“The best way out is always through”  – Robert Frost

I am in a mood to rant.  Greeting me this morning, when I logged on, was a message from a friend.  It was clear, it was heartfelt, and it was loving.  I found it the most refreshing message I have received  online, in a good long while.  It established the parameters of our friendship.

I look forward to that ongoing friendship.  The person is one of the most enjoyable people I’ve met, in a very long time.

Now comes the fact that I’m a man, and my friend is a woman.  Automatically, the notion that I must like her for one thing, primarily, has come up, with some people more than others.

So, let me say this:  Women are not, and have never been, one-dimensional beings.  Men are not, and have never been, one-dimensional beings.  Then, why do we assume such of ourselves, and of one another?

I am an affectionate man.  I hug my son, my brothers, my sister and my SIL’s, my nieces and nephews, and those of my friends who like being hugged.  I kiss my mother, my MIL, and a few female friends, who will remain anonymous.  Physical affection is not the crux of our friendship.  It just gives me a nice feeling, when it happens.  Yes, I had a full, intimate relationship with my wife of 29 years, and that part of our eternal bond is over.

I get in a very stormy mood, reading of how certain men have screwed over the women they say they love.  When I hear from women friends about how their menfolk have hurt them, I have to say- I wouldn’t blame any of you, if you were to lock yourselves up in cloisters, for the remainder of this earthly life.  I would miss you,  terribly, but I would understand.

I know of at least two men who have been screwed over by the women in their lives, as well.  Trying to out-callous men does not make those women stronger people.  They need to do the same shame walk that my jerkwad fellow males ought to do.

People are not for beating.  Feelings are not for trampling.  Souls are not for burning.

I love my friends.  Some are platonic.  Some are confidants.  Four, two men and two women, have Best Friend status, by my lights.  One, whom I am getting to know, could very well be my fifth Best Friend, in time.  I know, “best” is a superlative term.  I would step up for anyone I regard as a friend.  I would take a bullet for anyone I regard as a Best Friend.  You know who you are.

I mean what I say, and always have.  I have shown atypical behaviours, now and then, in wrestling with my demons and my neurosis.  A book by Justice St. Vrain, entitled “Love, Lust and the Longing for God”, has helped with that struggle.  I have always owned up to my flaws.  The reason is, that God made me noble, as He made all of us.  The introductory quote from Robert Frost defines my life path.

Every single human being has goals, dreams and life plans.  Every single human being deserves at least one friend who will support her or him in this vein.  I have people who support me, my aforementioned best friends, my son, and my newest friend.  I, in turn, support them.

We go wrong, ladies and gentlemen, when we place our own whims and wants above the plans and dreams of those we say we love.  No one wins that struggle.  Unsure of that?  Just look at the wreckage of families around you, and at bonds that have been wrent asunder,without rhyme or reason.

The key is detachment.  The means is communication.  Cling to a branch too tightly, and don’t be surprised when it breaks.  Stay silent, out of fear, arrogance or pride, and don’t complain that you are being misunderstood.

We are all in this together, through pain and joy, love and sorrow, work and play, love and heartache.

It’s been quite a week, starting with a very intense forty-eight hours of helping a stranger, who has become a friend, to move into a new home.  This whole experience put several things into perspective;  The demons of my adolescence had to be put to bed, for good, over the LAST forty-eight hours.  These were the nattering voices of “_________ is way out of your league”, “A loser like you couldn’t get out of the batter’s box with ________”, “Give it up and make do with so and so”.  I had to sit myself down last night, and say it plainly “Gary, come on.  We are talking about FRIENDSHIP here, not some wild and crazy emotional blow-out.  Besides, where are all those hotshots today?  Either they are stuck in humdrum marriages, are living just like you are, alone and searching, or they’re dead.”

The fact is I HAVE made a new friend.  Yes, she is physically beautiful, but that’s NOT the main draw for me.  This person is for real; no airs of pretense and no hidden agendas.  It’s all about the company I might keep, the time we might spend together, the enjoyment of life we might share.  I say “might”, because I still don’t want to be a nuisance.  As much as I love being with her, I have to respect her space.  So, I will wait, let her know, in little ways, that I think of her often, and hope for a call or a message.

I did not “make do”, when I entered into my first post-adolescence friendship with a woman.  It turned into a marriage, and a darned good one, though it was stormy at times, and involved a lot of growth by both of us.  Not all friendships between men and women, however fond they are of each other, become marriages.  Certainly, my long distance friendship with a person in another state, which will last forever, is decidedly not romantic and will not translate into such.  My newest friendship is just that, a friendship.  I love her, and would do anything honorable for her, any time of day or night.

So, I have to be forbearing- with my critics, with well-meaning friends and relatives of my friend, who are just trying to look out for her, with those women to whom I am not attracted, but who still want my attention, with the men who ridiculed me, back in the day, and, most importantly, with myself.

It was a very intense week, last week.  My new friend is recovering from all the stress.  I pray for her, in that regard, and for her happiness.  I am recovering from what I now see has been a long 2 1/2 years of emotional night, with false starts, blind alleys and strange interludes.  M, I  care for you and don’t care who knows it.  I just can’t say it enough, and if I don’t see you, have a nice day and a good week.

Little over a month ago, I embarked on a heart quest, parallel to my spiritual and physical journey.  In the process of sorting out my feelings, faux pas were committed, apologies made and an important friendship was at least restored to the level of cordiality and politeness.

This morning, for the first time since the morning, in March, 2011, my wife’s soul filled our bedroom with ectoplasmic intensity and woke me with an urgency I had never felt, I was awakened by another person’s spiritual energy.  As it happens, the energy was full of gratitude, assuring me that all was better this morning, after the utter darkness that same treasured soul was expressing last night.

In only a month, I have gone, in my own emotional space, from mistaking my strong feelings for my best friend for some sort of transgenerational, quasi-romantic process, to realizing it is a far deeper and more enduring set of feelings that are at play.  Let me explain.

In the Baha’i Faith, it is recognized that there are many levels of love.  The physical, transitory set of impulses, otherwise known as lust, accompanies physical love, but really has nothing to do with what endures.  One may easily think otherwise, when the person to whom one is drawn is a very physically attractive individual, with a winsome personality. Infatuation dissipates, though, as it has for me on a few occasions over the past year.

The way it is for me now, the awareness that I have of how I feel about this person, is that there will never be a time when her feelings, her thoughts, her dreams and, yes, her own love for her own dear friend will not matter to me more than my own feelings, thoughts and dreams- about anyone or anything.  This is different for me.  I felt this, and more, for Penny, my soul mate, yet now my feelings are an odd mix of parental, fraternal and universal regard for one of the most beautiful souls I have ever known.

What you wish, my friend, may it be granted.  What you strive for, may it be achieved.  What you dream, may it come true.  There is no daylight between these, and what I would do to make them happen.  I will defend your honour, your dignity, and all that you hold dear, until the end of time.  Thanks, my friend, for just being you.

One of my dearest friends shared a TIME article, with us today, on another social network:

The Key to Happy Relationships? It’s Not All About Communication

Read more: http://healthland.time.com/2013/08/16/the-key-to-happy-relationships-its-not-all-about-communication/#ixzz2cYQTXfTF

This topic has been much on my mind, of late.  I reflect that my marriage, while not perfect by any means, was solid.  We knew, and honoured, each other’s tastes, likes and dislikes.  Our family members were ALL family.  My parents treated Penny’s family as their own, and vice versa.  She and I were committed to the idea that communication was important, but so was respect for feelings.  Talking had to be accompanied by listening, by hearing, and by taking each other’s feelings into consideration, when making decisions, as an individual and as partners in one of the most beautiful of all human institutions.

Society has cheapened the marital bond.  I’m not talking about things like open marriages, “swinging”,or even viewing of adult pornography.  Those practices, while neither necessarily nurturing of a marriage nor particularly harmful to it, are mostly honest attempts by one or both partners to make up for aspects of his/her life that were absent from adolescence or young adulthood.  No, the marital bond has been given short shrift by a general feeling that life is so transitory, that nothing matters much.  Odious terms, like “baby mama (or daddy)”, “Best Friend, with benefits”, or even “fuck buddy”, have replaced more conventional and respectful references to one’s significant other, mate, spouse, life partner.  I consider my wife, two years deceased, to be my soul mate.  I consider the person who shared this article with me, and others, to be my best friend in this world, sans “benefits”.  I’m just glad to know her and to share in her life, to the extent she sees fit.

When I am in a relationship with a woman, I try to know as much about the person as she is willing to share.  I do not pry, snoop, or stalk.  If she has a preference for certain things, I honour it, and do what I can to bring about her happiness.  The same holds true, to a lesser extent, for casual or platonic relationships.  It’s just good form, and increases goodwill between those who claim to be friends.

I hope married couples in general, and particularly those whose bond is “on the rocks”, will avail themselves of the TIME article and discuss these concepts fully, then put them into practice.  It’s always better “late” than never.

This morning, when I went to Prescott Farmers’ Market, I saw a poster for the Grand Opening of Deva Healing Center.  A young woman with a rescue dog greeted me and explained this was her center, established to help women and teens, in the manner of a sanctuary.  This has been sorely needed here, as it has elsewhere.  The mission is to help women of all ages “heal from trauma, pain, abuse and addiction through yoga, expressive arts, and therapeutic wilderness adventures.”

The Grand Opening was this evening, and I went for an hour and 15 minutes, being one of 32 people to help Bri Boertman in the launching of this most worthy effort.  While there, I received a chair massage, watched, and joined in, interpretive belly dancing.  Yes, I became the 62-year-old male belly dancer, joining five women and a little girl, in various gyrations, hip shakes  and arm waves, for one of the more interpretive of the selections.  Bri dancing in high heels was a bit painful for this everyfather to watch, but she seemed okay with it, for three minutes. Several women won raffle prizes, the group gathered for one last belly dance, in honour of the women of the world, and I headed back home, for an evening of listening to Celtic music, while those who knew each other previously, stayed around to support each others’ struggles and successes.

This will be a major focal point of what promises to be a concerted effort to help the women of Yavapai County, in raising their voices for curbing the disempowerment of their sisters, mothers, daughters and nieces.  There are a few of us men on the team, also.  We follow Bri’s lead.

Last week, I received two copies of an amazing book: “Amber, The True Story of a Courageous Young Girl”.  Yesterday, I was honoured to take the second copy down to Phoenix Children’s Hospital, and offer it to the hospital’s Family Health Library- The Emily Center.  Like Emily, Amber was a person struck down by childhood cancer.

She was the child of a friend, which made reading this book, and sharing it, all the more important for me.  It is said, quite often, that growing old is not for sissies, and I’m sure I will experience some of that, down the road a bit.  Let me say what else is not for “sissies”:  Watching someone you love waste away.  I have been there, first as a brother, then as a husband.  Yet, I can only dimly imagine being there as a parent, and how much more as a single parent.  Amber was courageous, and that courage was matched by the steely, fastidious, undying determination of one of the finest human beings I have ever known:  Her mother.

The title of this piece comes from a song by Bruce Springsteen, entitled “The Rising”.  He wrote it and offered it, in response to the September 11, 2001 attacks on New York and the Pentagon.  The children he mentions were those sent to their heavenly home that awful day.  He chooses to see them as an inspiration, not as anchors, or albatrosses.  Such are children like Emily and Amber. They move us in all sorts of directions:  Charitable fundraisers and ongoing donation programs; medical schools researching cures for such deadly plagues; prayer vigils; meal preparations for the parents and siblings keeping watch over the fighting child.  They move us, most importantly, to treasure just what is in front of us, just how fortunate we are.

Everyone’s problems are important, to them, and to those closest to them.  Everyone’s issues deserve a measure of attention, a resolution.  It is, however, no cliche to say that when the Most Important is front and center, the Important has to wait its turn.  There was, in those dark, painful, inspiring days, a decade or so ago, nothing more important in all the world than a child named Amber.  I would have been there, in spades, had I known.  Stay vigilant, stay involved, stay loving.   This world is not for sissies.