when fiction veers too close to reality, the real challenge begins. Maybe you want to howl. Or break down and cry. Or lash out. Or give up. You counted on someone and that one person on whom you counted does not come through for you. For instance. Or reveals that whatever you wanted or expected wasn’t in the cards at all, as far as he or she was concerned. You can pack up your illusions and do bloody well whatever you want with them. We iz not interested in you, not even one tiny bit.
In the cacophony yesterday afternoon – each one of the ten workshop participants was tuned in to different music and destroying his eardrums from what I caught of the sounds – in or of that cacophony over which I had to shout several times, I choose to concentrate on a few seconds only.
I choose to concentrate on a few real moments of contact. Eyes connecting to something I was offering. Taking it in, and making something of it. For the most part, the workshop participants weren’t. Participating, that is. They were busy shutting out as much of their present experience as they could. A body experiences enough contempt from others? A body often decides to treat others with contempt in return. Hurts, in both directions.
They’ll tell you – and life will demonstrate this, over and over again – they’ll tell you life isn’t for dreamers. Over and over again, events will show how vile and despicable humans can be. For some reason, this is supposed to shut down all reflexes other than those of compliance and submissiveness. Stay out of trouble. If trouble comes looking for you anyway, just shut up and put up.
As a first step in the getting-to-know-you process yesterday, I filled out my own card with name, age, country of origin and profession. A few of the boys said: wow, you’re old. Indeed, I answered. Humans haven’t found any other way to live for a long time than to age.
OK. At which point one of them said he’d like to live until a hundred. So, we managed to move on to the next second, and the next second after that in a two-hour session best described as a post-doctoral exercise in frustration – both theirs, and mine.
“living truthfully in imaginary circumstances”. a post to keep afloat.