Thanksgiving Retreat
There is something about going on 'retreat' with a friend. With the kind of friend with whom words are unnecessary. A friend of the soul, like Michael. I look at him and he meets my eyes and we just smile at each other, no need to say anything, its all there, all that understanding and caring, and the calm assurance that it will always be there, that connection between us, reminding me again that I am so fortunate in my friends.
I relaxed so much in just those few days. My mind is like a muscle, always flexing. It could feel it loosening reluctantly as I pried it away from daily reality and routines, reminded of the stiffness of fingers that have been gripped too long around a steering wheel.
How lovely it was, to have nothing to worry about but the next meal and which jacket to wear on our walks. I do so love the sea air. I love watching the seagulls and the kites and the beachcombers. The way the tufts of beach grass dance and sway in the skirling wind. The scarf Stephanie brought me from Italy wrapped twice around my neck, fringe waving sinuously. Heavy leather coat, collar turned up. Arm looped through Michael's, we walked around town and along the promenade. I indulged in my habit of making up stories about the people whose houses and rooms we passed, the couples playing cards, drinking beer, watching TV. The one room with completely steamed-up windows. The beach house with the large river-rock fireplace and the dark panelling, a silvery-haired man before it, warming his hands. We walked by so many thousands of stories, and I wanted to write them all, but no sooner did they come to mind than I cast them loose and let the ideas dissipate like morning mist. I was there to relax, not think.
It was good, quiet fun. Very relaxing and enjoyable. It was stormy and rained a good deal but we played chess and read and watched movies and talked and talked. And when we watched movies he sat in front of me and I oiled up my hands and his back and rubbed him out. He's such a sponge for massages... and he purrs so nicely through them. I slept fairly well, but I travelled a lot on my queen-sized bed, trying to get comfortable. I really missed my tempurpedic, and eneded up I sleeping a couple of hours more than usual. Maybe it was the sea air, but I think it was the fact that I don't rest nearly as well on a conventional mattress as I do on my tempurpedic.
It was hard to say goodbye. A big hug to tide us over until next time, probably in the Spring, and I left him there at the security gate and walked away as swiftly as I could, my eyes blurry from tears. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, I admit... I am fortunate in my friends, but must the price for my good fortune be that those I love best live more than a day's drive away? If yes, then so be it. I'd rather have one good friend a thousand miles away than ten good-time buddies on my doorstep.
And on the way home I drove up onto Mt Scott and I watched the sun set. I watched the rain fall in dark sheets over Portland, watched the clouds part to reveal a gold-tinted sky so achingly beautiful it could have been painted by one of the Old Masters. And I thought about my relationships and the people in my life, particularly in the context of the human dilemma of loneliness and isolation. I thought about how easy it is for us to spend our lives looking for that elusive something, always holding out for what we don't quite know, and how many of us do it, day in and day out, without recognizing that we are looking for ourselves. Yes. The search for the perfect other is always a search for what we sense we lack. And the reason that we never find them is because the search goes on as long as we feel inadequate to ourselves.
Another 'yes'. There it is. Too many people hope to get from others what can only be provided by themselves. What a terrible thing this hope is. Such a great source of unhappiness. For in our conviction that there is one special someone out there who will meet all our needs, we are transformed into needy, demanding children rather than healthy adults with resources enough for ourselves and for others who might need us. What a terrible thing is the hope that keeps us living our lives as though we are half of a couple, either constantly waiting for the other half, or making do with what is out there. And what a moment of clarity it is to realize that we are each one person complete and total in ourselves, with multiple sources of supply and many people to love, and that we have only to be love, rather than to seek love, so that love grows from us and and flows from us as something to be shared, rather than hoarded, or consumed.
I think that Life, love, relationships--these are a wires in which the current runs back and forth and around, from each to each, returning via different paths and with varying amplitudes, so that each exchange, each cycle, enhances and supplies energy to all parties involved.
And this thought leads to another realization, that when we limit ourselves to one or two others outside ourselves, to one mate, to one friend, to one mentor, we form closed circuits that isolate us from others. And the fewer intimate others in our lives, the more isolate we become. Instead of forming relationships that close us off, instead of closing ourselves off in our disappointment, humans need to form relationships that open us to ourselves, relationships that help us reach outside oursleves and become more than we are. And we need more than one person in our lives. We need friends, because they are the windows through which we see the world and peer into in order to see ourselves. They are the social mirror through which we determine the worth and purpose of our lives, and if we don't have friends, we see and understand much less about ourselves and the world than we otherwise would.
It is incomplete, this thought-process, but there it is. Not bad for a weekend's contemplation. And at the close of this long weekend I have pondered what I am grateful for, and of course, I am most thankful for my friends. They enrich my life. They provide me with so many sources of love, with so many reasons to continue living and learning and growing.
I can only hope that I do the same for them.
I relaxed so much in just those few days. My mind is like a muscle, always flexing. It could feel it loosening reluctantly as I pried it away from daily reality and routines, reminded of the stiffness of fingers that have been gripped too long around a steering wheel.
How lovely it was, to have nothing to worry about but the next meal and which jacket to wear on our walks. I do so love the sea air. I love watching the seagulls and the kites and the beachcombers. The way the tufts of beach grass dance and sway in the skirling wind. The scarf Stephanie brought me from Italy wrapped twice around my neck, fringe waving sinuously. Heavy leather coat, collar turned up. Arm looped through Michael's, we walked around town and along the promenade. I indulged in my habit of making up stories about the people whose houses and rooms we passed, the couples playing cards, drinking beer, watching TV. The one room with completely steamed-up windows. The beach house with the large river-rock fireplace and the dark panelling, a silvery-haired man before it, warming his hands. We walked by so many thousands of stories, and I wanted to write them all, but no sooner did they come to mind than I cast them loose and let the ideas dissipate like morning mist. I was there to relax, not think.
It was good, quiet fun. Very relaxing and enjoyable. It was stormy and rained a good deal but we played chess and read and watched movies and talked and talked. And when we watched movies he sat in front of me and I oiled up my hands and his back and rubbed him out. He's such a sponge for massages... and he purrs so nicely through them. I slept fairly well, but I travelled a lot on my queen-sized bed, trying to get comfortable. I really missed my tempurpedic, and eneded up I sleeping a couple of hours more than usual. Maybe it was the sea air, but I think it was the fact that I don't rest nearly as well on a conventional mattress as I do on my tempurpedic.
It was hard to say goodbye. A big hug to tide us over until next time, probably in the Spring, and I left him there at the security gate and walked away as swiftly as I could, my eyes blurry from tears. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, I admit... I am fortunate in my friends, but must the price for my good fortune be that those I love best live more than a day's drive away? If yes, then so be it. I'd rather have one good friend a thousand miles away than ten good-time buddies on my doorstep.
And on the way home I drove up onto Mt Scott and I watched the sun set. I watched the rain fall in dark sheets over Portland, watched the clouds part to reveal a gold-tinted sky so achingly beautiful it could have been painted by one of the Old Masters. And I thought about my relationships and the people in my life, particularly in the context of the human dilemma of loneliness and isolation. I thought about how easy it is for us to spend our lives looking for that elusive something, always holding out for what we don't quite know, and how many of us do it, day in and day out, without recognizing that we are looking for ourselves. Yes. The search for the perfect other is always a search for what we sense we lack. And the reason that we never find them is because the search goes on as long as we feel inadequate to ourselves.
Another 'yes'. There it is. Too many people hope to get from others what can only be provided by themselves. What a terrible thing this hope is. Such a great source of unhappiness. For in our conviction that there is one special someone out there who will meet all our needs, we are transformed into needy, demanding children rather than healthy adults with resources enough for ourselves and for others who might need us. What a terrible thing is the hope that keeps us living our lives as though we are half of a couple, either constantly waiting for the other half, or making do with what is out there. And what a moment of clarity it is to realize that we are each one person complete and total in ourselves, with multiple sources of supply and many people to love, and that we have only to be love, rather than to seek love, so that love grows from us and and flows from us as something to be shared, rather than hoarded, or consumed.
I think that Life, love, relationships--these are a wires in which the current runs back and forth and around, from each to each, returning via different paths and with varying amplitudes, so that each exchange, each cycle, enhances and supplies energy to all parties involved.
And this thought leads to another realization, that when we limit ourselves to one or two others outside ourselves, to one mate, to one friend, to one mentor, we form closed circuits that isolate us from others. And the fewer intimate others in our lives, the more isolate we become. Instead of forming relationships that close us off, instead of closing ourselves off in our disappointment, humans need to form relationships that open us to ourselves, relationships that help us reach outside oursleves and become more than we are. And we need more than one person in our lives. We need friends, because they are the windows through which we see the world and peer into in order to see ourselves. They are the social mirror through which we determine the worth and purpose of our lives, and if we don't have friends, we see and understand much less about ourselves and the world than we otherwise would.
It is incomplete, this thought-process, but there it is. Not bad for a weekend's contemplation. And at the close of this long weekend I have pondered what I am grateful for, and of course, I am most thankful for my friends. They enrich my life. They provide me with so many sources of love, with so many reasons to continue living and learning and growing.
I can only hope that I do the same for them.
posted by KR | 11/27/2005 12:07:00 AM
1 Comments:
Enjoyed reading it. It captured your spirits and the overall relaxed atomsphere of your Thanksgiving retreat. Thanks for sending me the link to the full set of photographs.
Warmest regards.
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