On Abstinence and Effort:

Warriors, Old and New
Toledo, Spain
Photo Credit: 
A. Massey Productions

Caked sweat, blisters, jock-itch, opened veins with blood pooling onto the hot desert sand…

Face paint, nostrils filled with gun smoke, explosives, heat stroke, lots of yelling, hospital waiting rooms, dance parties across the street from hospital waiting rooms, more explosives…

Press interviews, photo-ops, miles upon miles of marching, pain, fatigue, tears, and even more explosives…

These are just some of the things I endured during my last week of advanced combat training in the military. It was intense to say the least. But then it was all over. After a lengthy graduation ceremony with pomp and circumstance, led by a rather boorish army Major, we were sent home for a weekend of rest, recovery and recuperation.

Immediately upon returning to my apartment I dipped my cracked and calloused feet into a hot soapy bath. Armed with a large glass of Scotch I tried to reflect on the week’s pass while allowing the instrumental Jazz music that played from the speakers in the other room to soothe my aggressive spirit. I had done it, finished what I had set out to accomplish. It was grueling but I persisted and even through my exhaustion, flames of honor burned in my chest. I was damn proud of myself.

Yet, I was also heartbroken. My latest occupation had nearly killed one of my greatest loves: writing. Because of the demands and urgency of the military I had little to no time to write. Even when I found the time to put pen to paper all my work seemed like shit. Nothing flowed like it should and the words failed to excite. It was almost as if nothing stimulated me anymore.

Suddenly, right then and there, I got it! In the midst of my brooding I was smacked in the face by Mother Inspiration herself. Scotch still in hand, I bolted barefooted out of the bathroom and stumbled into the bedroom to find my ever-ready pen and pad. After close to a half a year of writer’s block I had finally found a cure. The cure, coincidentally, was found in it’s own symptoms: Vice, pleasure, debauchery, excitement, and inspiration.

All is for pleasure or the absence of pain. Sounds hedonistic, I know, but even religious folks who fantasize about their afterlife when they die are expecting a heavy dose of the world’s favorite pastime: feeling great!

Thanks to once-booming economies and a technological revolution, many vices and devices these days are quicker, stronger and easier to acquire. The buildup of waiting for something exciting is a thing of the past. This is, in theory, a fantastic phenomenon. It has led to increased pleasure, quicker feelings, more sophisticated sensations.

Except when we become desensitized to it all — then we feel dead.

Connectivity is stimulating and in today’s new age we are overstimulated. Furthermore, things like fame, validation, success and attention — feats that once took lifetimes to achieve — can be accessed with a single upload. Up until the Gulf War a soldier had to wait up to weeks to receive a letter from loved ones. Now, thanks to instant messaging, communications are streamlined even overseas. Modern thinkers blame Globalization and the media for bringing various “EXCITING” issues traditionally scattered around the world — such as war, crime, poverty and natural disaster — into the everyday living rooms via TV and internet. Ironically, it is possible these days to feel the horror of a murder, tsunami, rape, or coup d’etat that took place halfway across the globe even before you get to work.

But as we are pumped with heavier doses of strong sensations, from things like lightning-fast connectivity and hyper-consumption of now affordable luxuries, our dependency as well as capacity for pleasure grows. This can have long term consequences. One in particular, aside from desensitization, is the lack of triumph usually felt after working hard to achieve something.

In a way this is how narcotics effect the psyche. When ingested, strong drugs pique the pleasure plateau to shockingly high levels in a fraction of the time normally needed to achieve those results naturally. For example, if, in one day, you ran a marathon, volunteered at a food bank, planted a tree, cleaned your room and saved a panda you would undoubtably reach a lofty level of self-worth. All that hard and fulfilling work would leave you feeling encouraged, happy, proud and overall pleased with yourself. Unlike the pixie dust that some indulge in, those pleasures took hard effort to attain. It will last and be available even longer through memory and tangible proofs. You won’t just pee it out after a painfully long withdrawal process.

If the military has taught me anything it’s to appreciate the small things as well as things I had previously taken for granted. With all luxuries limited as of late, I have a new appreciation for everyday gifts like hot showers, tasty food, human connection, entertainment and even freedom.

Surprisingly, the army’s limitation of all these things has transformed me not only into a reflexive warrior but, in many ways, a happier person. When I have that free time I’m more conscious of it. Every tune is magic. Every kind pair of eyes is adored. Every uninterrupted night’s sleep with my boots off is a miracle and, of course, time in general is better utilized.

Boredom is not a fun state of mind. But even with increased stimuli and options we can still feel empty. I know I can. The idea is to pace yourself. Have something to look forward to. Limit yourself and let desire develop. Savor the flavor and enjoy the chase. Fight for lasting pleasures and take your time enjoying them.

DISTANCE CAN BE GOOD.

MODERATION CAN BE BENEFICIAL.

SELF-CONTROL CAN BE WORTHWHILE.

After much time (unwillingly) abstaining from hot baths, groovy music and anything remotely close to Scotch I was finally able to properly enjoy myself. What followed resulted not only in renewed excitements but the restoration of the even greater pleasure of creativity. And with that, I got more than I bargained for.

JUMP IN THE WATER!

Sparks of David Photography

VUL•NER•A•BLE

                /ˈvəln(ə)rəbəl/ adj.

1. Exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally: (e.g., everyone)

"Out of your vulnerabilities will come your strength."

-Sigmund Freud

(Source: Oxford Dictionaries)

Have you ever gone to the pool for a swim and dipped your toes in the water only to find that the temperature is frigidly cold? This is called toeing the waters. Over time you gradually expose yourself to the uncomfortable waters before fully immersing yourself and soon afterward you're swimming freely and confidently splashing around. The other option, of course, is to dive in quickly and watch as your body naturally adapts to the new environment. 

I recently joined the military and every morning when I awake I'm faced with a dilemma. I sleep on the top bunk and when I finally swing my legs over the mattress and let them dangle below, I groan. Quickly switching gears from the ultimate state of vulnerability to a high-octane day can be shocking and dreadful. I'm hesitant and the trip from bunk to bottom feels more like skyscraper to concrete pavement. Every morning I say aloud "Come on, Dave. Just jump in the water" as if the floor below is an icy pool and I'm avoiding total immersion and every morning -- despite my displeasure -- I take that leap and land on the floor with a thud. The phrase has become so common that if my fellow cadets see me dawdling in bed or stuck in my morning stupor they'll say "Come on, Dave. Just jump in the water." It's a friendly reminder that despite fatigue, fear of the unknown, and the fact that you are so far removed from what some call "normal life" you must believe in the blood rushing through your veins, dive into life's challenges, and prevail.  

Essentially, each and every one of us is vulnerable in some way or another. Aside from obvious times when we're not on guard, like when we eat and sleep and other states, we must face other psychological and ideological vulnerabilities. Religion and science are at odds as to the fundamental questions of when and why we were created and we all know that regardless of the answers we had no choice in the matter. Unable to foretell the future, we wake up every morning vulnerable from uncertainty and must patiently await as the external factors of our fate progress every day. 

Vulnerability surrounds us all. It strikes when you really have to pee while on a bus and someone comes over to talk to you. It hides in your luggage when you travel to a foreign land and are unable to speak the language. It rears its ugly head before an important job interview or when you ask your crush out on a date. It's by your side when you have a disease running through your veins and when you can't seem to shake the chains of a troubled childhood. It whispers into the ears of the artists who publicly display their work and haunts the dreams of parents whose children are just gaining their independence. Vulnerability is when you are one of 7 billion human beings living on a spherical planet that always seems to be on the brink of death and destruction.

Abuse is knowing that a victim is vulnerable and then trying to exploit that vulnerability. When a perpetrator targets peoples' innate desires, fears, feelings of loneliness and lack of knowledge in order to attain dominance it highlights the criminal's own insecurity. Their fiend for supremacy and strong desire to manipulate their own vulnerability manifests itself in their unspeakable acts. 

    

To love, on the other hand, is to embrace vulnerability. It means giving somebody else a large chunk of your inner-self and trusting that they won't destroy everything that you have built yourself up to be. Although, when you've been hurt many times before there is an almost natural reluctance to re-enter the sometimes terrifying world of dating and intimacy. Protective barriers are built and fortified over time and the prospect of allowing another to occupy your heart is unsettling. But much like other uncertainties in life, love requires risk and courage. It takes guts to dust yourself off and try again but when hope and action prevail your only obstacle is time. And in due course you will find what you are looking for.

I think that because I'm so vulnerable I (naturally) try and protect myself from harm and look for security. I look for constants in life, final answers to unanswerable questions, and, of course, I plan plan plan. Maye it's laziness and I'm trying to secure my future so I don't have to constantly return to my responsibilities. That when I find those answers the quest will be over or when I make something official I'll have it forever and not have to maintain it. I'm still learning that I can't control it all or have the answers to everything. That I need to embrace mystery and take risks because life's more exciting that way.

I can't always escape my vulnerabilities but when I can find the courage I believe in my personal capacity to have a great life and my ability to face uncertainty with wit and wisdom. When I stand up to speak to a crowd or introduce myself to someone I admire or try something new I remember that we all have our vulnerabilities. I remember that guilt, insecurity, pain, fear and uncertainty are universal emotions and feelings and that while we are all unique our commonalities outweigh our differences. I remember that we're all in this thing together and that somehow comforts me.

When things turn sour I try to embrace the suck and forge on through. I keep my eyes open for pleasantries and when all else fails I wait for the hourglass to turn or the cycle to change. Despite my vulnerabilities I give it a shot because I know the glory days exist and I look forward to their arrival. I anticipate the summits, the days when I'm the winner. When energy, flow, clarity, meaning and connection surround me. When I have no problem diving into the water.

It requires courage to leap into the pond without knowing whether the water is hot or cold. But when we start to swim and see others doing it too we realize that we were all on the same boat to begin with. 

My Grandmother's Essay:

"I am trying to improve my attitude but I know the disease is progressing ... But I don’t think I’ll ever give up. I’m old enough now where I can just sit and ponder."

- DeVera Gordon, 1931 - 2011

After going through some old files I unearthed a short essay written by my late Grandmother DeVera who died in 2011 after a 24 year battle with Parkinson's Disease. The essay, found below, was composed over a span of eight months with the aid of facilitated communication and featured in The Review of Disability Studies, a scholarly journal published by the University of Hawaii. Although a heart-wrenching documentation of disease, the essay also underlines her awareness of self and her ability to separate from circumstance and not allow the effects of her condition to suffocate her spirit. It highlights her courage to hope and search for the clarity and strength needed to maintain a positive self-image despite her disease. 

In her essay, my grandmother proves that there is a part of us all that is separate from our bodies, sensations, and ideas. Deeply rooted beneath years of personal history and distraction lies a simple and unbiased observer of all that we perceive. It's where our most brutally honest thoughts come from and the source of our deepest desires. The part of the self that remains long after pain and pleasure have exhausted their powers. It's the knowledge that we are not solely a body worn out from years of hard work and abuse. We are conscious beings with desires and dreams. 

With this awareness, we can separate from circumstance and not allow ourselves to be paralyzed by our troubles or allow pain's all-encompassing potential to breach our innermost barriers and blanket our intrinsically positive nature. 

Steaming, Compressed Air

By:

DeVera Gordon with Zosha Stuckey

Introduction:

This essay recounts the experience of my disability. In it, I demonstrate how I have lost the ability to know who I am. It shows how my body has lost its balance and how my mind has lost the ability to formulate language easily. I offer the experience of what it is like to live in my body and mind. I was able to write this because I worked collaboratively with someone who pulled language out of me. I have never before thought of myself as an author. I’m still waiting to realize why I deserve a place in a table of contents. 

Essay:

Steaming compressed air. Fresh air doesn’t surround me the way I’d like it to. My body is hot and I have lost the ability to know who I am.

Have you ever gone into the back of a dress shop and looked at yourself in the mirror? You may have looked better than you expected, you may have looked worse. Either way, you still knew who you were. Sometimes I pass a mirror and realize that the person I thought was standing there is not standing at all, they are sitting and they are in a wheelchair. I wonder how the person in the mirror will get from sitting to standing? It’s the indefiniteness of how long will this person persist in trying to stand up?

The first shock came in 1987 when I realized that I could not stand on my own anymore. When things were good I didn’t think about how things might get bad. I didn’t know I had a problem coming up.

I can’t speak right these days. It’s very difficult to formulate language. It’s hot and cold. I can’t grab hold of what I’m trying to say. I start to write a sentence in my head, then it stops and it doesn’t flow. The more I turn the light on to see it, the less it penetrates the surface. I can’t spell or hurry up and put together a sentence that makes sense.

Life doesn’t feel chronological. I never know where I am in time. When I’m there isn’t there a now here? I try to figure out how I approach things—I start with zero and then I try again. When is zero, is it yesterday? It takes time to place myself into space and time. I don’t want to rush. I try to analyze and maintain control as I go along and in the meantime now is built up. I don’t have any view of the future.

I never know where I am in space either. There’s no experience at all. The experience doesn’t even experience itself. How can you be less than nothing? It seems like everything is moving around me. I can’t describe it. The furniture is moving around, then it’s standing still. I feel dizzy like everything is moving around and I’m going in the opposite direction. I feel like I’m always walking backwards. The wheelchair—it’s like a cage—I feel as if as there is somebody behind me that I can’t see. I can’t turn around like I want to. I can’t always look where I want to. I can’t be aware of one direction and the other at the same time.

My mouth is dry and I’m crooked. I lean. I have a dry mouth and a blank expression inside my head. My legs are thick and weak and twisted. The left leg is not grabbing hold of my foot. The foot is not grabbing hold of the floor.The left leg feels weak. Outside on the edges the legs are uneven around the knee and the buttocks. Thin mushy pasta—I like it with some firmness to it like the Pennsylvania Dutch do it. It has grips and flavor. It feels even. The fact that I can’t stick both shoulders up and back. They feel as if they’re shaking and trying to grab hold of something. I get the feeling I don’t have a good grip. As if I don’t understand the process—how you move the skin around the bones and leave it alone. A building at the beginning of its construction. Where does the body begin? Where does it end?

I talk to myself a lot. I ask myself what are we doing here? I keep trying to know where I am or why I am here, but I rarely figure it out. I say to myself you should smile more. There are lots of things to smile about. I just can’t recognize them fast enough.

I am sitting across from the nurse’s desk. I am trying to read, which is very difficult. The doctor is around and he seems to want me to smile no matter what. I am told to smile all of the time. Without a good reason, without a history, without a build-up of some kind of story. Just smile, be weak. That’s when I want to be left alone. He just says smile. I say to him I’ve been told that before. He probably figures that I have a contrariness, that I don’t want to comply. They want you to produce a good result and I just don’t have the energy to do that right now.

The remarkable thing here is how the ability to stand up or sit up is so important. Even when I sit up, I’m crooked and uneasy. Then the doctors look at me and say just smile. As soon as you need an appliance to help you stand up you are already in trouble. I never thought I’d be in a place like this. Does it make me feel less of a person? Yes...that seems to be the problem. If I was at home and I had to go to the bathroom, I would just go. But now, because I have lost the ability to stand, I have to go according to a schedule. I am allowed to use the restroom every 2 hours, no more. And they get nasty about it, harass me about how I just went or snicker at me.

Things aren’t bad now, I just feel weak. I just want to be able to relax and not think about how things could get worse. Everybody dies a little bit every day. You have to get used to the idea that there will be less of you left. I am trying to improve my attitude but I know the disease is progressing. I’m trying to put together a positive image of myself. It’s like going in circles, after 18 years I still am in shock. But I don’t think I’ll ever give up. I’m old enough now where I can just sit and ponder.

For the Opinionated, Non-Conformist:

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go, instead, where there is no path and leave a trail. 

- Ralph Waldo Emerson 

There is a certain comfort in not caring. It's so easy to brush things off with an “EH”. It's so easy to nonchalantly let life and its issues pass by and not even check the rear-view mirror. It's too easy.

For decades, I fought a dreaded battle against lethargy. Like a fat, complacent cat not wanting to be roused from its slumber, I was apathetical; unmoved by the multitude of personalities, ideas, global issues, and injustices that surrounded me. In short, I didn't give a shit about anything.

I shied away from it all. Perhaps it was fear of making the leap from the objective to the subjective or simply a depressive indifference I faced. But I knew I wanted to be sophisticated and outspoken to voice my opinion and individuality. Stifling my inner-voice meant being trampled by those who piped up the loudest or influenced by those who spoke boldly and with confidence and conviction.

We live in societies separated by political and religious affiliation but I always doubted that everyone miraculously fell into one category or another. So many people couldn't possibly agree on one thing. I didn't want to feel pressured. I hated feeling obligated to walk down the avenues of RIGHT or LEFT or conform and join a team in the political arena. And I absolutely abhorred dogma. Isn't the world big enough to house new ideas?

But conformity is a recurrent theme in the blueprint of nature. For example, the molecules in water droplets pool together in what is known as cohesion: 

Photo Credit: Sparks of David Photography

Some vines and other vegetation weave themselves through other plants in an attempt to gain more light and secure survival:

Photo Credit: Sparks of David Photography

Fire, musical synchronization, clouds, even the “slow-clap” are all examples of forces that will eventually find order, symmetry, and harmony.

So too, regarding human nature, many choose to conform to conventional ways of thinking and succumb to the force of gravity that pulls us downward when we try and ascend to new heights of intellectual freedom.

When you break nature – the inertia of the status quo - you create a new reality and are the narrator of a novelty. YES, the world IS big enough to house new ideas! But If we don't express our opinions - or at least voice an excerpt from our stream of consciousness - we can feel insignificant and miss an opportunity to gain wisdom by bouncing ideas off one another. If we conform to “the norm” we can disregard, or worse, suppress our individuality.

Granted, unity is important but if it is an excuse to not think for oneself – to be lethargic and not have an opinion – it is useless.

Opinions come from interpretation which is the result of our individual life experiences. To voice a thought or idea is the epitome of creating from uniqueness. It is our brain-child that should be loved and cultivated to maturity. One day, it can even be an influential game-changer in universal ideology, thus continuing the saga of progressive thought in our dynamic human existence.

Don't settle for second best. Think for yourself and stick out from the rest.