Day: October 7, 2016

I was thinking about what it means to be a real man, and whether or not I am one.

Being a man is complex, we are pilgrims and lost souls,

no one teaches us how to be a real man,

we have few models or inspirations.

Not the angry men in Washington.

Not the angry pundits on television.

Not the giant men who crash into each other on playing fields.

Not the corporate machines who live by their bottom lines.

Not the movie stars living their surreal and tormented lives.

Not the men who buy big guns and show them around.

What is a real man to me?

It think it’s what women in my life say to me, my wife, my daughter, my granddaughter.

and what they say about me when I am gone.

My wife:

He supported me, encouraged me, loved me, was always there when I needed him to be there,

he thought of me every day and treated me with respect. He loved my body and celebrated it.

He never frightened me or took me for granted or made me feel small or worthless.

He was a real man.

He made me feel loved. He made me feel safe.

My daughter:

He told me I could be anything I wished to be, he welcomed my voice and nourished it,

he was a calm and safe place for me in a turbulent world. He was there when I needed him. I took him for granted. He made me feel strong, he cherished my voice.

I love him, but do not need him any longer.

He was a real man. I never heard him denigrate any women, make fun of how she looked, sought power over her.

To My granddaughter.

Remember me, even though I might be in shadow and mist for  you.

Remember that I struggled every day to be a real man, to love openly, to nurture, support and encourage. To love my friends and the people around me. To walk gently on the earth with a big heart and an open soul. Real men write all the time, and seek to make the world a safer and more peaceful place. Real men follow the color and the light whenever it goes. Real men love to love.

Real men know that love is giving, not taking, listening, not shouting, giving things up, not taking them. Real men do not hurt other people.

Real me can bear the worst of themselves, they can change. Real men say they are sorry.

Real men are soft rocks, they bend but do not break. You can stand on them and lean on them.

I hope I was a real man.

“Furthermore, we have not even to risk the adventure alone,  for the heroes of all time have gone before us. The labyrinth is thoroughly known. We have only to follow the thread of the hero path, and where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find a god. And where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves. Where we had thought to travel outward, we will come to the center of our own existence. And where we had thought to be alone, we will be with all the world.”

– Joseph Campbell

A hero is, to me, someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself. A hero does not have to be brave or strong, or die in the pursuit of glory. There is the physical hero, who performs a courageous act in battle or life to save another being. The other kind of of heroic deed is the spiritual deed, in which the hero learns to experience the  range of human spiritual life, and then comes back with a message.

Campbell writes that everyone is a hero at birth, where he or she goes through the the tremendous physical and psychological transformation,  from a water creature swimming in amniotic fluid into an air-breathing mammal. The mother is a hero also, she brought this all about.

But in our culture, it is often considered more heroic to make a lot of money than it is to birth a child or love one.

In the creative realm, I believe a hero is one who travels to the center of his or her own existence in search of themselves.

Where we had thought to be alone, we are with all of the world. Where we sought to slay our enemies, we find that our greatest enemy is ourselves, we often  have to shed a self, maybe more than one, to discover the true self.

Few people want to make the trip, it is painful and long.

Those who do, are heroes, they have given their lives to something bigger than themselves, something outside of themselves.

That is heroic, it is the story of creativity and self-awareness.

 

This morning, at the Creativity Conference which precedes the Open House, Maria above,  was explaining the Gee’s Bend way of making quilts – follow your feelings, not a plan, to Sandy Van Dyk. She taught a two-hour class in intuitive creativity, intuitive potholder making.

It was a sweet sight, everyone sitting around their machines putting their potholders together, a preview of what Maria will be teaching to victims of sex trafficking in Calcutta in February. Maria is a natural teacher, warm, open and enthusiastic.

And she is perhaps among the world’s foremost authorities in intuitive potholder-making, she may have invented the genre. As with writing, many of the students were initially tense, but they loosened and later, Maria and I realized we were, in many ways, teaching the same thing.

We believe in encouragement and intuition in all things creative, we need to look inward for our answers, not outward. It doesn’t matter what other people think, it matters what we think and feel. The morning was beautiful for us, and meaningful as well. I hope it was the same for the students.

It was a special kind of class, eleven creative people – three canceled Saturday morning – came to the Creative Conference at Pompanuck Farm,  talked with them about blogging and writing for more than two hours, it was one of the best discussions about creativity I have ever been involved.

I’ve learned a lot about teaching in recent years, and am just beginning to figure out what works best.

– First, the classes need to be small. The students need to each be able to speak, ask questions, talk about themselves and what they want and need. They need to connect with one another as much as they need to connect with me.

– They need to be clear about their reasons for wanting to write, or blog, or find their voices.

– My classes are about expression, not therapy, but issues of fear; reluctance to offend, a fear of being public on the chaotic and sometimes vicious Internet.

-More and more, it has become apparent to me that gender plays a significant role in the teaching of writing or creativity. I see that quite often women have not been encouraged to speak out, listened to, or supported in finding their own voice. So self-awareness becomes a significant element in the teaching of writing.

-Writing does not need to be emotional or revelatory or dramatic. Quite often, the best things to write about, the small elements of life. Everyone who is alive has stories to tell.

-In many writing classes and programs, writers are shut down by being made to feel stupid or incompetent. To me, good writing has nothing to do with spelling, grammar, or technical forms of sentence structure. Those things may be important, but they do not define good writing, which is about clarity, empathy, thoughtfulness and authenticity.

I told them my belief that writing is a discipline, blogs and new technology gives writers new tools and new ways to write. I told them their stories are important, they have to trust that and believe it. The class asked me a score of good and insightful questions, and they were so helpful in telling one another how they feel and what they read and how they often struggle to believe that anyone cares about their stories.

As they talked, it became apparent to everyone that their stories are very interesting, and people do care about them. I spoke of the need for writers to create boundaries around themselves – to not worry about what others will say or think or feel. Writing is intensely person, we have to look inward and believe in ourselves, and the merit of our words, or no one else will pay attention.

For my part, I could have gone on for several hours, two  hours was not enough to talk and listen, I learned more than I taught,I believe, that is always the test of a good class. I’m eager to do this next year, the class all wanted a two-day conference.

Today, a creative day, the beginning of a weekend of creative celebration, for me, for Maria, for our farm, for a half-dozen good and hard-working and creative artists and for the many hundreds of people who come each year to see us, see our farm, our animals, the art that is such a part of our lives, to see our town and it’s powerful sense of community. So many good things about this weekend.

Today, a creative conference at Pompanuck Farm, for people who are serious about learning, growing, freeing their inner spirits. A dozen people from the Creative Group At  Bedlam Farm, traveling to spend the day together in a beautiful place. I can’t wait to teach about writing and blogging, two subjects close to my heart.

Maria will be teaching a class on intuitive art, a passion of hers.

Selfishly, I see this day as a celebration of Maria and her rich evolution as an artist and a woman who has found her voice. She really designed this weekend, conceived it, organizes it and is the spirit behind it.

Tomorrow, we shift to the Open House – sheepherding, donkey-visiting, spinning, poetry readings, beautiful and original art from some very gifted people, shearing and hoof trimming,  just in time for people to start thinking about Christmas.

For me, a window seat on our evolving lives. Our first Open House was at the first Bedlam Farm, more than 1,500 people showed up. Simon was there, Rose too, Maria had her coming out in the beautiful Pig Barn, which she helped restore. Seems like a long time ago.

Our friends Ed and Carol Gulley are coming, bringing Ed’s exciting art,  maybe even with a cow.

For us, the Open Houses are a celebration of love and life, a passage, a marking of time and place, a  testament to the search for authenticity and openness. We have no secrets from you, only good things to share. Our love for one another has only deepened and grown, it is rich and boundless. It is the point, I think, of everything.

This Open House,  we share our lives once more, it is something we never regret doing. A different farm, different lives. Yet so much is the same. Our relationship began in the sharing of the creative spark and in encouragement, of ourselves and of others. We have learned, changed, evolved, hopefully for the better. I think this conference, this weekend, is our purest and most authentic, I think we are getting it right.

I have shed much of the panic and anger and confusion that marked my life and nearly destroyed it, and Maria is becoming her true and wonderful self, strong and loving and charismatic and creative. As she prepares for her trip to India early next year, I just shake my head in wonder at what is possible, and what is wonderful about being alive, for all it’s travails.

When I met Maria, I could not have imagined she would one day go to Calcutta to teach women in need. Today, I cannot imagine that she wouldn’t.

So today, I am up early, I’ll head over to the Round House Cafe and pick up some coffee from my friend Scott and give him a hug, he so busy this weekend, I will caution him to take care of himself. Then, Red and I will head over to Pompanuck and meet the members of the class – good and open people, I am excited about it.

Red and Fate are ready to show off their skills this weekend, some gifted spinners will be spinning under a tent, Maria will be selling the rich and diverse art in her studio, Chloe the pony is hoping for carrots, people will be seeing their first donkeys, and I will get to talk about yet another book, my 30th. Life good, filled with crisis and mystery. More later.