THE BULL IS DOOMED

A bull fighter died last weekend... gored to death by the bull.  Scenes of a bull being killed by a matador would not have interested me, but there was something about a primitive desire for revenge that motivated me to google the videos.

The first ones were of the running of the bulls in Pamplona... a three minute stampede of 6 bulls where people measure their defiance of death by how close they come to the ten tons of angry beast hurtling by.  Some get a vicarious thrill standing on balconies above the street.  Others run into alleyways or press against the doorways.  There were 15 injuries.  The worst: two who were upended unceremoniously and landed on their heads.  One bull turned into an alleyway and gored the few who, I guess, thought they'd be safe.

The way I see it, dashing across the 12 lanes of the 401 in Pickering at noon would be just about as death-defying and dumb.  Only the centuries-old tradition would be lacking.

The bull fight was much more sinister. First the bull was taunted and teased.  The matador, with chest puffed and shoulders back, stood like a peacock in heat behind his magenta cape.  He egged the bull into a charge, and got the beast to whiz by as close as possible while avoiding being stabbed.  He did this a few times and then lowered the cape which confuses the bull, turned his back and strutted away as if fearless of a charge from behind.  Then he got on his knees and repeated the ritual, making a fool of the noble beast and of himself: little more than a schoolyard bully.

Then came the real torturing of the bull, with picadors to weaken his haunches with lances so he couldn't raise his head, and banderilleros who snuck up on his blind side, pierced him with spears, and pranced away.

Then the matador returned for a few more passes before the applying the sword which would come from above, between the horns, slice alongside the backbone and pierce to the heart.  Except this time the wrong character in this lurid drama was killed.  I watched it from several angles.  Instead of standing straight and tall as the bull circled him, he bent his knee and it got caught in the bull's horn.  Down he went and the bull stabbed him in the heart.

In seconds they were there to distract away the bull and surround the dying man.  After that there were no pictures of the victor in this medieval debacle.  The bull was killed off camera.  Maybe shot, maybe stabbed, we don't know.  But what we know is the bull is doomed... doomed from the day it is born... doomed from the moment it is pushed out onto the street to the moment the fight is over.  Victim or victor, it is doomed to die.  My desire for revenge was hollow.

Love,
Eric

Workshops Save My Life

Workshops save my life.

Years ago Diana and I were going through very difficult times.  Family members were spitting hateful venom of greed and fear.  Our darling Ava had moved out. Then there was a terrible morning that involved a car crash and some very painful strife with someone I love.  With everything weighing on me that morning, I broke into tears.

A half hour later I was to drive to the city to lead a workshop.  A voice in my head said, “If you call and cancel, people will understand.”  My bedroom beckoned seductively for me to retreat and isolate.  But I realized that putting myself in a room of love was where I’d rather be to counter the hatred and judgement we were receiving daily, compounded by the present emergency.

The workshop was about being intimate, and how could I be a modal, sitting with this lump of pain in my heart?  If I reveal myself they’ll want to hear more; they’ll look upon me with pity; they'll suggest solutions I should do... all responses that don’t serve me. 

To be authentic this afternoon I knew I needed to express the pain in my heart.  So I decided I would also tell people I didn’t want to be fixed and didn’t need them to hear the story.  I remembered a simple question I counsel folks to ask rather than take over with suggestions, “Is there anything you need?”  I shared that little tool with the group, and let them know I needed hugs, caring and love… and that’s exactly what I got.

The One-Day workshop on Connection is essentially a nurturing of compassion among folks who may never have met before.  We create a room of love where people can let go of issues, guilt and judgement, and just notice who they are as human beings.  The workshop includes a very loving exercise where folks have the opportunity if they choose, to stroke each other’s face and share the connection of being human without agenda, where the event simply equals the event, and all there is is love. 

    

As I led the exercise, surrounded by that compassion and intimacy, warm waves of love washed over the icy pain in my heart, melting it away.  I was left with a sadness that the folks who strike out in fear and hatred don’t get connected to the love I do.  And I felt gratitude to our mentors for leading Diana and me to the work of witnessing the beauty of people’s humanity.

Do workshops save my life?  OK, that’s a clickbait exaggeration.  But they are certainly one of the many ways I hold myself in love in this world. 

Here's a link to the workshop we're holding on March 18th, 2023, at The Log Home.

https://www.facebook.com/events/874137650307739/

OUR WEDDING

Why, after 30 years of knowing each other, leaving our spouses, adventuring in HAI, sharing a songwriting career, excavating the tunnel of sex and desire together, discovering a cave of ancient soul where we huddle around the fire of passion in wonder, … why now after thirty years to decide to get married?

The simple answer is we’ve done it all except the celebration, the party, so why not treat ourselves to one?  But the more complex answer has to do with putting aside the old stories and exposing our hearts to our community.  Diana never wanted to get married because, I think, her first one was such an affront to her inner self.  Dictated by family, expectation, commitment -- buying into the picture of the standard husband, succumbing to the mythology -- it served to bury more deeply the free spirit who lived beneath, the little girl who dug in the dark earth for worms on her way to school and so arrived always late and dirty to be chastised and reported.

By the time she met me, she wanted never to smother that independent creature again.

And then there’s me, married I don’t know, four-five times, a traditional wedding, a romantic wedding, a hippy one, a wedding of convenience.  I like weddings really.  I think everyone should do them until they get it right. So why should she marry someone so cavalier about weddings?

But one evening after a day of licentious sex, lying exhausted among the crumpled bed sheets, I think she realized we were in fact married and she just hadn’t admitted it.  I was already proclaiming our marriage to everyone.  At the bank they’d want to know marital status and I’d respond, “It depends on who you ask.  I say yes.  She says no.”  Perhaps it was time to stop confusing people.

Or perhaps she was reacting, as I was, to the fact that the time-honoured edifice of marriage is in process of overhaul, its ownership wrested from the church and redecorated in rainbow colours by the new tenants.  Damn.  What self-respecting reprobate wouldn’t want to reside there?   You know of course that once this recent dust has settled and mixed-race-same-sex couples are unremarkably BBQing on the balconies next door, a poly trio is going to come knocking and once again there goes the neighbourhood.  Obama will be gone by then but some president is going to have to remove the ‘two’ from the phrase, “two people who love each other.”  I hope I’m alive to join that struggle.

In any case the die was cast.  We would marry and of course do it at HAI Tea in July among our extended family.  HAI Tea, however is for workshoppers only, and when neighbour folks got wind of it they wanted to come too, so we decided to get married twice, two weeks apart.  For neither event did we send out invitations but instead just spread the word, told the folks we ran into.  No written invites, everyone welcome. 

One exception to our workshoppers-only rule had to be the minister, David Howes, whose relationship with us began as my banjo student and morphed into close and dear friendship.  As the date(s) approached David asked me if we were writing our vows.  I recoiled.  “Vows,” I said “smack of commitment.  They are promises and promises can be broken.  I have spent a good portion of my life eschewing commitment and instead prefer prediction.  Based on the evidence of the past thirty years,” I pontificated, “I can predict to Diana with some confidence that our marriage will last, but to promise that, to commit to it, to make a vow of forever… that would be against my principles.”

Instead of arguing principles with me, David simply said, “I hear you’ve been hurt by broken promises.”  That’s why I love David.  He also asked that we think about who these guests are, these witnesses to our wedding, and what we might want to say to them.

One thing I wanted to say to my community is why I think our relationship has lasted thirty years, has not burnt out but in fact grown stronger and hotter.  It is because rather than a desire to mold to each other’s needs, to do everything together, we both have a fierce dedication to independence.  Although thrown together by work, by home, by community, each of us has always lived by the credo, “I am my own person, true to my own inner core.”  So I was amused when I mentioned that David wanted us to write our vows and she said she assumed I’d write them for both of us.  But I knew what she meant.  Being independent doesn’t mean being unfamiliar.  She didn’t intend for me to decide for her what her vows should be, but rather to already know what they would be.  So yes, she jotted a few notes and I wrote the vows.  Here they are:

Eric:  “Diana, when I met you love was a feeling that rose and fell with the lightness and darkness of my heart.  Love was a commodity that could be stolen or used up, or given more to one than another. Love was an appreciation, not unlike appreciating my VW’s gas mileage.

“And I guess love still is those things to some extent.  I appreciate the mileage I’m getting out of you.  But over these years our relationship, and my experience of HAI has pointed to a deeper meaning to what Stan dubbed the room of love.  To me, Love itself is a room, a room I prepare where I can be myself and let you be yourself.  This is a wedding ceremony so I could ask you to be true to me, but I’d rather prepare a room where you have no need to be false.  I could ask for your intimacy, but I’d rather invite you to a room where you don’t need to hide.  I could ask for your love, but I’d rather share a room where you need not fear.

“So if I have a vow for you, an intention, then let it be that I vow my love, and by that I mean my intention to care for and nurture that space where I can be me and you can be you.”

Then Diana said, “This is an unconventional wedding at an unconventional time.  Instead of getting married and then living together for decades, we’ve done the reverse, and raised our children in the process.  At times I’ve worked for you and now you work for me.  We’ve taken life as it’s come to us without flinching.  We’ve reached out for the opportunities that have called to us without hiding in the shadows of security.

 “I first heard this Helen Keller quote at a HAI workshop:

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable.

“So if I have a vow for you, an intention, it is to continue to take life without flinching, and keep that flame of adventure burning, to see that our room of love is kept hot with passion.”

To tell the truth, although I wrote her vows according to her notes, I did take some license and added the “hot with passion” part.  Hey, who could resist the temptation to get her to declare that in front of witnesses? 

The first wedding was an amazing collection that ranged from Diana’s family friends of 57 years, to the guy who serves us at the hardware store.  There were HAI friends, family from California, neighbours, old folkies and some store customers.  After Isaac, Diana’s son shuttled folks from the parking lot and ran and found his camera, we were ready to start.

As the minister and I with my son and best man waited under an apple tree in the front yard -- one whose branches I had pruned into a canopy, a sort of chuppah -- Ava stepped out of the forest carrying a bouquet of flowers, followed by Lauren and Sarah in dresses of rich, exotic colours.  Then a moment later Diana descended.  It was all so lovely and pristine, like a covey of nymphs emerging into the afternoon sun.  

Everyone loved the ceremony, stayed for tea (at a string of tables stretched across the veranda to seat all 50) and a BBQ later that evening.  We visited, met new people, sang songs and sat around a bonfire.  I was left with a sense of wonder at the disparateness of this group coming together from different walks of our life, intersecting and luxuriating in the joy of celebration under the aegis of a loving day.

Two weeks later we repeated the event for our HAI friends, about 70 folks gathering from Ontario, Michigan, Ohio, Massachusetts and as far away as Germany.  They were dressed in their wildest regalia as we are wont to do, and my eyes watered over in gratitude as I looked down from the veranda to a waiting crowd that resembled a scene from Fellini yet the most functional family I know, our chosen family.    

Pathways Comes To Toronto

NOTICING

The very first HAI workshop to come to Toronto back in the 90s was a one-day ‘Pathways to Intimacy’ led by HAI's founder, Stan Dale.  Since then the Ontario HAI community has steadily grown until we are now up to five weekend workshops at the Ecology Retreat Centre in the verdant Hockley valley.

And last week another Pathways held in Toronto was a milestone of sorts because for the first time no one flew in from the States to lead it.  Led by myself and Mardie Serenity, we were, all 40 of us, Ontarians. 

For me it was a special milestone because Stan Dale was my dear friend and mentor.  And after years of sitting at his feet, I now sat in his chair.

At that first Pathways pretty much the first thing Stan asked was for us to close our eyes and call out words to describe love.  Folks responded with words like, “exciting”, “Warm”, “Sexy”, “Safe”, “Connected”…  And then Stan asked, “Why would we take ourselves out of that feeling?”  We had basically one answer: fear. 

That exercise, which I've done several times in workshops over the years, never struck me as very significant, a rather rhetorical question the answer to which I already knew.  But more recently the question has gained dimension as I’m gradually discovering the many disguises fear wears in my life. Judgment, insecurity, rejection, superiority, jealousy, blame, shame… to name a few… all have roots in fear.  And I've been noticing that whenever these negative aspects of me begin to fade, the space they leave just naturally gets filled by love.

And the question, ‘what takes me out of love’, is gathering a different, deeper significance.  Yesterday my partner went through a difficult day having received an angry blaming letter.  In pain and frustration she spent hours trying to construct a response that explained her actions.  She was in a conflict between being above it all, and needing to defend herself.  I got involved, trying to help her through her process.  But she wasn't resonating to my invitation that she notice how she was giving her power away by needing to be right.  I felt my own frustration with her, and exasperation rising. 

Then I heard a voice in my head, “Are you in love right now, Eric?  What’s taking you out of love?”

O.K., the clouds didn't open and the sun didn't burst through with a shining epiphanal beam of light.  But I did pause.  I saw the futility of the situation, and much of my frustration turned to to sadness.  I became free, or at least freer, of the conflict.  And much of the jangled energy in my body calmed.  I became aware once more of the love I have for my partner, which had never really left but was just ignored for a bit.

So what’s helping me is not so much to seek an answer to why I take myself out of love, but more to notice when I have, and then see if that noticing changes anything.

Well, the Pathways we held last week was very successful, very much appreciated, and so Mardie and I will be checking our calendars to see when we can schedule another in Toronto.  Stay tuned.  And for those of you living in Michigan, there’s a Pathways coming up. 

I CAN'T

Last week I wrote a store owner at which I have some instruments on consignment, asking if he would consider taking a 20% commission instead of his usual 25%.  Here is his response:

Unfortunately - I am unable to deviate from the 25% commission, as all instruments on consignment are subject to this rate - In the interest of fairness to other sellers we cannot make adjustments.

What irks me is not the percentage, although I think 25% is too greedy, nor the curious idea that equality corresponds to fairness.  What gets me is the way he abdicates responsibility for his decision, claiming, “I am unable...” and “we cannot....” 

I call these people ‘accountably challenged’.  They haven’t the gumption to take responsibility for their decisions.  And isn't that “we” part a nice touch?  Spread the focus so, like watching a gaggle of geese taking off in an explosion of flapping and honking, you don’t know which one to aim at.

I sometimes think not owning our behaviour is THE main dysfunctionality of our culture.  Prisons are filled with people who will tell you it wasn't their fault… couldn't help it... had no choice....  We are a self-victimizing society.

I’ll never forget years ago when Washington DC mayor Marion Barry was asked why he lied to the press about being hooked on cocaine.  His reply: "That was the disease talking.  I didn't purposely lie to you.  I was a victim."  Yes... a victim of his own mouth.

And what about me?  How often does the “I can’t” syndrome creep into my own interactions?  “I can’t go to the movies with you.  I have to study.”  “I can’t afford to buy that shirt.”  The truth is I make choices.  I choose to study rather than go out.  My priority is to buy something other than that shirt with my money.

I notice that paying attention to my language helps me identify my attitudes, my needs.  So these days I’m paying particular attention to “I can't.”  It helps me identify when I’m avoiding and why. 

And I’m looking at alternatives.  “Come to the movies with me?”  “No thank you.  I plan to study.” 

On the other hand I’ll forgive Flip Wilson, prancing on stage in outrageously garish drag, and defiantly proclaiming, “The devil made me buy this dress.”  You go gal.  

Love or Violence

I heard Stan Dale once say, “There is either love or violence.  And even violence is a cry for love.”  I heard him say that, but what the heck does it mean?  What was he talking about?

You have to understand, this guy was my mentor, my guru.  The things he did and said, the workshops he created, the experiences he fed me… they changed my life.  I am content and calm in my old age because he showed me how.

By the same token this was a guy who would put his foot in his mouth.  He messed up often and when he was called on it he’d always own up: a humble man who had no compunctions about eating humble pie when called for.  But he made no apologies for saying there is either love or violence, and even violence is a cry for love.  

I cannot wrap my head around it.  What is love?  And for that matter what is violence?  Interestingly, the workshops Stan created about love don’t tell what it is.  Instead they offer a series of exercises so I can explore what love is for me.  Thanks a lot.

And regarding violence… the workshops don’t explore that at all.

So here I am in this place of confusion.  My head says this is ridiculous.  Whatever love is, whatever violence is, there must be more to human existence than just these two.  And violence as a cry for love?  What about rape?  What about war?  What about hate?  What about greed?  How can it all be reduced down to love like some kind of binomial equation?

I don’t know the answer to that.  But my problem is this guy was not some naive airhead.  His life experiences took him to profound places.  I’m not going to dismiss him just because my head says this is absurd.  Instead my plan is to create space to notice who am I and what happens in my life?  My life… not other lives on the other side of the world; not who’s killing each other in the Middle East and why?  (By now, who knows why?) 

What is violence for me?  What is love for me?  Is there anything else?  I just want to open my heart and see what shows up.

I’ll keep you posted.

Love,

Eric

HAI Beliefs

HAI Beliefs

Sometimes when I get mad I'm criticized for being unHAI-like.  And I respond, “Who says?”  Where is it written that HAI tells me not to be angry?  And I’m left with the question, what in fact does HAI tell me to do or not do, believe or not believe, be or not be?

Stan Dale, HAI's founder used to boast that HAI is without Dogma.  Dictionary.com defines “Dogma” as an official system of principles or tenets concerning faith, morals, behavior, etc.  So Stan was saying HAI isn't going to tell you what to believe in… God, atheism, chakras, an intelligent universe, the law of attraction, etc. etc.  HAI doesn't care.  And it’s true that at workshops I've mingled with Catholics, Buddhists, gays, lesbians, trans, polys, monos, what have you.  And HAI had nothing to tell any of them about how they needed to change. 

So what does HAI believe?  What are its basic tenets/rules?  There’s no Bible to refer to and I’m no more an expert than the next guy, but I’d like to put down some ideas I think HAI believes in.[1]  And I’d like this blog to be a sounding board for others.  Write and tell me what you think HAI principles are.

Y    CHOICE.  At some point in every workshop you’ll hear a facilitator ask, “What is this workshop about?” and the group will answer, “Choice.”  HAI believes we are at choice.  Some folks take this idea to an extreme, saying that everything you do or happens to you is a choice… miss a bus, get hit by a falling piano, be gay… your choice.  That’s not a HAI belief.  But HAI does believe at least some of what we do is automatic, actions without thought, old learned habits that might no longer serve us.  And HAI offers us tools to help identify why we do what we do, and ways to expand on the number of choices we have.

Y    LOVE.  I think it’s a HAI tenet that we are born in love, born as love, and that love is our natural condition.  But what is love?  It’s HAI's practice to let each person discover and decide.  Love, Intimacy, Sexuality… it’s not for HAI to dictate, but rather to provide ways to improve our path of self discovery.  Stan Dale once told me there is either love or violence, and even violence is a cry for love.  Wow.  Is that true?  How do I wrap my head around that possibility?

Y    SELF DISCOVERY.  HAI believes that the person in charge of your path of personal growth is you.  HAI doesn't say you need to align your chakras, balance your energy or integrate your id with your ego.  Your goals are up to you.  HAI does have a lot to suggest about how to get there, wherever ‘there’ is.  Noticing is one of those powerful helping tools… noticing guilt, shame, where you’re loving yourself and where not, noticing your old stories… lots of skills to help turn the path of growth into a more and more exciting adventure.   

Y    RESPONSIBILITY.  Some folks say it means, ‘ability to respond’.  Very cute but I don’t think that describes HAI's relationship with responsibility.  I think it’s very important to HAI that I know what belongs to me and what belongs to you.  If my father tells me I’ll never amount to anything, HAI wants me to know that that’s what he thinks, and I can choose to take it on or not.  If I think anal sex is disgusting, HAI wants me to know that judgment belongs to me, and its major value is to inform me a bit about who I am, not who the other person is.  Sometimes we use the word, ‘responsibility’ to mean blame or fault.  That’s not what HAI is talking about.  Who am I?  How am I influenced by others?  How does that serve me?  That’s what HAI means by responsibility.

Wow.  This got a lot longer than I planned.  I hope it was interesting to you.  Those are four tenets I can think of at the moment, and I hope you’ll comment and suggest additional ones.  Be in touch and I hope I see you at a workshop soon.  I’ll send a schedule out and some suggestions about attending.

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[1] I realize I’m treating HAI as if it were a person with thoughts and beliefs.  HAI is really a collection of people and ideas with a history.  We’re all a part of HAI.  We all contribute to its form and function.