The war is over...and I don't know how to live outside a war zone

I have not written here in a while. But as I was walking along in Inwood Hill Park tonight where the Harlem and Hudson Rivers meet, and watching the reflection of the setting sun (the sun itself was behind the cliffs that rise up here on the top tip of Manhattan between the park and the Hudson where the old growth forest still grows), I could hear someone play an electric guitar...not particularly well, but enough to evoke the 1970s and evenings as a child, sometimes riding in people's vans or old cars, and the odd comfort of that, teenagers or young adults playing Led Zepplin and me in the back somewhere doing whatever, but not in charge and knowing somehow for that moment everything was OK.

I then remembered this realization I had the other day when I was meditating that yes indeed the war is over, but I have no idea how to live outside a war zone. I don't mean that literally in the sense of being in the middle of an actual shooting war (aside from the time we lived on 106th and Amsterdam back in the early 1990s when in fact there were many gun fights outside our window - some with automatic weapons - so bad the police would not show up because - and I quote - "we are outgunned")...but as a child, not guns, but other war zones - some violent physically, some mentally, some verbally, some emotionally, but it was always a crisis and starting as a very young child I had to have my shit together. For instance, my mother has told me, when I was a baby and she and my father would fight violently, so I would hold my breath until I turned blue, which would finally make them stop.

That kind of thing. Rinse. Repeat.

Shift characters, locations, details but the out of joint song in which I had to keep my shit together, be vigilant at all times, and therefore could rarely be a child remained the same.

So, yeah, no, I'm not what you would call laid back. All the yoga and meditation in the world can't undo that shit. It can Help. A lot. It can keep me from inflicting it on others, and at times if I'm lucky myself, but it's not precisely a good run up to peacetime living.

I'm not going to recite my childhood. Anyone who knows me or has read this blog or my plays can catch the gist, but the point remains: no tools to live in peacetime.

Which means all the time living on overdrive. Shocking that I became an alcoholic, I know (ha!). But what is a miracle is that I got sober at 23. And still am. At 54. That shit is weird. But even so, still, no windshield and not really, you know, laid back.

BUT the difference is - when I had this realization while meditating, this time I didn't think OH NO, I HAVE TO DOOOO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. I HAVE TO HAVE A 10-POINT ACTION PLAN TO DEFEAT MY CRAZINESS. No. I did not go through that. Instead, I just breathed and heard a gentle internal voice say: and that's all you need to know right now.

You don't have to DO anything about it.

Just let it settle in. And I am. And just this. The NOT doing, the letting it settle in, is changing my life. It's kind of a miracle. Not by trying to change my life. Instead by Not trying to change my life. The miracle of acceptance. You accept a thing, hold space for it, and voila, it changes. With no effort. If I resist it, it just gets bigger and more intractable.

And so now, somehow, when feelings I usually find excruciating come up - certain types of sadness or boredom or anxiety or whatever - instead of trying to run away, I just breathe them in. I hold space. I witness. I allow the feelings. I look and see what's there for me to see, feel, experience. And then, yes, it all changes. By not trying to change it.

It's bizarre.

Which is all by way of saying when I heard that guy playing the guitar, I let the pleasant kind of nostalgic memory of those peaceful moments in my childhood wash over me. I felt the nostalgia, the desire to be young again, to have life ahead of me instead of at least more than half in the rearview mirror, and also the knowledge that there were these moments of respite - for all the crazy and the crisis. And that while I might not know how to live outside a war zone, I can allow myself these moments and don't have to judge or overanalyze.

Of course it doesn't help these days how much actual crazy there is in the world and violence and rampant injustice and plain old meanness and cruelty. But the fact is in one form or other that's always been there. I can allow the feelings of powerlessness in and rage and all of it. I can act as I can act, which I do, politically. I can write sometimes, create theater, do my little part. I can spin out, I can step up, I can step aside, freak out, be calm, get angry, cry, wonder what the actual fuck, have a moment of calm, take a walk, stay under the covers, call someone, meditate, stay alone, go be with people, dance, do yoga, write, take a nap, watch stupid things on Netflix, write in this blog, submit work, get rejected, get accepted, feel accomplished, feel like a failure, feel loved, feel lonely, wonder again what the actual fuck, and then breathe and let it all in - when I remember to do so.

This is the gift of getting older, staying sober for a long time, meditating every day, doing yoga when I remember (not as much as I should in other words) and trying to be a decent person - I begin to be able to accept the whole package.

I was also thinking walking home: I want to live long, because I need to figure it out, and then I laughed when I heard an internal voice say: that'll only happen when you stop trying to figure it out. Which, like, of course. But what a seduction it is. For someone such as me anyway.

At night when lying down going to sleep with crystals on me (yes I've turned into That person - try not to hate me), and I sense, my God/dess, so much energy in my head, my mind churning and churning Trying to Figure It Out. And so little energy in the rest of my body. So then breathing into that mysterious rest of me - the part - pretty much all of it - that I routinely ignore. Letting the crystals bring me to those parts of my body. Wondering will I ever allow my body to be fully animated? I don't know. Part of the war zone thing, levels of dissociation I'm not sure will ever go away. It's waaaay better than it used to be. At least I know my body is here. I can even feel it sometimes. A number of years ago, I woke up more fully to my actual emotions (as opposed to the word facsimile cover story that masqueraded as such). But I have a feeling my physical body is the most resistant to my awareness and acceptance. I am only aware of Problems - either physical aches and pains or with How I Look (always wrong) etc. Not sure I will ever be able to embrace my corporeal self, but that's got to be Ok. I don't want to doom myself to this dissociation either. We'll see.

I can breathe now. I can at times be touched. Sometimes easier than others. But I have always been "touchy" - kind of prickly in a somewhat sneaky way. On the surface, I am warm, but it's a patina, something to a certain degree I taught myself how to do. But underneath there is the shrinking away scared little kid, never sure anyone or anything can be trusted and always ready to pick a fight. It's complex. I certainly don't think I'm alone in this.

I'm afraid to even write any of this and publish it in public. What will people THINK?! GASP! As if...but still.

So, here I am. This is me today. Tomorrow or the next day I will post a bunch of things with schedules of events, a staged reading and two readings, all in June. But this is a different post. So be it.

As the African prayer goes: It is. Thank you.

Even if that means I never do know how to live in peacetime. I am here. And there is beauty - and even moments of peace - in the midst of the ever whirring chaos in my brain and sometimes heart.

"They never report the planes that land"

Journalist Mark Shields said that on the MacNeil/Lehrer News Hour years ago and I've never forgotten it.  And today, especially it seems important to repeat.

If I had sat at home listening to the radio and frightened of the sirens I heard today, I would not have walked outside to see:

peace...

and people walking around, smiling mostly, shop windows not broken and the road works continuing.  I would not have experienced the eerily not overcrowded tube journey into Central London where I went to work with my friend Robin, who is a dancer/choreographer, with some of his research.

In walking into The Place dance studios, London went from 'war zone' to a dance studio.  I was able to engage with this really interesting project, weirdly enough as a subject, who actually - well kind of - danced.  And watched Robin and his collaborator Laura dance me or what they felt and saw.  It was an extraordinary experience that I cannot put into words precisely, except to say that through movement certain things can be expressed that perhaps cannot be otherwise, that stimulate words and expression after the fact and somehow get into essential areas of experience.

I do not know precisely what Robin will do with the material generated but it was a remarkable thing in which to participate.

And had I listened to my media-driven fear, I would not have gotten out of the house to the studio.  Not just the radio and news, but also the sirens.

However, luckily our MP in Walthamstow, Stella Creasy, has done an incredible job of tamping down rumors and staying in touch with people, helping set up a respite center, reaching out to young people, giving respite to police and volunteers and generally keeping the peace.

That plus the fact that Walthamstow is also a basically working class area, with no one much wealthier than anyone else, and as mentioned earlier, Ramadan.  I think all of this has conspired to keep it peaceful.  We had the one spate of looting of chain stores and that was pretty much it.  I think there were some wheelie bin fires as well, but those were put out and I don't think anyone was hurt.

And tonight, it's quiet, though it must be said, weirdly quiet.  Most shops (stores) shut early and there is very little traffic.  People are driving a little funny, a bit rushed and as darkness fell people were more nervous.  But so far, it's quiet.

That doesn't mean all the trouble is over, but there have been 10,000 more police put on the streets (last night there were 6,000 and tonight there are 16,000), all the politicians deigned today to come back from holiday (big of them I know) and the looting seems to have spread North and to the Midlands.

I went to meet with some friends again tonight, and that was a relief, another room that was relieved from fear and instead filled with joy.

There is something about coming together in rooms to connect in some way, either through dance or talking or whatever, and paying attention to what is in front of us rather than what we are being told is happening.

When I walked outside, all was well.  The sun was shining and there was no reason to feel unsafe.

This does not mean that the fear was/is unfounded.  Some horrible things happened last night and might happen again.  But there was also a large force today of people who came out to clean up their neighborhoods, help each other out, reach out to those more vulnerable and generally be a force for good.

There is in the UK, too, I am pleased to say, an understanding that is broadcast on mainstream media (like the BBC) that the kids that are looting and stuff are not necessarily 'mindless' and that there are real social problems underneath all this, not the least of which is the incredible gap in wealth and aspiration, and that a lot of really rich people have gotten away with looting the financial system, so why is this any different?

Answer: they won't get bailed out.

Badapssshhh.

There is also a lot of rhetoric from the wealthy people in power (and they are all incredibly wealthy and privileged in the Tory cabinet - not one person had to claw for anything more than the last Armani scarf at Harrods) about mindless thuggery, etc. as if all these kids just came out to do all this because they had nothing better to do than terrorize all of London and now the UK.

I mean, to some degree this is true, they Don't have anything better to do - because of the education, training and youth services cuts, most of these kids have very little to do at all and a lot of time to do it in.  But I think it's more than that.  What no one wants to see is that they are literally mimicking what they see as the way to win this world: steal it and who gives a fuck.  I know I keep saying this, but it bears repeating: who can show them differently?  I mean, really.

And then we go back to the planes that land.  Those people who do simple stuff like: help clean up their neighborhood, try to keep the peace, give gifts of themselves that ask nothing in return - those people Are a power of example.  Those people are not just stealing money from the banks or poorer countries or minimum wage workers.  There are ways to show a different way.

But they are not glamorous, and they won't get you rich or famous.  And since we've decided as a culture that the only lives worth celebrating are those lives, what do we expect?  What do you think our children will want?  A conscience?  Ha.

I think they will want: smart phones, trainers, clothing and plasma TVs.

Is this enough?  No, absolutely not.  Will this satiate what perhaps, one can hope, is truly desired, probably not.

Assuming what is desired (and I am not these young people so hold my hand up right now to say - this is a theory and I could be wrong) is: respect, a voice, a sense of meaning and purpose, something meaningful to do, a way to contribute, a place in a real community, a way to relate to each other, and perhaps the means to have a family...well, then all the looting in the world isn't gonna help.

But then again, neither is the status quo where the rich get richer off the backs of the despair and warehousing of these kids.

If the looting and arson can show us another way, open up a dialogue, at least show us all that we are Way off course, then it does not have to be 'meaningless thuggery'.  If we buy into Cameron & Co's idiotic and willful ignorance of the causes of this violence, we can just put the lid on this with enough force for a few days and start playing whack-a-mole with violent outbursts for years to come, tut-tutting the state of Youth, etc. as we go.  That would be a waste of an opportunity to listen to what is being said here.

Is it a political protest in the old-fashioned manifesto-driven sense of the word?  No.  Are there massive political implications of this violent explosion?  Yes.

And to be fair to the Met and everyone else: there was pressure today to bring in the Army and start using water cannons and all kinds of 'harsher' tactics.  They decided today to just try to bring in more police before escalation.  Many people criticized this, and there has been a hysterical call for martial law tactics and curfews and such.  I hope it will not come to this and am glad these tactics have been at least put on hold.  They still could come in, but I pray not.

Our MP here in Walthamstow used to be an outreach worker herself, so her impulses run in that direction, along with supporting the police, and I hope cooler heads like hers prevail.

All the poor and disaffected young people in the UK have not suddenly gone insane, but they do desperately need a voice.  And to be heard when they do speak.  This may seem like incoherent communication, but it's not really - not if we actually listen.

There are sirens still outside and I can feel fear underneath my calm words.  I cannot tell if something has shifted or there just is a lid coming down over a boiling pot of water.

But I will continue practicing my versions of Julia non-violence listed yesterday.

So far.  So good.