Night Light

Hatred is so much easier. Taking the dystopian perspective and the harsh, grating tones of screams at those that mistreat you. It's easy and magnificent. Aggression has release where acts of kindness kindle and simmer for a while.

My aggression has given me power. It was through the hatred of my brother that I left Canton. It was a cacophonous corruption of the "home life" score that made me work as much as I did so far. Right now I'm under the influence of Aesop's Night Light.

I know that this is only half the story. The trip taught me love and selflessness. I'm out of it with a more well-rounded appreciation of interaction.

Let's start from the beginning so that I might contrast the enlightened ending with the crude beginning.

On the bus ride to Avila I kept asking this French girl questions. At the time my perspective was one of relationships and love-only sex. I had only 1 one-night stand at that point but I felt really bad about it. I was a timid lover and an uninformed English student with a vested interest in biology and Spanish. She was attractive and slightly eccentric but I was really interested in French ideas because I was around Americans most of the trip.

The last night in Spain she asked me if I wanted to come into her room. At that point I was never ok with getting together with a girl for one night so I said no. For a while I thought that was a bad idea but now I realize that I'm glad I kept myself out of the realm of possibilities.

After a while the emails picked up and I dreamed of going to France. Sophomore year passed with only a single girl I made out with a few times and then there was the Heather time-sink that fucked my mind up for a while. I would intermittently write to Ambre without thinking much about it.

There was one incident at my sister's wedding with a woman that I hated. It was more out of anger than love that we kissed and clutched. This is when I was OK with one night of sharing myself.

Junior year it picked up slightly to about once per month. Her life seemed serene from the screen; it seemed like grape fields, French universities, occasional wine parties, and the classy way of European life was all that she had every day. I coupled the fragments of her life with my experience in Spain and concluded that she would be the embodiment of European culture: free spirited, a nihilist intellectual that was sympathetic, epicurean, fit, and too good for most of the people that I was around.

Mixed in the saturation of my college experience she was a seed in the back of my mind...growing to an ideal that was better than everything I was around. Junior year brought back a lot of conflict and some great romances. The more I learned the more I could connect with people in a powerful way. It seems like the articulation allows a deeper way of looking at people into their soul.

This is when the blonde girl came in. Activism and love were around her but she was so inconsistent. The problems that Heather put in my head, insecurity and frustration, were dissipated by the way she responded to my presence or touch. It was really beautiful to talk with her on the roof and drink good beer.

She was inconsistent though. There were nights that I couldn't meet but would sacrifice my time studying chemistry for a night of discussion and kissing. School was important to me to help my mother. Organic chemistry was horrible at this time.

I think I started planning a trip with the French girl after this girl flaked out on me. It was a rebellion against events in my life. I thought: different country has a different value system so...this girl must be a consistent and assertive person who loves deeply and can sharpen my perspective. For the most part I never thought she would come to the US. It was a cautious and feigned presentation of myself in some emails. Then they got more genuine. There were details that I left out and there were carefully chosen events that I put in.

I planned on France my senior year winter break. But...as always...I messed it up. I crashed my friend's truck and had to work back the $1300 that the paint job costed. That blasted my chance at a trip. Then she took the helm and ordered a ticket for summer. In the web chats I got a sense that she was genuinely interested in getting to know me personally. I thought that all that culture, philosophy, and energy was coming my way. When something like that comes my way it is difficult for me to refrain from taking it and creating a beautiful romance out of it.

Senior year brought beautiful relationships and friendships. I had opportunities in Athens, California, and Spain. I drew the possibilities up on the board. My heart said stay in Athens but everyone kept saying that I would never have this opportunity again. I thought it was ridiculous because I know myself and I know what I am capable of. I turned down the Athens job and let loose a love affair. I accepted Ambre's wish to come to the United States with me and I trashed my chances with two other girls. I thought that it would be worth it.

I can't blame them though. What woman could stomach the idea that their man would travel the country with a single, foreign, female companion?

What I got was completely different. Her interest was in the road. It was apparent in Chicago that she wasn't interested in learning my ideas. It was apparent that her command of English wasn't good enough to have fluent communication. It was apparent, very quickly, that I had made a mistake in my planning.

How could I have known? I read her emails to my roommate occasionally and he told me that they seemed to be genuinely interested in exploring my life as well as my culture. I misjudged the amount of interest that she would have in me though. In conversation it felt like I had to vomit details about my thought process or passions. Even when we were enjoying a dance without words it seemed like there was an apparent gap of extravagant frustration.

There was also the reduction of this anticipation to the confection of sex. In the background of the fraternity's objectification of females I really wanted a connection. Making out with a young attractive female naked ape has no feeling...but it is pursued and attained by most men in college at the parties I hosted/attended. In the morning after we got to New Orleans when she said "I will not have sex with you. I know that's what you want."

When those words emerged from her mouth in broken and thickly accented English I felt a wave of shame, frustration, and disappointment. This was not going to be easy or even possible to communicate my ideas or desires with her. Sex happened in college. It was ever more frequent as the days went on and, as I got more fit, more hot each time. It became an art and a sport that I loved to practice with one particular girl with whom I felt a paternal-like love for. If sex was what I wanted, I would have stayed with this woman and enjoyed those nights.

I'll admit, now that I talk about it...I really enjoyed everything about that time in college. Tilapia, wine, and cigarettes on the porch between lovemaking and tender touching.

I knew in my mind that the dark-eyed woman and I, though it was the most satisfying and mature endeavor I think I will have for many years to come, would not work out because of her inability to reside completely in the present. I still, and will always, really want to provide myself to her for her enjoyment and betterment. She's a sexy intellectual and caring woman.

So, back to the progression of this relationship, I was jarred. If she was a native English speaker I would never have forgiven her for this. It was like 3 years of anticipation and communication was reduced to a summation of my desires: ejaculation. I wanted all those things that make us human and I was misread as being a greedy animal. She was uncomfortable around me after she could tell I was disappointed.

That day I just wanted to be away. Alone. Not alone. I wanted to be understood. Fromm's teaching then came to me and I helped someone. This made me feel better slightly.

The rest of the trip was an educational exercise in patience and care. We had fights, good nights, dug deep into each other's physical needs to understand body language for when the other was hungry, angry, tired, or frustrated. It was rudimentary but still something of a connection.

In North Carolina, after the taxing stress of visiting my evil grandfather...we bonded. I think that the fact that she made a mistake that cost me 5 hours caused her to be a little less standoffish.

Last night I feel like we got closer than we ever had before. Her language and comfort allowed us to trek into some philosophy. She's a smart girl. She's really sweet as well. After the coffee shop we drove around Canton. I got lost, maybe intentionally, and talked about the trip.

She wanted to know what I expected. This was it. If I visited France I would do so to experience the culture but I think I would be more focused on developing a connection with her.

Another interesting aspect of this whole trip was the fact that she was a lens to see myself. I realize that these expectations were selfish and juvenile. The travel made me realize that I love America. There is a lot here and there is nothing to run from. The mind is its own place. No matter where I am I will be sharpening myself.

Right now...I'm anxious. I'm afraid that, when I get up from the keyboard, the spines in my hippocampus that were created by this trip will begin to be reabsorbed into the cellular membrane. Suddenly this frustration will be rosie-recalled and I will think this was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

I have to swallow my anger and shit it out as I run away from this experience with the values I got on the train to New Orleans and the bus to New York. There is beauty in loving everyone. Withholding love causes your soul to rot. I touched the face of my old religion and found that it is not the spiny flytrap I thought it once was.

I have to hug the joy that I felt with her and cling to it. If I let it go I might resent those days shoveling the clay dirt in 102 degree weather with high humidity. I might resent those plates that I diligently and quickly brought to the dishwasher. I might resent not studying more for the MCAT or trying to trek to Dayton to see good friends. I might resent jumping in the river when every logical sense said "no." If I cling to that moment though...it was all worth it.

That moment I realized that nothing was wasted with her. The end of the trip where we understood each other was nice.

Right now I'm sitting in the coffee shop, thinking about going to work to pick up that check. Thinking about going to Columbus tomorrow to get those documents in order.

Thinking about her is good now. I know who she is. I know what she wants and does. I have no exaggerated imagination about the quality of foreign people being far-superior to those in my own country. When I go to France next year I will most likely go with a group of her friends and family. When she first mentioned this I was frustrated because I wanted another month to get to know her...but now I realize that our best times were with other people. Together we quickly run out of things to say unless she or I are expending a massive amount of energy trying to get the other to share how they are feeling or thinking.

If the experience wasn't one of provision I would feel much worse about it. She seemed concerned last night about the nature of care and what I do for myself or others. Initially, the trip was for myself. I thought it would be amazing catharsis and contrast. After our fight in New Orleans I sincerely considered leaving and working my ass off to gain as much money as possible. However, I realized it would be a horrible thing to do to that girl. God forced his way into my forebrain through the receiver in my samsung telephone when the dark-eyed woman said "if you don't give this now you will regret it for a very long time."

The cities and experiences were beautiful. Chicago is a beautiful and tall city. Everything there is clean. I have most of my experiences written down. Being a vagabond was great.

I feel amazing casting her off at the airport though. Right now I'm back to the track of work. I have a list of things that I need to get in order. My body is wondering what I have been doing these past 4 weeks. It misses rowing and night hikes. My mind misses chemistry and Spanish (admittedly...this is strange). My fingers want to clutch the saxophone or arrange plates. As soon as I get out of here I'm going to inflate the tires, maybe put my hands in the garden, look up French tutoring, and apply for some AmeriCorps positions.

I don't vacation well. In New York I realized that production is my default setting. I think this happened after I quit that one neuroscience research position.

This is more time than I've had to myself than I've had in a while. Sometimes when I wake up I look frantically for a frizzy haired French girl to sooth my head. When it comes to people...I do care for others before myself. I know this. I know that caring for people makes me feel like I someone should care for me...and someone will.

I think a conversation with Janee will put things into perspective. Overall, I'm glad that I have a strong tie to a friend in France. I need to simmer down with this speculation.

I feel the sinews of my body tensing every moment as I progress toward tomorrow. Every breath carries that deadly and beautiful mother oxygen to my tissues. Most importantly...my neurons keep kicking in the same way they've been as the years past.

Things are different now though. I had never thought that things could go this well. So many frustrated nights were spent working...like a mad poet or artist...learning my craft. There has been a lot of pain and moments where my heart felt like it was so heavy that the world would claim it as its own. Again and again I push myself toward what I think and feel is right. Often, I had no clarity as to what I was doing....or why.

The pieces all are falling into place. Sometimes they go naturally and sometimes I force them. The past 2 months before August were saturated with studying and work. Stripping barbed wire, bussing tables, serving food, washing dishes, planting things in the hot sun...all of it was taken into my conscious experience like water. Now my dendritic spines are arranged and arraigned in my hippocampus to, when prompted, relive those moments of difficult striving.

Now I'm in a bus. It is comfortable and I'm sitting next to a strange but pleasant companion. In a way, this is as much work as carving that clay to house the plants that I wanted so badly to put into the earth.

It takes a brand of open-palmed clinging in order to survive in this lifestyle. The first two weeks of August were spent in uncertainty and anxiety. What is my relation to Ambre? Where will I go after this month? What the hell did I get on the MCAT? Is everything going to be OK with Spain? Can I afford all this? Will the dark-eyed woman and I just have isolated memories of each other? Wha...? What is Love and how do I interact with people? How should I feel about what I'm doing? Where is God?

Now I have some more answers and more questions. I'm still assured of my strength and plasticity...but still unsure of the best course of action.

First I'll put down what I know now.

I know that the God of affirmative logic and my youth is an instrument of intolerance that placates the minds of people who would otherwise be loving, productive, and contented with their status. It propagates greed and fear of death. It is a tool for self-advancement.

I know now that my God is one of Love. I should ask nothing from it and pretend to know nothing of it. Paradoxical logic will explain better the non-being of God. The words of Jesus Christ should be followed and, as I know him, he was the physical embodiment of Love. I don't think that the secret name "Jesus Christ" is the password to a place of angels and gold streets. I don't claim to know but I understand through opposites that Love is what should flow through me because it gives life.

This should be my labor: be mindful of where I am, practice the teachings of Jesus Christ without condemnation or condescension to those who practice differently, lead by example and precept those around me to be more loving and productive, refrain from excess that destroys the integrity of the vessel that contains my consciousness, and pursue Love that I may be lovable...not for any other reason.

I know that eroticism, though extremely satisfying and something which I strive to master, should not be taken lightly or executed without a feeling of connection. Performing this without the heart voids the action of its intimate meaning.

I know that I'm an amazing applicant to medical schools and that I will be sharp wherever I land.

I don't know the best course to get the greatest return for my effort.

I don't know what will happen with the dark-eyed woman. I know that I care for her and look forward to our every meeting. The fact that I know her gives me a lot of joy.

I know that Ambre and I are friends and nothing more. At first I was discontent with this fact but I'm glad that we had a spat about it. It gave me a new perspective regarding human interactino. I shouldn't take myself too seriously but need to where it really counts.

I was shocked to see that I am among the top 1-5% of the writers that have taken the MCAT. For the longest time I thought that I was horrible at timed essays but, thankfully, this proves that I am not.

I know that I can accept a multitude of AmeriCorps positions and would be benefitted by this. I'm not sure the best way to go about this though.

I know I need to meet with my advisor to sort this out.

Daylight

I woke up to the idea of rejection, a sick feeling in my stomach, a disturbing but fun memory of last night, and anger. Daylight found me an enemy and angry at its presence.

As I walked through the city streets of New Orleans I blistered my foot and toured the places around the town. Ate lunch by the river with a homeless man. That man dragged me quickly out of the champagne problems of a disconnect in love.

I want to bring him here so I can remember him. Feeling the loneliness of the morning I walked by this man who was sitting by the pier. He was raucous but genuinely nice. We went to a seafood place and he spit his story to me. It was jolting and intense. He was a welder who was losing his sight and consequently had eye surgery. I saw the scars. He was grateful, personable, and cried when I mentioned my stint in Chicago. When he spoke about family...I didn't understand it but he was crying. He said the bottle came after but he's 59 and has nothing

I wanted this moment to happen. It gives me a sense of passion and happiness that I can help people. I love that man's spirit and I feel compassion for him. He was very thin. I just hope that, should I ever be in that situation, that someone would buy me a burger and hear my story.

Travelling. You're spitting your story so much that your mouth gets dry. You want to drink in something clean and refreshing. You discover something about yourself when you love another person. I was self-involved this morning but after that I realize that my problems are petty and that my goal is to help people. I went to the medical school afterward to take a tour.

got my head back on

eros and kronos

I'm sitting in my Chicago hotel after a very refreshing week with my companion from France. We drank in the signature room on the 95th floor of the John Handcock building, saw memorials and monuments, went to a Cubs game, drank with Gongola, and saw a wonderful museum involving art for wounded soldiers. Afterwards there was always drinks, good food, and broken but delightful conversation.

Listening to the soundtrack to the Fountain, again, and thinking back at the past...again. It seems like spring always brings blossoming romances and interesting new ideas to me which thin out during long and lonely summers. There is beauty in them. Swimming in the moonlight in the old High Mill lake, picking vegetables with my sisters, and working in the sun for a petty wage were my passtimes two weeks ago. Now Ambre is here and we're travelling around.

I can't say that I'm not thinking about the moment. No expectations is always the way to go.
I can't help but think though that this trip shouldn't have happened from the perspective that it wedged me out of several important relationships. This shouldn't be accompanied by a sense of entitlement to some adamant connection...but it's strange that she is oblivious to the fact that it shredded my chances with a few other wonderful companions.

So, we're packing for the train to New Orleans. I'm hoping to get a hold of my friend there to show us around the city. We'll see how it goes.