Dear Mary Thank you for the terrible tale. I didn't like reading it but I had to, over and over. Later, I did a prayer for you during afternoon meditation. Still later... this story appeared on the monitor. I don't recall writing it so perhaps it belongs to you...
Walking on Clouds... After we were married I remember picking her up all in white and carrying her through our front door... so light she felt a part of me. We were impossibly young and stupidly in love and I'd never before carried a girl in my arms, much less one with waist so slim and breasts so full, and 35 years later I know most likely I never will again. Her eyes were so dark with love that I swore to her right then and there that I would die looking into them. At that very moment I knew that there's love in this world so big it could swallow me whole. And when it ends, as it always does, as it must, I knew I'd be left with guilty tears and little more. Still and softly though. When she pulled my ear close and breathed into it I could hear all the oceans' honey scented breezes floating in her whispered voice... it drew me in... and I knew I was lost when she reached out and she touched me. She was so soft, so small, so certain, just unbelievable to my unknowing mind. I had no idea, no idea. My body seemed full of awkward moments and buffoonery and hard corners but her body swayed and moved just like it knew what to do. And she smelled so good. Not the perfume she sometimes wore... not the soap with which she bathed... She. She smelled so good. Just her. I breathed her scent in and held her until dark spots danced before my eyes and I had to let her go. We weren't destined to grow old together. Maybe with the years we'd of grown bitter and mean-spirited toward each other but somehow I don't think so. We'd spend hours just talking and walking and holding hands. She had the most wonderful hands. And she knew so much... I was pauper-in-thought in comparison. I'd say, now how do you know that... and she'd just smile that smile and cock her head to twinkle her dark right eye at me. I can see it now in my mind. God I can see it. Growing up I'd never had a girlfriend. I was socially awkward I guess. Hell, even now, nearing 55, I've only ever had two or three women interested in me, and not at the same time either. I remember as a teenager seeing the black leather-clad bad boys getting all the girls and I thought: what do they have that I don't? I still don't know. Black leather jacket? Could it be that simple? Hah if it were. I was seventeen years old when I met Yoli. I'd lied about my age to get a job at this awful factory making toy soldiers out of plastic pellets. My job was to pour the pellets into a big hopper so I spent the day walking up and down a crooked metal ladder dumping bag after heavy bag of plastic into this hot horrible machine that shocked me each time I touched it and smelled of noxious chemicals and rumbled under my feet like an awakening volcano. I kept seeing this girl working below me and the light must have been funny because she seemed to shine. I remember walking into a trashy lunch room and it being very hot and crowded... over a hundred people worked in that big terrible four story red brick building on the shore of a most beautiful lake. But I remember that day seeing only one girl in the whole room. She shined in the darkness. No one else existed. I remember how our eyes locked and how she took my breath away. And miracles of miracles, for some reason, instead of getting all tongue-tied and stupid, I walked over and starting talking to her. It was as if we'd always known each other. There's no other way to say it. I didn't have to do anything other than be myself and she loved me. That was the most amazing thing in the world to me... she loved me. Ugly awkward me. I still can't figure it... and no one else believed it. You wouldn't believe it. But she did. By God, she loved me. And I loved her back with a passion I had no idea existed in the whole history of the world. Before I knew it we'd married and moved in together. We began taking vocational classes at the local community college in order to get better jobs and we made our house into a home. We did everything together because we couldn't bear to be apart. Her touch meant the world to me. I can honestly say I've never really been happy except for those all too brief days so long ago. Yoli died giving birth to our son. I've written of it here before and cannot summon the courage to say more of it now. After she passed away, I lost it. All reason for living. All dignity. All sense of purpose. Everything. Even now after years of pretending I still know I've lost it. I keep breathing simply because I can't stop. I've built a life but it is predicated on a lie. But there was a time... On Tue, Feb 23, 2010 at 1:37 AM, Mary <[email protected]> wrote: > The feeling left was one of enormous confusion and weariness, a kind of > back-to-the-drawing-board, back-to-square-one feeling you get where you're > thinking you're making great progress and then suddenly some question like > this comes along and sets you back to where you started. He didn't even > want to think about it. > > There are so many kinds of problem people like Rigel around, he thought, but > the ones who go posing as moralists are the worst. Cost-free morals. Full > of great ways for others to improve without any expense to themselves. > There's an ego thing in there too. They use the morals to make someone else > look inferior and that way look better themselves. It doesn't matter what > the moral code is - religious morals, political morals, racists morals, > feminist morals, hippie morals - they're all the same. The moral codes > change but the meanness and the egotism stay the same. > > The trouble was, pure meanness didn't completely explain what happened this > morning. Something else was going on. Why should Rigel be so concerned > about morals at that early hour in the morning? It just didn't scan right. > ... Not for some yachtsman-lawyer like that. Not in this century anyway. > Maybe back in 1880 some church deacon lawyer might have talked like that but > not now. All that stuff Rigel was referring to about sacred duties and home > and family went out fifty years ago. That wasn't what Rigel was mad about. > It didn't make sense for him to go running around sermonizing people on > morals ... at eight o'clock in the morning ... on his vacation, for God's > sake. > > The night would be a horror. Looking back now, she didn't believe at the > time she was going to survive it. The old trailer at the lake was so > isolated. Nobody around. She could have screamed her head off and nobody > would hear. She remembered sitting in the car. Afraid to go in. She knew > it was going to be bad. She'd seen that look in his eyes before often > enough, and knew the safest place to be was locked in the car - even though > she didn't have the keys. If he came back out he would have to choose one > side and she could escape out the other into the woods. But it was cold, so > cold, and getting colder by the minute. What if she froze to death in the > dark? > > Down there the southern oak trees were the kind that kept their leaves all > winter. They were dead and brown, but didn't fall off until the new ones > came out in the spring. People raked leaves in the spring. Funny, she'd > never thought about how strange that was until now. Ice crystals were > forming on the inside of the windshield, but she could see the bright, > piercing points of winter stars between the dead leaves overhead. All the > heat was escaping into space. In the end, she did what he knew she would do > all along. She left the car and went into the old trailer to get warm. > > The last thing she wanted to do was pick a fight. She knew better. A year > ago when he'd given her a concussion and broken her ribs she'd learned her > lesson, but she was back with him again. She knew better about that too, > but she had no choice. It's one of the things they do to you. They isolate > you from all your friends, and she had no family, no job, no money. In the > end, she did what he knew she would do all along. > > Inside, she tried not to make eye contact. That would only set him off. > She was good with horses. She'd had a mare and watched her birth her filly. > She had trained the foal and was really into the techniques of this guy > named Monty Roberts. Monty was the basis for "The Horse Whisperer" movie > with Robert Redford. The movie was inaccurate. Monty would never train a > horse with ropes like that scene in the end. Monty knew horses and thus > knew people. Looking a horse in the eye was a threat. If you wanted to > gain their trust you never did that. She never did and found he was right. > People are sort of like that too - especially volatile ones. > > She could never remember later what started the fight. She supposed it > didn't matter. As far as he was concerned, anything would do. She did > remember seeing her opening. She made a break for the door - and almost > made it, but he grabbed for it and smashed her head into it so hard it made > her dizzy. Blood started running down from a cut above her right eye. She > has a scar to this day right there. It's pretty deep and never did heal > right. Funny how some people who don't know how she got it think it's cute. > > Violent men have a pattern. They always do damage in the same way. He was > a strangler and also like to inflict head injuries - up above the hairline > where nothing would show. She knew that and was prepared for it, but this > time was different. He'd already made one mistake, with the door, and there > was blood everywhere. It wouldn't stop bleeding. He knew he was in trouble > this time. He'd always gotten away with it before because there were no > marks. Well, there were the broken ribs, but he talked his way out of it. > No, that's not accurate. The judge didn't want to believe it, but that's > another story. > > She was pretty big for a woman, almost six feet tall, but not heavy, and did > not have much upper body strength. He'd been a wrestler in his youth and a > drummer, and though shorter, was much heavier. Isaac Newton explains all > about mass and force. It's true. > > Since he'd already done visible damage, maybe he just didn't give a shit > anymore, maybe he felt like he had nothing to lose, maybe he just didn't > realize that this time she couldn't breathe at all? If you are facing > somebody and get both hands around the neck, you can position your hands in > such a way that you have thumbs on either side of their windpipe. If enough > pressure is applied, you can break the windpipe and they will suffocate from > the swelling. Usually, though, you can still get a little bit of air > through your nose. This time she had a head cold. > > She fought as hard as she could, but it was no use. He had her pinned. She > could feel herself starting to black out, so she decided to do the only > thing she could think of - play dead. She went completely limp, taking > little tiny, slow, shallow breaths she hoped he could not detect. It > worked. After a while he got up and went across the room. She could hear > him, but was afraid to move or open her eyes. This was intolerable! She > had to do something, and since she couldn't see him, God knows what he might > do to her lying there vulnerable in the middle of the floor. > > She thought about it for a while, then decided on the surprise approach. > Gathering her courage, she shot straight up and thought she might be able to > make another run for the door. No good! He caught her, this time from > behind. She'd never been sucker punched. Never even heard the term until > they explained it in the hospital later. If you don't know what it is, a > sucker punch is where you get punched in the upper back right where the > kidneys are. > > This knocked the wind out of her and she went sprawling to the floor. He > kicked her over into the corner where she curled up into a ball. He told > her to stay put and not move a muscle or he'd kill her. She sat like that > all night. > > The next morning he got ready for work. He told her to drive him into town. > He was so confident she would not do anything, since she had nowhere to go - > or maybe he wanted to get caught? She didn't know and didn't care. She > drove him in and dropped him off. He probably made lots of threats to scare > her, but she doesn't remember. She was in a lot of pain. After that, she > drove straight to the one friend she still had. One friend he didn't know > about and was never able to isolate - humiliate - her from. She had not > seen this friend in years, and hoped she still lived there. She sat in her > old car in the driveway until some man she did not know came out of the > house. The man turned out to be the husband of her friend. She had never > seen him before. It had been that long since she'd seen her friend. > > The police were called. Pictures were made. A statement was taken. Her > friend drove her to the hospital. She does not remember how long she was > there. She could not stay at the friend's house, so after the hospital, the > police took her to the Women's Shelter. It was the only one for 200 miles. > She stayed there for almost two months. Women and children came and went, > but it was always full. It took her 2 or 3 weeks to recover her voice and > as long for the bruises and cuts to heal up. She stayed until she was able > to find a job. She still had the old car, hidden in their locked parking > lot. > > He was arrested at his job that first day. He was released on $1000 bond > that afternoon. His Mother paid a bondsman the 10%, or $100 for his bail. > He was charged with a misdemeanor, the highest of the three kinds - class A, > B, or C - she cannot remember which is worse - an A or a C, but the lowest > is a traffic violation. He was not charged with a felony because he did not > use a weapon. If convicted, the maximum sentence he could receive would be > two years. > > She attended classes at the shelter where they tried to help the women > understand what had just happened to them, and what was about to happen to > them in the court room. The best defense is a good offense. Most often the > defense attorney will try to convince the judge (since there is usually no > jury in a misdemeanor trial, and the choice of whether or not to have a jury > trial is always at the discretion of the defendant) that the victim provoked > the accused - as though this makes any difference? They will also attempt > to humiliate the victim, who is usually the only witness, and thus must > testify if they want any hope of a conviction. Defense attorneys routinely > accuse the victim of philandering, sex crimes, reverse abuse, mental > instability or anything else they can think of to discredit the witness. > Seeking justice is often just as humiliating as the original offense. Most > women refuse to participate once they understand what they are about to be > subjected to. > > The victim is generally in a state of shock and confusion. The perpetrator > is usually their husband, their only source of support, and the father of > their children. The court experience can be humiliating in the extreme and > often the victims are ambivalent about what just happened to them in the > first place. Prosecutors do not like to take these cases because the > witnesses are frequently unreliable, being just as likely to show up and > plead for the release of their husband as demand justice for the abuse. > Most women return as many as ten times to their abuser before finally > getting the wherewithal to either leave for good or be killed. Those are > the only two choices, for men who abuse women cannot be rehabilitated, > though they are often sent by judges to "anger management" classes. The > male "addiction" to abuse is as strong as the "addiction" to being, say, a > pedophile. Neither is curable. > > She had been through the "good ole boy's" court system once already. The > male judge released him. Not guilty. She was not interested in a third go > around. However, in this instance it was out of her hands. State of Texas > vs Mr. Husband, and, fortunately for her, her testimony was not required. > The pictures and x-rays were entirely sufficient. He was convicted of that > highest form of misdemeanor, but since this was a first conviction, he was > given probation. She was afraid. He knew where she lived and knew where > she worked. The Shelter had helped her attain a restraining order, but as > anyone with any sense knows, such things are not worth the paper they are > written on. Give me a good deadbolt lock any day over a restraining order. > > She did not have the money to move for over a year after this. He knew > where to find her at any time, and he was probably mad. She did not like > guns, so she found the old, rusty machete she had used back when she still > had a farm and a life. She sharpened it. It sits, propped against the wall > next to her bed to this day. She had adopted a very large shelter dog while > still with him. Usually, she was the only one who had a job during their > marriage, and she learned that he had abused the puppy while she was at > work. The dog hated the husband. She was very glad of that. The only > people the dog will now trust are herself and her son. She had named the > dog Lila. > > Mary > > - The most important thing you will ever make is a realization. > > >> -----Original Message----- >> From: [email protected] [mailto:moq_discuss- >> [email protected]] On Behalf Of Margaret Warren >> Sent: Sunday, February 21, 2010 6:42 PM >> To: [email protected] >> Subject: Re: [MD] The Intellectual Level of Quality, according to Mark >> >> Hi Mary and Lu, >> >> I don't often post on the group - don't have much time, but >> occasionally I see something that I feel I absolutely must >> comment on. >> >> I have worked in male dominated fields (computer science, >> audio engineering, and vintage car restoration, >> as well as being an artist - a >> field that also has a lot of men in it) >> my entire life and have had many, many extraordinary >> relationships and friendships with male friends (musicians >> (including handsome rock stars), mechanics, engineers, >> contractors, heavy equip. operators, you get the picture... >> they do things considered typically 'male': cars, construction, >> big trucks so on...and many of them are >> what you might consider 'alpha' males as well >> (physically/biologically). >> >> I have to say that I disagree with you profoundly about >> men and their emotions. >> >> I've found many, many men who are >> quite open and honest about expressing their feelings >> (while still remaining very 'male' (and sexually >> interesting)); many of them are quite capable of >> articulating verbally many things they are feeling >> - sometimes, in fact, how emotionally hurt they have >> been in the past, often by insensitive women. >> >> Yes I have also been around physically violent men, >> and conversely, I've also known plenty of men who >> have been with physically or verbally abusive women >> (it's socially OK for men to be 'hen pecked' right)? >> >> In fact, as I've posted here before about this - a long time ago - >> I mentioned that some should try watching TV sometime with the express >> interest in paying attention to how socially acceptable it is for women >> to 'put down' men as being 'stupid' and even ok for women to slap, >> punch or >> pinch men...but NOT ok for a man to do anything even remotely similar - >> even >> in commercials. In fact, it's actually considered cute and funny (with >> laugh >> track) that a ditzy blond can 'slap' a man in a bar for looking at >> another >> woman. Try reversing the genders in that scenario. >> >> I do understand that some men are, as you suggest - >> not connected to their emotions - and some >> even violent as a result; often this is >> because they were terribly damaged as children but guess >> what? All men had mothers. >> >> How to stop the cycle of violence? By perpetuating the >> idea that 'all men are this way?'? >> >> I guess I've just been lucky, but when I started out in >> the coast guard (as an electronics tech) over 25 years ago, >> I learned that many guys DID want to talk about their >> feelings and open up emotionally (even when they were >> in their 20's) but felt that most women did not >> give them the room to do that and let them continue to >> be male at the same time. [i.e. maybe it's the expectations >> that the women have about how a man is supposed to act... >> that if a man DOES let down his guard, the woman isn't >> going to find him attractive anymore] >> >> The more I have embraced men for just being 'human' right >> along side me, the more they open up. >> >> And personally, >> I'd rather have a multi-dimensional companion and not >> a stereotype or have to 'play' some kind of social game >> where the male can ONLY ruffle his feathers a certain >> way (or play a mean guitar and flip his hair back >> across his face seductively). >> >> The buck stops where? Who makes the rules? We all do. >> >> Pirsig even explored some of this dynamic in Lila... >> if I'm remembering correctly - it was >> Phaedrus who wanted to open up, but Lila who shut him down. >> >> Sorry to jump in this way - when I haven't even properly >> introduced myself to you, Mary - some of the others from a few years >> ago will recognize my name and I'm sure I'll agree with >> some of your other posts from time to time - just had >> to speak up on this one. >> >> I tend to make a lot of feminists mad. >> >> Also, I have a tendency >> to post once in a while and not post again for months - >> so I apologize in advance for this. >> >> Margaret >> >> And - as a side note: you posted to Lu: >> ..."glad to hear that you've caught a good one"... >> - often it's difficult to hear ourselves >> when we're objectifying something so profound as a >> deep and complicated connection with another human being. >> >> >> >> Moq_Discuss mailing list >> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. >> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org >> Archives: >> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ >> http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/ > > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/ > Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/
