. Her friends, one of whom is unfortunately my neighbor, virtually spit at me when I walk by.

The DC Rape Crisis Center, Meditation and Tibetan Buddhism saved me. Her actions have some cause - I don't know what. I have compassion for her because she can't see her own pain and thus doesn't know herself. I have let go of dysfunctional relationships which were reflections of my own self-loathing But I've learned there is hope to heal, and for me to love - and to forgive - in the face of adversity.

Week 31

LOW SELF-ESTEEM

As I entered my building today I ran into my neighbor who is the best friend of my ex-girlfriend. She was with two other of my ex-girlfriend's close friends. As usual, my neighbor gave me a viciously angry stare, as did the two other women. I theorize that once my ex took it upon herself to take her anger towards me to the level of a religious crusade, her girlfriends were then only too happy to jump aboard to project whatever unresolved issues they carry onto me.

Right before I arrived, I had been listening to a show on NPR interviewing a couple about their divorce. The woman said that all of her girlfriends encouraged her to destroy her husband emotionally and financially once he expressed a desire for divorce. I can believe it...I don't even know why my ex has such rage towards me, she never told me (I've written about the relationship in earlier posts). I feel that deep down many women simply hate men and are dying to get the chance to twist the knife with relish. (The phenomena of female insensitivity and hatred for men has been extensively written about by psychotherapists. In general, women are insensitive to men in areas where they have unresolved issues).

As much as I've been practicing non-attachment, it is a different animal when confronted with people in the flesh who have a deep seated hatred. I can come up with all sorts of theories about their emotional maladjustment or cognitive problems but how to respond in real life when faced with their anger is another matter. I found it just very upsetting; but it still hurts as I have done everything possible to reach out and be friendly and kind and then, when confronted with their anger to just go about my life, but I can't escape the emotional punch from their seething every time I run into them.

This week I'm reading a good book called Tibetan Yoga. It goes into great detail on the techniques of the yogis to maintain equilibrium in the face of hostility. As my neighbor and her friends projected their anger I did feel upset but I practiced the breathing techniques from the book. I later went for a long walk and practiced mindful meditation. How much pain they must have suffered to be so unhappy. I had always hoped for a mature connection and resolution at some point, still. For I loved my girlfriend, even in her anger, even if I never truly knew her.

Week 30

FAITH

Faith leads to expectations. Expectations lead to disappointment. I've given up faith in anything outside of myself. For who can I truly know but myself? I am thankful for the friendship with them I believed in, however.

Week 29

LOVE

Love is an interesting concept. I decided to trust her and open my heart to her, to share my feelings, my insecurities, my desires. "Never contact me again," she e-mailed. And I never heard from her again. The actions of my ex-girlfriend were so painful that I struggle to make sense of them. I've come to accept that I'll never know why. For a long time I devoured literature to come up with different theories to explain her behavior and to make some sense of it all. I certainly couldn't have been perfect in the relationship; perhaps my emotional reserve came across as controlling and she genuinely doesn't like me... I was slow and dense to accept this.

In the end, I reject all the theories. I'll just never know. And perhaps this is the crucial lesson, to accept experiences and suffering as ultimately unknowable and based on subjective contact with the senses. Whatever the explanation, I've learned that the only purpose of a relationship is to support another person to reach their highest potential, not to project unresolved emotional baggage onto another, which translates into forms of manipulation and emotional abuse based in desire. Desire for what? Desire for what we lacked as children. At the time I didn't understand that because I had low self-esteem and wanted to believe that when my girlfriend told me that she loved me it meant love in the substantive sense of nonjudgmental compassion. I accept that all experince is subjective. I extend compassion. I release the illusion of love.

Week 28

DELUSION

I made this animation about breaking free from delusion:

http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/6166509/#

Week 27

FRIENDSHIP

I let go of their friendship.

Week 26

Fiction: Petals

She was the love of his life. When he finally opened his heart to her (after much suffering and confusion), the response of her and her friends was to treat him with disdain and as if he was crazy. He still had compassion for her because he felt that her anger must cover pain and fear from her childhood from unresolved feelings related to abuse she suffered (which she had partially told him about). His therapist read every letter he wrote and said "they are the most beautiful and courageous letters I've ever read" but she added that Flora and her friends were among the worst possible people he could have confided in. "They're clearly people of staggering and unfathomable emotional immaturity," she said, "who appear to lack the most basic capacity for empathy, compassion and emotional intimacy while being controlling, abusive and manipulative." Every night he prayed that God would touch their hearts. He died 40 years later. He never stopped loving her. He never heard from them. They had forgotten his name decades earlier. A petal fell to the earth.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/sport/rugby_union/article6973717.ece