Thursday, March 31, 2011

March 2011

OK, if I waited a day longer to make this post, I would've violated the agreement I made with myself in establishing this blog:  one post per month, 500 words per post.
     At any rate, I thought I would commit myself to some thoughts regarding freedom, as the expansiveness we associate with that word is really quite masculine in nature.  "There's no freedom in a desert", is one of the aphorisms I knew Paul to use in his work with his patients, or students, as he preferred us to be known.  Macho notions of the word abound in our culture:  the freedom to judge the social contracts of other nations, to condemn their version of democracy if it does not match out own; the freedom, as Ron Paul once alluded to, to "bomb those who don't agree with us."  Freedom is not free, is a favorite saw among some, with its distinct allusions to military engagements, necessary or not.
    But the freedom I concern myself with as a masculine personality is an inner autonomy.  In the interior landscape we all somehow navigate, I've learned to identify different versions of myself, not all agreeable or even acceptable.  Referring back to my initial post on my struggle with isolation in my relocation out of The City, I've had to parse the personalities available to me in my new home in the Hudson Valley, and have not found all or even many of them palatable.  In the war of compromise with integrity, I've abandoned or bailed out of some of the mistaken offers of charity I've received from those perceiving me not in possession of the resources necessary to maintain relationships.  I value self-awareness, not self-consciousness; spontaneity, not inhibition; authenticity, not artifice.  Somehow in the social phenomena of the gay male vanguard settling many abandoned communities, there has established itself here in Newburgh a very self-congratulatory clique of individuals, all somehow participating in the life of the community.  I suppose this is a survival mechanism:  cling to what is known.  You have taken an extreme risk in relocating to a dying city, hold on to what is already established for dear life.
     I've found more freedom driving up to nearby Mohonk Mountain, or the Shawangunk Ridge.  Driving alone, with the few hits of hallucinogen I've learned to use medicinally to both elevate and process, I find renewal in nature.  There is truth in Nietzsche's dictum of having one’s branches in heaven and roots in hell.  While alone, I can reaffirm the pattern unique to my life, throw away the dross of all that undermines who I already am or want to become.
     I do not find convention helpful, but this year I did formulate a New Year’s resolution to abandon desperation.  This is more difficult than it sounds, as much social interaction in our culture is desperate in nature:  desperate, conspiratorial, self-congratulatory.  If I accept the challenge of growth as I’ve come to understand it through my work with Paul Rosenfels, I cannot about-face and walk out that developmental door once I’ve opened it.  The ability to access inner autonomy involves acceptance of aloneness, and yet there is no freedom in utter isolation.