Sunday, June 19, 2011

MAY/JUNE 2011


Progress in alleviating anger and isolation has been slow, but with notable breakthroughs.  In early May, I made my second trip to the designated nude area in the Mohonk Preserve known as The Rock, but my idyll in the summer sun was disturbed by a young couple clearly there with the sole intention of provoking me.  They were not nudists, and rather than positioning themselves somewhere in the vast expanse of granite that was available to them, they set up camp not two feet away from me.  Using the colloquial, I 'went off on them', rather brutally, but without apology, urging the young man to slit his throat.  "Have you decided yet whether I'm straight or gay?" I asked in my rage.  I spit on the ground.  He taunted me as to whether I wanted him to take off his clothes.  His companion was busy laughing.  My rage was quite apparently hilarious.  I packed up my things and left, leaving behind the one relaxed moment I'd been able to eek out of the year.  But everything happens for a reason, and that same week I attended the bisexual support group at the LBGTQ space known as The Loft, in White Plains.  FINALLY, after decades of being taunted by an entirely unwanted public as to which conventional sexual orientation I was, I CAME OUT FIRMLY AS BI!  A standing ovation is called for here.  Thank you, thank you.  Calls to mind Lou Reed's memorable encapsulation:  "Between thought and expression lies a lifetime."
I found the facilitator of the support group, a clinical psychologist, entirely sympathetic and the first two times I attended the group, I was the only person in attendance.  "I like your rates," I declared.  Thus far in what can be called in an understatement a ‘difficult’ year, The Loft is the one place I feel safe and welcomed, after having been cast out of two "Christian” churches in Newburgh, both boldly displaying signs indicating All Are Welcome Here.  Rage and adversity can bring blessings, and in a wonderful Sunday morning talk by a lesbian clergywoman at the local Unitarian Society, she even declared that malice can be welcomed in by way of ‘clearing the decks’.  I guess that’s what happened to me.  So slowly, very slowly, I am forging a life for myself.  Since I am making an entry for two months, I offer you the following column I wrote in October of ‘09 while still president of the local Mensa chapter:

A prolonged summer illness led me into the enjoyment of one of the most memorable vacations of my life, all spent at home on my property.
                The relationship between illness and creativity is a topic still under discussion today.  For the most part, it deals with mental illness; yet physical illness sometimes provides a delicious interval that provides us with  an opportunity to re-evaluate our lives, to go deep and rethink everything that up until that moment had remained unchallenged. 
For four weeks I medicated on pain killers, putting in place a daily routine that included a de rigueur sunbathing on my back patio beginning at 12 noon until mid-afternoon when the trajectory of the sun no longer allowed it.  The morning included a trip out to my porch with my laptop, where I would make my journaling entry for the day.  Too, in the evening I would return to my porch to watch the never-ending lightshow that would begin just after the sunset.  One visitor said my house was like an aerie, an eagle’s nest overlooking the entire West End of Newburgh.
There are gifts that befall us in life, that once we are in their possession, we wonder why we hadn’t lay claim to them sooner.  It took me nine years to engage an enjoyment of my property that included the use of the patio and deck that were included in it.  Why I’d never done so sooner is a mystery.  But I suppose that begins my litany of the blessings that came to me as a result of being knocked on my ass by an illness that resisted diagnosis.
The view from the rear of my house, while I relaxed in the nude and listened to music, was of trees and the passing of clouds.  A summer idyll to be sure, but I think the central theme of having relieved myself of work responsibilities and social commitments was that it was more than OK for me to do nothing and be at peace with myself.  There were no relationships that required urgent elaboration, nothing I needed to prove to myself or anybody else in order to be reconciled to myself and my life.  This began a long process of peacemaking—with Newburgh and with all the people and involvements in my life.   The conviction I had that there were no close relationships in my life proved a hoax.  The simple truth is that the majority of close friends are at distances, including Lee who is 5,000 miles away in Hawaii.  In making renewed contact with St George’s Episcopal church, I explained to Rev Dresser that it wasn’t true I didn’t have any relationships there.  If nothing else, I cherished my association with her and her husband Bob.
I suppose that 260 Gidney became a kind of Walden for me for that time.  Even while inside the house, I would go from room to room, satisfied with the order I’d created for myself, both with the organization of the utilitarian as well as the appointments of a very lived-in living room.
I would wish all of you the recognition of the simple peace available to all of us.  There is a deep, unending compassion in the universe that some call God.  Welcome adversity as opportunity, await blessings in disguise.