Drift Away

I was in the shower, getting cleaned-up after my workout, when I heard music drifting in from the computer. Even though I’ve heard the song that was playing, many times, I was transported. The music carried me away, to a time (35 years ago) that changed my life. It was a moment that was a precursor for what is now coming into my life. At that second I knew I had to write about this experience. I didn’t know why. I still don’t. I just know that writing about it will reveal what I need to know, and convey something, about the benefit of being in the past, thanks to the music, while being in the present.

The song was “Drift Away” be Dobie Gray.  I’ve always enjoyed it, so much that I found a way to include it in a playlist of songs I workout to. In the shower I remembered the day when I first heard this song. The music carried me back to that moment.

It was Sunday morning. I was a ranger then, and I had responsibility for opening and admitting people, to this beautiful 4000 acre park, that I lived in. It was a quiet morning, being Sunday, and late in the season (probably late October), and the few people who might come, would not arrive for many hours. For entertainment, I turned on the FM radio to my favorite station. There I heard, for the first time, Dobie Gray singing “Drift Away.”

I didn’t know then, what I know now, but I don’t think I could have been more surprised, in either timeframe, by what happened next. In the past I heard the radio station play this same song, “Drift Away,” over and over again. This happened all morning. Strangely, I felt compelled to listen. Over and over I heard the band play “rock and roll,” and felt the music “soothe my soul” until “I drift[ed] away.”

Did a disgruntled employee do it? Did someone fail to show up at work? Was this some form of experiment, art project, breakdown, moment of genius, stoned forgetfulness, or just plain outright neglect? I never found out. I never knew why — to this day. I only know that in the midst of whatever this was, I felt more awake, aware and alive than usual. I went about my day, as if in a dream, startled into some other-worldly form of wakefulness, because I was mesmerized and had no idea what was going on. In some crazy fashion I drifted away.

The mystery of that moment, where some spontaneous strangeness broke through my routine, carried me away. That moment ended, or did it? Thirty-five years later I am struck again, carried away by the music combined with memory, and find my soul drifting into a landscape that is familiar for lacking any kind of recognizable landmark.

What I didn’t know then liberated me. I woke-up to a world that that didn’t operate in any way that made sense to me. That jarred me, and stirred me from sleep. Showering, trying to rid myself of the old stinky, unclean, detritus of living I am again awakened, drifting close to a freshness that is also life. The music is again transporting me.

I’ve been interrupted. Something is reminding me that I really don’t know this place, that I am truly a visitor to this world, that the moment is full of surprises, that I can be, and am, swept along by forces I don’t even recognize. “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing or rightdoing,” Rumi says, “is a field. I’ll meet you there.” My experience in the shower, between the past and the present, carried away by familiar music and the unexpected memory, is that the field is not somewhere else, that needs to be gotten too, but right here.

The mystery is right behind everything I think I recognize. I keep looking and think I’m seeing what I have seen before. I see what I know and I am blind, seeing the world I have made up, the world I’ve inherited, that all about me agree upon, and I am participating in a massive trance, a collective blindness.

For some reason anonymity appeals to me now. I have this idea, certainly it is true about me, that people (myself included) have grown so jaded, that no good idea, insight, or revelation can be trusted if it comes from an identifiable man or woman. Everyone seems to have an agenda, everyone seems to want to profit, or everyone seems susceptible to being turned to someone else’s purposes. Because this seems so, I find myself distrusting human motive.

I have an idea this relates to Drift[ing] Away,” but I’m not sure how. Maybe the fact that such aliveness was generated in me, by what came out of nowhere, at no cost, has awakened in me the old giving impulse. I just have the feeling that my happiness, and the happiness of others, resides somewhere near-by, and it is a gift we give each other, by letting the world we know how to make use of, drift away.

l/d

*    *   *    *   *   *    *   *    *   *   *    *   *    *   *   *    *   *    *   *   *    *   *    *   *

I have also created a blog for the elder’s salon, which has some good pieces in it (including mine). See it at elderssalon.blogspot.com

See also thslowlane.blogspot.com (note the misspelling).

I have also added a link. I don’t usually recommend websites but I have long felt that we (society) needed a vision of a future worth having and this short film points in that direction, Check it out http://www.ted.com/talks/nic_marks_the_happy_planet_index.html?utm_source=newsletter_weekly_2010-08-31&utm_campaign=newsletter_weekly&utm_medium=email

Solitude

 

“To speak again of solitude, it becomes ever clearer that the truth is that there is nothing there that we can choose or avoid. We are solitary. We can delude ourselves an act as if this were not so. That is all we can do.  How much better to realize from the start that that is what we are, and to proceed from there.”  — Rainer Marie Rilke

I am returning to solitude like the salmon returning to the headwaters, to die and to reproduce. I am coming to appreciate the Absolute that lies within, like the silent, hardly moving times, when I am finally with my self. All is quiet, or in turmoil, and yet there is one, which I have at last come to know, who is unscathed. I am solitude. It isn’t something I have, or that has me. It is my life unfolding with change, and it is life being constant. I am nourished into being, and what I have called me, has never actually existed. Solitude is my being, it is the home I cannot leave, not a prison, but a platform where a new train is always arriving.

I feel compelled to write again about solitude, because it keeps changing me, and my relationship with this existence.

I started out wondering how I might turn my loneliness into solitude? I was suffering the corrosiveness of a life alone, without a partner, feeling exiled within this life, amongst a life filled with people. I was a social animal suffering a painful form of social phantom limb syndrome. Where are my people? I must be some kind of outcast. What is wrong with me? All I knew was a deep, pervasive sense that I was in some way painfully unfit. The days and nights of this loneliness were long, uncertain and empty. I hurt continuously, and I kept going, a zombie pretending to be alive.

Gradually, I had moments of solitude, moments that calmed me down, and stripped me bare. I was the one at the center of it all, and I couldn’t bear it. Solitude introduced me to myself. I didn’t like me, and so I couldn’t really appreciate solitude. It was much better for me to feel lonely, and to lament my condition, to long for others, than to take any responsibility for the sickly, broken, malnourished one I met when I was solitudinal. Loneliness was the price I paid for the desire to escape myself. I paid, I can’t say happily, but surely.

Loneliness became bearable, a friend really, it saved me from the unbearable. I pretended the one I met, the one at the center, wasn’t me. I was smart, I could hide well, in plain sight often, disguised as one who knew, who went within. I was crafty, converting my dreaded glimpses into passing insight, looking like a deep person when I was actually treading water in the shallow end of the pool. I got away with it. Sort of. Too few had gone deeply within, so I looked good, but someone within knew the difference, and I grew more fearful that my fraudulence would show. I could see that I was an empty shirt, I despaired that others would too. The fact that they often didn’t, or refused to engage with me, and my fraudulence, deepened my despair.

I was alone anyway. No amount of relationship, family, community, or busy-ness changed that. Finally, I could bear the anxious effort, the pseudo-connections, no more. I collapsed. I could have killed myself, so deep was my despair, so determined my refusal to take any responsibility for my condition, the malnourished one within. I could be cruel, to myself, and others, but I lacked the courage to kill myself. Maybe it was luck, or grace, but whatever the case, I gave in to my aloneness. I think the stroke; disability, the long time on the threshold of death, all aided me. For at last I came to my senses. I came to face the one within.

Death isn’t so bad. There is a solving relief that accompanies the terminal phase. There isn’t any more that can be done, a kind of justice abides with being finished. But facing the privilege of going on, and knowing your self a fraud, even (maybe especially) a good one, is a truly fearsome thing. A second chance is an awesome gift, but then again, it is only worth it, if you face what you refused to face the first time.  Solitude, once it is admitted, is populated by the self-made demons of self-doubt that one accumulates in a lifetime. For long lonely hours I sat vigil with a man who had come to believe in his fears.

Solitude saves me, daily, hourly, even now as I write this. I know that whatever I am, I am, because I let the mystery of my being, the mystery of all being, come to me in solitude. Now, I know, that my writing, loving, compassion, life itself, all rely on my willingness to come to these headwaters. I am nourished by being what I am, a solitudinal mystery, afoot in life, true to the mystery of my origins.

The words of Rilke (above) live in me now, not as a profound quote to be remembered, but as true description of a necessary condition of this life. I am as free as I am, and that means I am free to be me, whatever that may be, because I am solitude rolling through this world, world rolling solitudinally through this life. 

l/d

Sourcing The Depths

She said, “ a spring.” I said, ”yes, perhaps that’s it.” We were trying to think of a metaphor, a symbol, for what we could imagine emerging in the elder’s group. There is a sense of something stirring, a latency that is finding a slow, steady kind of expression, or life, through our interactions, just being together. We were guessing about what it is, trying to find a way to relate to it, like it was some kind of alien child that we were discovering in our midst. The truth is that we, the elder’s group, are sailing into uncharted waters.

So far we have not gone very deep with each other. Perhaps we won’t. The unknown hangs over us, like an enveloping shroud. We know we have a chance. Will we go there ourselves? Will lightening strike someone with such a force of necessity, that it sparks all, like kindling into a bond fire of connection, mutual regard, a quivering mass of humans? Or, maybe we will just walk away, knowing another fearful opportunity we missed, or let go of. The tension is growing, as excitement about the possibility, and as anxiety about the risk.

Can we as elders go further? That remains to be seen. The possibility is, in part, why we meet. I know I attend because I want to feel less isolated, I want to be supported, to share my unimaginable losses, to celebrate the part of me, the part of each one, that endures, that finds the humor, creativity, and spirit as things are going, be they ripped away, or given up. I am a social being, I find meaning and good companions make the way more bearable, available, and lively. All of this I know. What I don’t know, and what compels me to show up in the elder’s circle, is the presence of some wisdom, some unknown knowing that comes from Spirit, as grace, from the depths, from souls touching.

This has provoked in me an inchoate longing, for community, depth, surprise, and continuous wonder. I feel its presence. I also know that I have been called here because this is a place where the awesomeness that binds us to each other, to life, to this place we call Earth, is becoming palpable. Is this elder wisdom? I don’t think so. But, I think that the ability to perceive the signs is. Awesomeness doesn’t belong to us anyway. If anything, maybe our years, losses, shaved expectations, and familiarity with death, makes us riper, but the truth is that we belong to it. I am powerless in this circle, I can speak my heart, unveil my on-going vulnerability, surrender into silence, and I can’t make it happen.

I know, that to even have a chance, I need these others. I’ve learned that much. I alone, cannot host, or even call, this being into the moment. I don’t know, if even we can. I just know that we have a chance, and that alone seems like a precious miracle to me. I’ve been wracking my brain, my imagination, my memories, my savvy, for some idea about how to bring this, I don’t know what, to fruition. And all that I know says, “I don’t know.” That is the unsatisfying truth.

What waits seems so beguiling, so enlivening, so deadly with peace and deep relaxation, like a bath, drowning perhaps, in a warm and embracing sea. I am alive with longing for it, and deeply ashamed because I know my own expectations render it less likely. That is why the spring seemed like such a good metaphor to me. Fresh water from the mysterious depths — —  that sounds like the gurgling I hear, and sense, amongst us.

I know I don’t make a spring happen. If I am lucky, and I am Lucky, then I notice, and I do my best to remember where, and how I found it. This has happened enough in my life that I know it can, I even know the signs, but I also know it doesn’t happen because I want it to. The mystery in the depths is inscrutable. There are times when I can appreciate that. I know I tend toward suspecting all human-made ideas, interventions, technologies, ways. We humans seem to constantly miss the big picture, and create things we rapidly turn into their opposites. But, I’m just human enough to feel exasperated, humble, foolish and vainglorious about the fact that I have no control.

So I’m sitting here thinking about how I want something fresh to spring into my life; something that I cannot control, that I have to be willing to lay all of myself out for, that requires me to be with others as they do the same, something that may still not come to pass. I want this possibility, and I don’t want it. I’m tired. Maybe tired enough to be an elder. I don’t know if my heart can stand another disappointment. On the other hand, I don’t know if my heart can stand holding back, not trying, not being exposed and naked.

What waits, I trust, I don’t know why, I have good reason to look elsewhere, and yet here I am. I don’t think it is because of me, there is nothing special in my being, except maybe, this foolish longing, that hopes for the miracle to come, like a spring, or some other manifestation of deeply mysterious origins.

Neuroplasticity (Part I)

I’ve been brain-damaged for almost seven years now. So, I have been following very closely the research on neuroplasticity and stem cells. I have a friend who had her stroke in the Himalyis, while she was visiting her Tibetan spiritual teacher. It was three weeks before she reached the hospital in New Delhi, and 3 years before she learned to talk again. She is an expert on brain plasticity having recovered her speech, walking again, and recovering some use of her arm. She has taught me about the potential that has recently been discovered. This missive is not so much about that, however. I write because of another aspect of the research into neuroplasticity that concerns me.

I have watched us, humankind, respond to the shift of awareness from a (once thought) static and unchanging brain, to one that changes and can be engineered. What concerns me is the attitude we seem to be adopting. The brain has been plastic for a long time, to nature’s specifications, and we have just discovered this fact, and are busily trying to change our brain function without much awareness of why we may have this marvelous capability in the first place.

Recently, developmental scientists have shown that there are multiple stages of adult development, that human adults grow and change over time. We, as a species, have been endowed with a lot of potential that we have yet to actualize. Since these stages represent real changes in mental outlook, capabilities, worldview and freedom of choice, they also represent (this assumption has been untested thus far) changes in our brain function. The current research has focused some on early childhood development and how awareness of the plasticity of the brain can be used to treat early brain deficits or accidents. At this point, no one is looking at what nature seems to have intended by designing us this way. Knowing that we were designed by nature, over a billion years or so, I have some concern that we may be acting with a great deal of hubris. I think we should pay attention to what nature intended, and designed for, before we act like this is a new, never before discovered phenomenon, that can, and should, be applied to all manner of human difficulties.

Understanding the changeability of the brain is a real breakthrough in our understanding. We are liberated, understanding our own nature, our own potential much better. We are poised on the threshold of a new era. My concern is that we might act on this new knowledge without understanding the natural context in which it evolved. Time and again I have seen the consequences of these kind of actions. It is not only time to be excited, but to consider what is really important. Before we make economic and scientific assumptions about this capability, we should consider how our very own potential may be effected.

In the meantime, this awareness, that the brain is flexible and responds to its environment, is leading to some interesting new thought. With the demographics of our population shifting toward the aged, there is more concern going into how to maintain the vitality, health and productivity of the elderly. This has prompted some focus upon ageing brains, and has led to some innovative ideas about protecting, and improving, brain functioning in elders. Below is one set of findings for preserving, and extending, good brain function in seniors.

A Chicago Tribune article a couple of days ago, titled Seniors see improvement in brain-training classes, includes

0.“Over the next few years, we will see these [brain health] programs burst into the mainstream with great force,” predicted Dr. Elkhonon Goldberg, a clinical professor of neurology at New York University School of Medicine and co-founder of Sharp Brains, a company that evaluates and helps markets brain fitness programs. A growing body of scientific studies supports the trend.”

0.“The major finding was stunning: Relatively short training regimens — 10 sessions of 1 to 1.5 hours each over five or six weeks — improved mental functioning as long as five years later. Booster sessions helped advance these gains, and some people found it easier to perform everyday tasks, such as managing finances, after mental workouts.”

0.“I think what this shows, conclusively, is that when healthy older people put effort into learning new things, they can improve their mental fitness,” said Michael Marsiske, a member of the research team and an associate professor at the University of Florida at Gainesville. “And even if structured learning is relatively brief, you should be able to see the benefits of that learning for some time to come.”

0.Not all training is alike, however. In the ACTIVE study, each form of mental training (for memory, speed or reasoning) affected only the function targeted without crossing over into other realms. Training results were strongest for speed of mental processing and weakest for memory.

0.“What this tells us is that specific brain functions may need different types of training,” said Dr. Jeffrey Elias, chief of the cognitive-aging program at the National Institute on Aging, which helped fund the ACTIVE study.

0.“With that in mind, researchers probably will design comprehensive programs with multiple types of training to forestall age-related mental decline, Elias predicted.”

My hope is that you will find the way to maximize your potential, without compromising the potential nature endowed you with.

l/d

Neuroplasticity (Part II)

  

As you know I have some concerns about how the new found capacity of the human brain is being thought about, and used. We are in a new brain-changing era. The public relations people, the advertising agencies, and the corporate world, are all poising to capitalize on the amazing capacity of the human brain to change with its environment. I can predict a not too distant future where there will be intense social pressure to be actively enhancing your brain function. It seems likely, with the flexibility of the brain, and new brain measuring capabilities, that we may be able to modify our brain function. The concern I have is that we might not do so wisely. Here is why I think that way.

The human brain has been plastic for a long time. Do you know why? The short answer, and it is correct as far as it goes, is because it gave our species a competitive advantage. Basically, we were made the fittest by this development. But, that isn’t a very deep, or informative reason. No one really knows why. Researchers, as far as I can tell, are not really looking into that. Instead they are being funded to find applications for this new knowledge. This poses the prospect that we, as a species, could gain some control over our own brain development, and accidentally override the real reasons nature endowed us with this quality.

Consider the social dimension of our development. There is some evidence that the human brain developed as it did because we are a social species. Language, culture, art, and community all co-evolved with our plastic brains. We may have established the scientific capacity to provide evidence that we can improve memory, speed-up cognitive function and make the brain function more efficiently, but we don’t know how to measure, and show, if our brains are gaining the capacity for cooperation, social coordination, and compassion. In fact messing with one might mean messing with the other.

I come down in the camp, where it seems to me, that what is vitally important to the well-being of our species is that we preserve our ability to care for each other. I worry about us gaining this ability, to engineer the brain, in a culture that is so oriented toward individuality, that sees human potential in those same terms, and easily overlooks the social nature of who we are. Brain-change might just mean reinforcing these tendencies, the emphasis on individuality, at the expense of the social glue that gives us such incredible potential.

For instance, as I reviewed the body of public literature describing research into brain plasticity, I found no research addressing the social aspects of brain functioning. I found this despite Dan Goleman’s well-documented book on the social nature of the brain, despite neuro-scientists pointing out that the human brain develops best under conditions of  synchrony with other brains, and even despite recent research that shows that human life is extended, with better quality, when people are more socially connected. The field is primarily interested in how individuals can change their brains.

This isn’t the end-all, or be-all, of brain research. There are a small minority of researchers, and practitioners, who are interested in how relationships effect brain development. There are some limited findings that show that human beings grow, in wisdom, consciousness,  and social capacity through neuroplastic events. There are conditions that accompany and increase the probability of these kind of neuroplastic events. They happen primarily through intimate activities. Imagine that, intimacy promotes brain development! Below you will find some of the conditions that make this possible.

• a strong and resilient collaborative (mutually attuned) alliance

• moderate levels of stress and emotional arousal (interpersonal tension), alternating with calm

• intense and profound intersubjective moments of meeting

• information and experience gathered across multiple dimensions of cognition, emotion, sensations, and behaviors.

• activating brain neural networks involved in processing and regulating thoughts, feelings, sensations, and behavior

• new conceptual knowledge integrating emotional and bodily experience

• organizing experiences in ways that foster continued growth and integration.

                 (from Intimacy and Desire by David Schnarch, Ph.D. pg.289, (parentheses are mine)

It is my contention that all forms of intimacy promote the growth of the social dimension of our brains. This includes the very difficult forms of public intimacy, being real, that can occur in community situations. When this aspect of who we are, as a species, is ignored (because it seems too difficult) then we deprive each other of what is needed to create neuroplastic events that enhance our brains and feed our social capabilities. I believe we have an as yet unexplored social potential, that I would hate to see reduced, by too great an emphasis upon the potential of our individual brains.

l/d

Handling What Cannot Be Handled

I awoke the other morning with a poignant clarity. For a moment, I don’t know how long it lasted, I knew why I was alive, what I’m doing here, how to proceed, and what I had chosen to be up against. During that blessed moment I thought of something I want to use this forum to explore.  I knew that when I felt most alive, absorbed, and meaningfully engaged, was when I was trying to handle what I could not handle. In other words, when I was overwhelmed by what I faced, I was more than I usually was.  This method of engagement, has not been the way I have wanted to live, but strangely enough, it has been when I am most alive. What follows is my intrigued inquiry into this phenomenon.

To be clear, what I am interested in, is the fact that the things that have made me feel incompetent, over my head, defeated, have drawn out of me competencies, awareness, and the discovery of new life. How can this be? This is entirely counter-intuitive. It is also just the opposite of what makes me a good, predictable, reliable, commercial entity. Through some kind of paradox the very thing that renders me capable, is the same thing that makes me feel incompetent!

I am realizing at an advanced age, almost too late (and it fills me with regret), that what really enlivens me, isn’t necessarily what I have chosen, but what has come along, chosen, and overwhelmed me. I have grown, been stretched more, not by the challenges I have taken on, but by the inescapable challenges that have made me cringe, shake, and feel uncertain. These moments, which I would have largely chosen to avoid, have been my greatest benefactors.

This is a scary realization. Whereas I thought I was choosing to grow myself, like a good, responsible seeker, instead I’m finding that I have actually preferred to take on what I thought I could handle, to consolidate and comfort myself, to feel some mastery, rather than feel the vulnerability of real growth. This realization is, for me, one that generates a complex reaction. I am amazed by the recognition that despite my preferences I have been met by the challenges that have grown me. Something is helping me! At the same moment I realize that I am being helped without my explicit consent. I am suffering from such help! I wonder am I handling my life or is this life handling me?

I don’t know the answer to such questions. I only know that had I the capacity to refuse, I might very well have avoided the very things that made me what I am. Left to myself, I might not be myself.  I thank God I wasn’t left to myself, or do I? I tell myself I like to stretch. But, do I like to be stretched? Am I free to exercise volition or not? Would I be, who I would like to believe I am, without going through some things I wouldn’t have chosen, some things, notably hardships, that have shaped me? The truth I am coming to, is that I am only partly mine, that I am defined as much by the difficulties that have shaped me, as I am of some shape I have chosen.

Why is this important to me? Life seems to be serving up just the hardships I need to grow. Isn’t that awareness enough? No, not really. My tendency to avoid what seems too hard, threatens my growth and development. There isn’t alignment between what grows me and my own proclivities. That seems to me to be a recipe for the worst kind of suffering. And, it makes growth look like being victimized. I want to at least be the co-captain of my own ship.

If that is the truth, if I want to exercise some real responsibility for my life, then I have got to develop a different attitude. Instead of avoiding what is hard, thinking something is wrong, I have got to lean into what is difficult, and be glad to be thus challenged. To go beyond myself, I’ve got to greet what reveals my incompetence and carries me beyond myself. Developing this attitude almost seems un-American. It doesn’t look like pursuing happiness. Or, does it? Real happiness and security, it now seems to me, lies in knowing I can do the difficult and grow and be more.

With this understanding, I recall a poem by Rilke, where he draws upon an Old Testament image of a prophet wrestling with an angel. In it he states, “This is the way he grows, by being defeated by bigger and bigger angels.” I’ve read that line and understood it to be about growth but I’ve never focused so much attention upon being defeated. Taking on what is bigger, and being ultimately defeated by it, won’t get me on the news, but apparently it will grow me. Handling what I cannot handle introduces me to a new me. How amazing!

There is one more thing. Life is a gift. This isn’t my life. It is one of the bigger angels. It kicks my ass around the block, corners me, pierces my heart, breaks me down, disables me, and keeps teaching me. It is, in Ram Das’s words,  “fierce grace.” I am being grown, despite myself. As Rilke said, ”What we fight with is so small (meaning my pedestrian human concerns). What fights with us is so big (meaning the angel that delivers me).” I cannot handle what holds me here. I have learned this much. I am a child of God, and like Jesus, I will be put to death, because I have been blessed by Life, an angel sent to shape me. Knowing this much, even as I am being reduced/enlarged, makes me Lucky. 

l/d

A Personal Terror

This report from the Slow Lane is kind of a joke, a bad joke. You see, it is about the fast lane, being trapped there, about feeling helpless. This is the story.

Just last week I was traveling home from work, in my car, on the freeway. I came to a place where the freeway narrowed to two lanes. Trucks were in the slow lane. So I moved over, into the fast lane, to pass the slowest traffic. Ahead there had been an accident. I didn’t know that. Soon traffic slowed to stop and go. The woman behind me noticed too late, and she rear-ended me.

I was stuck in the fast lane of the freeway, unable to move, in a disabled and damaged car (the rear of my car, I later learned, had been smashed into my back tires rendering them immovable), for a least a half hour. I sat in the damaged car, alone, unable to move myself, or the car, while other cars sped by me on the left (the accident occurred where there was a left turn lane) and the right. I became increasingly frightened.

As I sat in my car I felt deeply helpless. Cars sped past. I felt like I could be hit again. I didn’t know if my emergency blinkers worked, or could be seen behind me. I smelled chemical smells. I worried that the car might catch fire. I couldn’t go anywhere, my wheelchair, even if it was accessible (which it wasn’t) was out of the question. Getting out of the car, trying to get in my wheel chair, and wheeling across the freeway, would have been the most dangerous thing I could do. I just sat and waited, in danger, afraid, helpless, and felt my own vulnerability.

I was caught in the fast lane, the irony didn’t escape me, waiting, wondering if this was the end, watching others speed past. When the CHP arrived (she did call them) I was almost incoherent. He, the CHP officer, got me, and my car, off the freeway (by pushing my car). I was an emotional wreck, an incoherent, disabled, brain-damaged man; he wanted as little to do with me as possible. After making sure I was physically alright, he went to hang out with the woman and her child. He assured me he had called a tow truck, and then went away. She, at least apologized, gave me her pertinent information, and inquired about my well-being.

Later, after I was home, during the night, I awakened, afraid, and the tears came. I’m not the kind of man who tries to stop them. I’m crazier than that. Instead I felt my own terror, the helplessness that is my life, the quickness with which it could all change, and the pervasive sense of aloneness that accompanies it all. I was bereft, in the darkness, alone, uncertain, ambivalently and miraculously alive.

Now perhaps this is part of my particular delusion. But, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I had some strange feeling that what happened to me was happening to us all. Maybe I’m narcissistic, deluded, crazy, and too enamored of my special-ness. But the reason I feel compelled to write about this horrible experience, is because I have the feeling that you too are stuck, unmoving, endangered, in the fast lane. I don’t know how this could be true, I just have this terrible feeling it is.

The fast lane is a deadly place. We all have to go there from time to time. I wonder. Is this a necessity, do we inhabit it wisely, just for convenience, because it is there, at the speed of the economy, our own obsessions, the hubris of our own kind, and of course, is this really progress? So many of these questions I feel helpless behind, un-American to ask, a luddite, an elderly curmudgeon, and maybe I am. But, feeling helpless, trapped and disabled, a statistic in the making, leaves me shaking, and wondering about the de-humanization we have given over to, at the hands of massification, our excuse for development.

I lay awake in the night feeling like I am part of the wilderness that had just discovered a trap. I thought I knew what to be afraid of, what to avoid. But now, I had been captured by something else; something placed right here in my way. I am screaming, not so much in pain or fear, but with indignity and warning. Life has made room for the fast lane, but are we really ready for it?  Am I? I don’t know, I sleep walk into it just as easily as anyone, but for a terrifying time, I could feel the real consequence of this choice, and it arouses the question in me, is this the human I want to be? 

l/d

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

I need your help. I’m starting a blog. This is an attempt to reach out, to put the Slow Lane out there more. I’m turning into a writer, now I could use an audience.  I’m going too keep sending these missives, these messages in a bottle, to you via email as long as I can, but I’m going to start a blog too. This will allow others to be touched, me to archive these pieces, and hopefully more interactions. Will you check it out, refer others to it (if you think it is valuable) and generally wish me well and support this endeavor. See my words at www.lucky-theslowlane