This is a copy of my diary from Freeopendiary.com (Formerly called Opendiary.com) I stopped writing in the diary for so long I forgot the password so I can't update it anymore. Thankfully, I downloaded the entire diary before I forgot the password! I have decided to put this on this site mainly so my friends and others can read a little more about my life, the development of my ideas etc.

It is a rare person who can be productive while waiting confidently for love.
(Quote adapted from unknown author)

September 2000

Watching people for five years - 9/16/2000

For the past 5 years I have mostly lived, worked, traveled and vacationed
alone. During this time I have observed hundreds or thousands of people from
around the world. I have sat next to women in restaurants who reach out and
hit their child for playing with a spoon. I have seen parents verbally and
emotionally abuse their children on beaches and in parks around the world.
I have listened carefully to their words, I have watched their faces, and the
reactions of the children.

I have sometimes had to get up and leave because I couldn't stand the pain
of watching anymore abuse. Other times I have felt the pain of years of
broken relationships, lost love and unmet needs as I saw people holding hands
on the beach while I sat alone, staring out at the sunset as my only source
of comfort.

I often felt alienated, envious and invisible. But while I experienced what was
at times almost unbearable emotional pain during these past five years, I also
had a rare opportunity to study human nature.

Initially, it wasn't my intent per se to make a formal study of the human
species. Rather, I have simply always been interested in watching people. For
example, when I was in college I would sit for hours in the cafeteria or
student union and watch the people going by. After college, I can remember
sitting in nightclubs all evening, watching people. Now, whenever I go to a
restaurant or a lecture, I choose a seat which permits me the best view of the
entire room.

Being alone has given me this rare chance to observe without interruption. It
has given me ample time to think about what I am observing. Instead of
talking to a friend over dinner or at the beach, for example, I observed.
Beginning in June of 1994 I kept a journal in my portable computer. Virtually
everywhere I went, I kept my eyes and ears open, and I entered notes either
immediately or later. I now have I now have over 2,000 pages of journal notes.
I have thought of trying to formally review these notes but so far the task
has proven to be overwhelming.

I am hoping that soon I will be able to have international travellers or other
people help me with this work. I have joined an association called WWOOFing
which stands for Willing Workers On Organic Farms. I don't have an organic
farm but I have some land in Canada and Australia were I am setting up
something like a nature retreat for international backpackers. In the program
the backpackers do a few hours work each day in exchange for food and
lodging.

Usually it is farm work, but I will have them help me with things like
organizing my journal entries. I want to sort them into categories like,
parenting, education, emotions, belief systems/religions, etc. These are my
areas of interest and what I will probably write about in OD.

First impressions of OD - 9/16/2000

I have good feelings about this site. People here have already written to me
and helped me feel encouraged and accepted. And even Nikki wrote me and
asked me for my opinion of her diary, which helps me feel valued.

I have seen over and over again that people are generally supportive of each
other here. They leave little notes to acknowledge people, to show some
empathy and compassion for them.

I don't see much profanity or much display of bitterness which I see in a lot
of community type sites. The profanity I do see is mostly by teenagers who
are trying so hard to express all their strong emotions. I don't fault them at
all for using the f word, for example.

I would like to help them find other ways of expressing themselves with the
feeling words, for example. But any form of expression is a good start.

I feel encouraged that there is this forum. I checked how many members there
are in different age groups and I see that there are huge numbers in the
early teen categories (and I didn't even look at the separate Teen Diary
section)

So this tells me there is an enormous need for young people to express
themselves, to feel heard, to feel accepted, to feel understood and cared
about. I feel encouraged that this site is providing that opportunity for so
many people.

I love reading the pages of the teens. They are so full of life and emotion.
The only thing which I felt a little troubled by was how many people were
using the word "should." In other words they were leaving notes saying "You
should do so and so." Likewise many people open ask for advice, which also
concerns me.

To all the young people who might read this, I encourage you to practice
looking within yourself, learning to ask yourself how you will feel if you
choose one path over another. Develop your "inner compass" -- listen to your
inner voice. The external voices are loud and constant. And if you are living
with your parents you have their voice of authority looming large over you.
But still, I encourage you to learn to trust your own feelings. I believe it is
possible to respect another person's feelings, yet still follow your own way
through life.

By the way, if any teens want to share some of their stories, feelings etc.
with my web page readers, just let me know. I have a lot of parents and
teachers looking at my site because emotional intelligence happens to be a
pretty popular term these days.

So it is kind of my chance, maybe my best chance to do something helpful for
the world.

Thanks for reading and for your notes.

Steve

At the barbers - 9/19/2000

.... from my journal around October of 1999....

At barbers yesterday:

Mother and barber were invalidating a child. Telling him "don't be scared, it
doesn't hurt."

Boy: Yes it does!

Mother: No it doesn't, you are fibbing, stop telling tales.

The more they invalidated him, the more he protested. She held his head in
place while she invalidated him and kept ordering to sit still. The barber tried
to distract him and talk him out of his feelings. They said he was going to
look handsome, like a big boy, etc. They sounded so fake, so phoney.

I wondered what people said to me when they forced me to get my haircut.
I remember I protested loudly also. But I don't remember how they forced or
manipulated me.
I wish I would have started standing on my own much sooner in life. I wish
I would have realized how I was manipulated and controlled and forced to
conform.

I said to the boy, "I didn't like it the first few times I got my hair cut
either." He looked up at me, startled, but we connected. I smiled
compassionately. He felt understood for a brief moment.

Then the mother started to defend her self, "But this isn't his first time, he
shouldn't be afraid anymore..."
I said, "It still feels a little funny to me when I am getting it cut now."

The two barbers looked stunned. Perhaps they had never seen anything like
this, perhaps they had never thought of showing understanding or of
validating a child. Probably they have never heard of the word validation or
invalidation.

Maybe one day it will be taught in schools. Till then, millions of children will
suffer the same pain that this young boy, who reminded me so much of
myself, had to needlessly endure. I feel empathy, even sympathy for him,
living in such a home and world.

--
After thoughts

I still resent having to get my haircut against my will, having to tuck my
shirt into my pants. No one listened to me when I said it felt uncomfortable,
in whatever language I had available to me at that young age.

This is a case where resentment is a positive emotion. My ability to re-feel the
invalidation which this boy was experiencing helps me write about it now.
(sentir = to feel in french and spanish) Or maybe it is better to say my
resentment guides me towards what is important and it inspires and energizes
and motivates me to take some constructive action. And it allowed me to
understand and connect with this boy who I had never seen before in a way
that, in all likelihood, not even his own mother ever will.

So parents, the next time you take a child to get his or her hair cut, ask
yourselves, "Why am I really doing this?" What is more important, how I feel
about his hair, how others feel or how or how he feels?

More thoughts...

Notice that the mother said "Stop telling tales." In other word, she was
accusing the boy of lying. What affect might this have on him?

Also, notice what she said when I tried to show compassion for him. She said
"he shouldn't be afraid..."

But he <em> was </em> afraid and instead of soothing him with understanding,
she completely invalidated him.

What is he to make out of all of this? He can only learn to doubt his own
feelings; to learn that his feelings don't matter, and that he will be forced to
do things against his will, and perhaps even worse, with no one to turn to for
understanding.

I feel so much pity for that little boy and all the others like him. And I feel
so powerless to help him. The pain of watching parents with their children is
one of the reasons I now live in virtual isolation. I have enough painful
memories and observations documented in my journal over the past few years
to last a lifetime.

Now I am trying to slowly put them to some use. Still, I feel so completely
powerless and overwhelmed. I feel discouraged and depressed. But I can't go
far enough away from my memories to escape the pain, so I just slowly try
to take one day at time and little by little try to make an ever so small
difference in the world. It is all I can manage for now, and I am not sure how
well I am doing with managing even that.

I feel inadequate I guess would be the feeling word, as if I am not doing
enough. Or maybe under-useful or underhelpful or under- contributing. But
I still feel some resentment that I, a business major, should have to take up
the cause of protecting children from their parents and teachers. Then I
remind myself that it is because I was a business major that I can now sit
here far from the nearest McDonalds or stop lights and write and think, and
yes, I guess, heal.

Sensitivity and Intelligence - 9/19/2000

In the past few years I have concluded I am emotionally sensitive. Recently
a friend of mine who met me a long time ago told me I was always sensitive.
This came as a surprise to me. My girlfriends have called me insensitive in
the past, but no one ever called me sensitive that I remember.

But why not? Assuming I always was emtionally sensitive, which is what I now
believe, then why wasn't it ever acknowledged that I was sensitive?

And why wasn't I told that this sensitivity was something of a gift? A gift
that would allow me to connect with other people, that would allow me to feel
other people's pain and to help other sensitive people. A gift that would help
me know what to do in life by following my feelings?

Even my intellectual intelligence was never particularly valued in my family.
Mostly what I remember is my mother and others telling me not to "get smart"
with her. But I was smart. I realize it now. Smarter than most of my public
school teachers, certainly.

My sister once came home, so I found out years later, and said she liked a
certain teacher when she was around 13 years old. "Why?" my mother asked.
Patti's reply: Because he is the first teacher I have had who is smarter than
me.

And I am sure it was the same with me. But I don't remember ever being
aware that I was smarter than my teachers. Except for one teacher in the 8th
grade.
Continued in "Miss Miles" which I think was her name or at least was close
to it.

continued under Miss Miles...

Miss Miles - 9/19/2000

Miss Miles, or whatever her name was, was my first, and I think my only,
black teacher. I don't know if they hired her because she was black, (a
practice fairly unique to the USA) but I remember that she was clearly less
intelligent than most other teachers.

When we were giving oral book reports and we used the expression "It was
pretty good," she would always say, "There is no pretty good and no ugly
bad." She was really proud of herself each time she had the chance to say it.
It was kind of amusing the first one or two times she said it, maybe even the
first ten times. But she kept saying it all year long, as if she couldn't think
of anything more original to think of. And looking back, I doubt she thought
of that herself anyhow.

I resent having been subjected to people like her. And to think it might have
been largely because she was black, is even more offensive to me. And before
you scream "racist!" let me assure you I would much rather have a bright
black teacher than a not so bright white one all else equal, or ceteris paribus
or whatever the Latin phrase is. One of you who studied Latin (or economics
where it is used a lot as I recall) can let me know.

But to continue...

Miss Miles thought she was really funny. She seemed to thrive on making us
laugh. But it wasn't okay if we tried to be funny, as that would take the
attention from her, evidently.

I wish I had a tape recorder with me back then because I would like to go
back to hear what I am sure were her sarcastic remarks, making people laugh
at others' expense, etc.

By the way, I urge all teenagers to start tape recording their worst teachers.
The more evidence you have of intellectually incompetent and emotionally
abusive teachers, the more chance something can be done. If you write me
with your stories I will put them on my web page. Or if you put them on your
own web page I will link to it.

At anyrate, one day I told the rest of the class not to laugh at anything she
said for the rest of the period, just to see what would happen. They went
along with my little experiement and Miss Miles got noticibly annoyed and
frustrated. It was a way, I am sure of showing her that I "had her number" -
- that I had figured her out and I was more in control of the class than she
was. I didn't think about it in all of those terms, but it was a way of
redeeming myself self-control and self-respect I am sure for having my
intelligence offended by her on a daily basis.

Math class - 8th grade - 9/19/2000

Mrs. Klein I think her name was. She was one of my worst teachers I ever
had. Unfortunately I wasn't keeping a diary or a journal back then, so I can't
give you the details of why I didn't like her, although I am sure I would have
said why I "hated" her back then.

It seems generally she was cold and unfeeling. With her German sounding
name, we might have called her Mrs. Hilter, but I can't say that for sure.

What I do remember is my friend Jim Firks and I sat at the back of the class
and figured out how many seconds more we had to spend in her class till the
end of the school year.

What was the point of me sitting in that class for 45 minutes a day for five
days a week for 9 months? I completely stopped trying to listen to a word she
had to say. The first term I got a D and the second an F. So what? What was
the point of even giving me a grade.?

Why not write this on my official report:

"Mrs. Klein failed to earn Steve's respect or interest in this class. Yet because
of the local laws and school rules, he was forced to sit in the class and try
to entertain himself as best he could without getting punished, and hit with
a board as he was in his history class for acting "too smart" and in his 6th
grade class for not wanting to do the boring school assignments as he was
ordered to."

Why not give me an A for defiance and civil disobedience?

My office in the woods - 9/23/2000

This morning there was frost on the ground. I made a little bridge with one
of the treated boards again to get to the other side of the Petite Riviere. I
got a branch that I cut before someone knocked my other bridge down. I
didn't want to leave it there cuz the owner of the land or whoever it was that
did it could see that it had been freshly cut. I am going to be more careful
when I go over there now and not cut anything with my little hand saw like
I was doing before.

Now I am typing on the table I made from wood that I found off the side of
an old logging road. It is fun to use things that I made myself. Especially
when I think of the day I found the wood and of making the table etc. It is
much more fun than going to Walmart and buying a table. Plus if this one
gets rained on or something, so what? Actually I found the table top in one
place and the legs in another place. The legs are from an old 2x4 (deux par
quatre) that someone threw out and was starting to rot. But there is enough
good wood left to hold up my little computer table.

I made a new little spot to write. It was too cold inside the caravan and I
don't like to use the propane as part of my goal to see how simply I can live
and how inexpensively. I like to think of myself as the modern day Thoreau.
I like Thoreau a lot.

Anyhow, there were some pieces of a railroad tie thrown in the woods behind
the caravan. I made a little foundation for one with some rocks to keep the
wood off the ground so it won't keep rotting (I am glad I found it when I
did!) and now I have a very sturdy sitting bench. Just the right size for two
or three people, or four if they want to snuggle! I haven't had any visitors
here yet, but one day someone will sit on this bench and snuggle with me and
marvel in how I have set up this little spot with my table, and fire and even
an extension cord with I made from three separate pieces of wire (two of
which came from my Bose speakers that I am not using right now!)

Anyhow, the fire is just warn enough to keep my fingers from getting brittle,
but it is time now to stop and warm them, as well as get some more wood.

Wow! That was easy! There is so much wood around here!

I love this place. I have lived in a fancy condo in Dallas, and another condo
in Florida looking out over the Gulf of Mexico, but this place, for less than
5,000 USD is by far the best place I have lived. Well, let me say I am the
happiest here to make it more personal.

Making fires and making good grades - 9/23/2000

I like to make fires.

It is one thing I know I am good at.

I was good at getting A's in school too. At learning how to brown nose my
teachers and professors- for those of you who might not be from the US or
know that term it means to kiss up to someone, well really it comes from
kissing their ass, that is how you get the brown nose. Disgusting isn't it?
Well, that is just the explanation because I know not everyone in the world
is from the US, even thought a lot of Americans don't realize this.

Es una lastima que no puedo hablar ni espanol ni frances bastante para
traducir todo esto...

I just said it is a shame (well not really a "shame" as in being ashamed- it
is just an expression) that I can't speak spanish or french well enough to
translate all of this. Or at least I hope that is what I said! Okay so I was
showing off a little. I didn't get enough attention when I was a kid! Plus it
is fun to speak in other languages and meet other people who do.

Really I wish I spoke more languages. It is a wonderful thing to go to another
country and speak in the local language.

Anyhow, back to the grades thing- there is now way I could go back to a
traditional school now. To sit there and be lectured to. I am learning much
more on my own now about what is important in life than I ever did in school
or college (or "Uni" as they in England, Australia and New Zealand)

And learning more about myself. Which may be the most important of all.

I think it was Socrates who said "The unexamined life is not worth living."
But I want to examine my own life in my own way, not have mediocre teachers
grading me on subjects which someone else decided I should study.

Henry David Thoreau (HDT) - - 9/23/2000

One thing HDT wondered was why people spent so much time inside. He liked
to be outside. I think of him as I sit here outside next to the fire and type
and listen to the little animal in the leaves which I can hear but not see yet.

He also said we should follow our conscience and not listen to the state. But
this scares me when I think of the people who will kill abortion doctors, for
example and say they are listening to their conscience. Actually they are not
listening to their inner voice, but to the voice of their religious leaders. They
have been so obsessive in their listening that they now believe it is their own
voice or the voice of "God" which speaks to them.

--

Something else HDT said:

Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an instructor as youth, for it
has not profited so much as it has lost. One may almost doubt if the wisest
man has learned any thing of absolute value by living. Practically, the old
have no very important advice to give the young, their own experience has
been so partial, and their lives have been such miserable failures...

I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first
syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They have told
me nothing, and probably cannot tell me any thing, to the purpose. Here is
life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail me
that they have tried it. If I have any experience which I think valuable, I am
sure to reflect that this my Mentors said nothing about.

One farmer says to me, "You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it
furnishes nothing to make bones with;" and so he religiously devotes a part
of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of bones; walking all
the while he talks behind his oxen, which, with vegetable-made bones, jerk
him and his lumbering plow along in spite of every obstacle.

--
I will add more about HDT from time to time....

to see more about him go to www.walden.org

Dream about protecting my brother - 9/17/2000

Last night I had a dream that my mother was giving my older brother a long
lecture. He was just letting her talk on and on like usually does. When I was
a kid he would protect me from my other brother who would drag me upstairs
by the hair when he thought it was time for me to go to bed, twist my arm
behind my back, rub his knuckles in my hair and tease and mock me.

When I realized that my mother was really messed up and she was messing up
all the kids I tried to talk to her about it and to my brothers and sisters.
But she denied everything, told me I was reading too many books, etc. And
my family pretty much just all wanted to avoid the issue and, I guess, hope
that I was just going through a "phase" or something.

So I moved away from home and have been living on my own for about 5
years now. At first I felt guilty when I didn't go home for Xmas, for example,
but now I am pretty much over the guilty feelings. I realize now they are all
part of the same messed up system and the more I stay away the happier I
am. Well, I am not real happy, but at least I have a chance to be more of
myself without worrying about their approval and disapproval so much.

Anyhow, back to the dream. I could tell my mother was laying another guilt
trip on my brother and I couldn't stand there and just let it happen again.
So I held out my hand for him to give me the phone. He did and I shouted
at my mother something like: "Mother! Mother! Listen to me! Stop talking for
once! Stop laying guilt trips on my brother! You have been doing that all of
his life and look what it has caused!" (My brother has had a lot of emotional
problems- he has been diagnosed as manic depressive or bipolar which ever
is the fashionable label. But I am convinced it was not genetic. Rather it was
my mother constantly bossing him around and invalidtating him. She caused
him to doubt his own mind and later people called him crazy, but I believe he
was just too smart, too creative and too sensitive for this world as it is now.
Or at least for my family.

So back to my dream.

When I got off the phone. I went up to my room. Then my father appeared
and started to shout at me because of the way I talked to my mother. I felt
really defensive, unlike I ever felt in my real life with my father and I stood
up to him and said something like, "Listen, you and mom are not going to tell
me what to do any more." Then he came towards me like he was going to hit
me even though he never did that in real life either. I pushed him back and
said "If you touch me, I will defend myself. I am a living organism which
needs to survive and if I have to defend myself like this, I will!!" Then I
shoved him back again.

That is all I remember. We weren't violent in our family. But sometimes I have
violent dreams. One time I drempt I was hitting my second brother with fists.
I guess you could say I have a lot of repressed anger or resentment towards
him. And so much compassion for my oldest brother because now I see what
my mother and father did to him. He hasn't really done anything with his life.
It is a real waste. He is probably genious level IQ and truely one of the
nicest guys in the world. He was too nice. He tried to always be nice to my
mother. He tried to make her happy, but that was an impossible task, so of
course he felt like a failure and internalized it, as they say.

Anyhow, that is all for now.

A walk in the woods - 9/22/2000

I went for a walk in the woods. This time I rode my bike down to the spot I
cleared the other day past the end of the road. I took my bike up the hill a
few meters then left it unlocked by a tree. I was a little afraid to leave it
unlocked but I figured that first, not many people come by here anyhow,
second, when they do they are on their little four wheel drive ATV's and in
a hurry to get to the good off-road trails, third, there doesn't seem to be
much of a crime problem around here, fourth some guy leaves his bike out by
his cabin unlocked all the time anyhow.

So I climbed up the hill and found a nice level spot which was just clear
enough to walk around, but just wild enough to make it interesting. I made
my own trail along the edge of the hill to look for some nice vistas where I
could see the mountains on the other side of the Petite Riviere (PR). I did
find a couple nice spots and then I found an side trail off the main off road
trail which I followed up the mountain for about 45 minutes.

I was thinking of how Thoreau used to take his walks in the woods and
people would criticize him for being lazy and unindustrious. He said they
criticize me for walking in the woods, but if I were to work all day at cutting
down trees to sell, they would call a hard worker.

Anyhow, it was a nice walk and I felt again the feeling of the delight of
wandering around, making my own trails here and there and not seeing
anyone the whole time. In fact I am not sure I saw anyone at all yesterday.

On punishment and discipline - 9/23/2000

I think the reason I don't have as much self-discipline as I would like now
is because I was punished too much as a child.

Being called a worm in 9th grade - 9/23/2000

I just got up to get some more firewood. I realized I like to get up and move
around more than most people. I have too much energy to sit still. Then I
remembered being called a "worm" because I couldn't sit still in math class in
9th grade. I felt resentment as I thought about it. I thought to myself, so
what if I like to get up every once in a while? So what if I can't sit in a
chair, bored for 50 minutes straight.

It is really almost incredible to me that we force kids to sit in a friggin chair,
expect them to pay attention and "learn" and if they don't, punish them. Well,
actually the punishment is more for not sitting still than for not learning. And
of course they must sit *quietly* -- we wouldn't want to give them a chance
to express themselves now would we? We would never stop to think that self-
expression is healthy and gosh, even natural-- and we sure don't want nature
introduced into the schools! Oh my no! How scarey that would be! We have to
protect our little "born sinners" from the "evils" of nature.

At least there are less people who believe we have to "beat the devil out" of
children. Though sadly there are still people who do believe this literally. The
Southern Baptists for example, or at least ones that I met while living in the
south.

Nor would we ever stop to think that kids have something worth listening to.
Like how they feel for example. We sure don't teach them the meaning of
words like "underestimated" along with the words for the colors and numbers
when they are in preschool. But let me promise you, a lot of kids in preschool
are smarter than their teachers and they often do feel underestimated, along
with controlled, herded, and a lot of other negative feelings.

Anyhow, every one has their own best way of working. If I want to write for
15 minutes and then take a 30 minute break to collect firewood, so what? I am
glad I don't have be anyone's economic slave anymore. I think one of the
goals of education should be to prepare kids to work for themselves, not for
someone else, as we do now. But I have more to say about that later.

No sawing in the house - 9/23/2000

I was just sitting here outside on my railroad tie in my little "outside office"
cutting some firewood. I thought this is really handy, you can reach out, pick
up some wood, reach for the saw and cut it all without ever standing up. It
is kind of like a little house in the woods. Then I somehow thought of my
mother saying "No sawing in the house," in the way she used to say "No
running in the house." But as Maria Montessori wisely said, the problem is the
environment, not the children. In other words the problem is not that the kids
want to run, and have a need to actually to burn off their energy and also
to develop their muscles, but the problem is that they are in houses which
were not designed for kids to run in. The houses were designed for adults
to sit in to walk slowly on a full stomach (often overfull) from the dining room
to the TV room. Montessori said, "Control the environment, not the child."

Now that I think of it, I don't suppose my mother would like the idea of a
campfire in the house either.

Going potty in the kitchen - 9/25/2000

No going potty in the kitchen

During the middle of the night I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. But
there is no bathroom inside the caravan. Well, there is but I have it
disconnected from the septic tank, so I have been going outside when nature
calls.

So that is what I did.

I got my flashlight, slipped on my shoes and went outside. The stars were
beautiful (one night I saw the northern lights by the way! What a sight to
see!), but it was BRRRR cold out!

There was a heavy frost the boards on my front deck were icy slippery! As
I went around behind the caravan, crunching on frozen grass I thought, "I
think it is about time to head south!"

When I came back inside I realized I needed to go again. "I am not going back
out there and freezing my a** again," I said to myself.So I thought,
"Hmmm, what can I do?" I thought maybe I could go in the can from the stew
I had the other night...

Nah, that is too small. I might miss. Yuck!

Then I remembered the plastic tub outside. Okay, so I use it to wash my
clothes and dishes. So what? I can always rinse it out! I learned long ago that
the body can really handle a lot of dirty stuff in the digestive system. Why
they always made me wash my hands before eating I will never know, because
I eat with filthy hands all the time now and almost never get sick.

Anyhow, I went out in my bare feet to get the plastic tub. Then I saw a little
plastic bucket and said, "Ah, that is much better! Perfect!" So I put it down
on the kitchen floor and.... well, you know.

Man did it smell! Whew! What did I eat yesterday? Oh, yeah I drank that
pickle juice, and that salami which had a little green spot on it. And the half
a box of Fruit Loops, or actually the generic brand up here -"Fruity Hoops."
Maybe that was it. Or was it from drinking the water from my trip in the
woods the other day? Who knows! (I forgot to tell that part of the story in
my walk in the woods entry- I made a tiny dam from a trickle of water
down the mountain trail and sucked out some water with my mouth. That was
fun.)

As I was squatting there in the kitchen I started laughing, which rmo
(reminds me of) talking to Sarah the other day when she wrote "lmao." I had
to ask her what that meant, she said "Laughing my ass off" (I guess I can
say ass without making it into a**, I don't think I will be a bad influence on
the future parents...) I said, "Don't do that! You need it to sit on!" Okay, so
it wasn't the most creative thing I have ever said, but she thought it was
funny!

Anyhow, so there I was in that comical position and I thought of my mother
saying "No going potty in the kitchen!" Well, Mom, this is my place and I
make the rules now, and if I want to go potty in the kitchen then I damn well
will! (Do I still sound a little defiant, just a little, right?)

I love Canada. I love my little place in the woods. I could give a shit if I
have to give a shit in the kitchen every once in a while! It is worth it.
Besides it makes life way more interesting, don't you think?

Probably tomorrow morning it will be frozen. That will be interesting! Oh, I
did put it outside by the way, in case you were wondering!

Cheers! Back to more serious stuff.

General concerns and conversation with Amy - 9/25/2000

Here are some things which I feel concerned about and Amy wants me to write
down (Amy is the name I give to my amygdala - the emotional center of the
brain)

FP = future parents

FP's putting themselves down- labeling themselves

I'm an idiot
How could I be so stupid

FP's taking all the blame

It is all my fault

FP's thinking in all or nothing & black/white terms

I will never ...
He always...

FP's labeling others

bitch, idiot, jerk, asshole, etc.

FP's not knowing how to resolve conflicts or even de-escalate them. They
escalate them instead.

FP's being afraid of talking to adults

The "system" not being much help to them.

FP's not feeling understood, not feeling listened to.

FP's not labeling their feelings. Maybe not even being consciously aware of
their true and underlying feelings like feeling threatened and afraid of their
own parents, for example.

Not knowing how to help one another, but trying as best they can.

--

Thinking of all these problems, I feel a little overwhelmed and powerless. I tell
myself:

Okay, I am learning a lot here. It is just the first week or so. I am feeling
impatient. I feel a sense of urgency (well, yeah, kids are cutting themselves,
commiting suicide, duh...)

Maybe I am trying too hard. Maybe I need a break from OD. I feel a little
obsessed with it. Voice 2: Yeah, but it is fun and you are helping some people.
Sarah, for example. Maybe deerhunter or deepdropping or whatever it is.
Maybe even the ones who reject your ideas now will remember them later.
Maybe you will help one FP turn their life around, get help and leave an
abusive situation. Maybe you will help a few people become aware of the long
term damage of psychologial abuse, or even just what abuse really is, or at
least as you define it.

Maybe you will help them listen more carefully to how their parents talk to
them. To hear it when their parents label them for example.

Maybe a few of them will be better parents for it. Maybe one of them will
become a school counselor like Norma or a teacher like PP. Maybe one will
start a runaway shelter for teens and remember some of your ideas.

Voice 1: Okay, thanks. Good points.

Master voice: How do you feel Amy?
Amy: I feel sad.

She starts to cry....

MV: Why babe?

I don't know .... maybe cuz it seems like there is so little we can really do.

MV: You feel discouraged?

A: Yeah, I guess.

She cries some more...

MV: What would help you feel better?

A: A hug.

MV: Okay you got it. Anytime.

A: Thanks. And tell me I am not being silly for crying.

She cries some more.

MV: No hon, you aren't.

She cries some more. She starts to sob.

MV: What is it babe?

She looks up at the ceiling. She takes a deep breath....

A: I guess it is cuz I never got validated. No one ever hugged me enough. No
one ever told me it was okay to cry. And that it was healthy.

She wipes her eyes and sniffles...

MV: Feel better?

A: Yeah. Thanks.

MV: Okay, wanna get back to work.

A: Yeah. These FP's need help. Big time.

MV: Yep.

She starts to say "I love you Steve" then starts to cry again, just a little.
She takes a deep breath. And she says it with more confidence, "Yeah, I love
you and I need you. We need each other. We make a good team."

Thanks I say. And I think of Sarah who writes "Thanx" and always accepts
a compliment. Amy and I both like Sarah.

Okay. Back to work.

Phil (my physical body says-- no way. you guys are always on that damn
computer. I want to go outside. He smles. Well, you kept me inside most of the
damn day yesterday on that frigging thing, with your "Open Diary" he says
mockingly. We laugh. He smiles.

Okay, Phil. Whatcha want to do?

Well first I have to go to the bathroom. And not in the kitchen again please!
We laugh.

Okay. Let's get up and get out of here.

The Centipede - part 1 - 9/25/2000

While hiking in the woods one day, my companion, an extremely bright, blue-
eyed, red-haired fiddler from Calgary, chirped, "There's a centipede!"

Almost instinctively, I put a twig in front of him and he chose to climb
aboard. The invitation of the stick was the only persuasion needed. He could
have turned away, but he didn't. He lacked either the intelligence, wisdom or
education to appreciate the danger he faced; he lacked the foresight to
consider the consequences of his decision.

Perhaps he was bored and seeking excitement. Perhaps he thought it would
be a free ride. Or perhaps he didn't think. In any case, he hung on as I
lifted him. With quick thinking he might have chosen to hop off before things
went too far, but he did not let go as the twig became a vessel of his fate.
Had the tiny creature considered or even been aware of the great inequity in
our relative power, perhaps he would have avoided my twig. Perhaps.

In our hastily formed relationship, he was totally at my mercy; he had given
up control. His choices were few. He could only go back and forth on my twig.
If I held the twig one direction, he could climb up the twig. If I turned the
twig, he could scramble in the other direction, his legs moving in waves. He
could only react.

It was amusing to watch him. When he got to the end of the twig he would
stretch about 80 of his legs off the end. He would twist and stretch and curl
trying to get off the twig. But there was nothing there for him. While three-
fourths of his body was in the air, his legs would furiously flail around,
searching for something to grasp. Control was mine--I liked it.

Was he thinking, "How did I get myself in this situation. How stupid of me to
have climbed on this twig. I should have listened to my mother when she said
'Be careful where you walk. Always keep your feet (all 100 of them!) on the
ground'". Or was he thinking, "I am going to die now. I just know it!"

Was he blaming me, or some supernatural force for his predicament? Did he
think I myself was a supernatural force? Did he start to pray to the pretend
centipede in the sky? Or was he taking responsibility for his choices? Was he
looking for a cause and effect relationship between what happened and how
he got where was? Was he concentrating his thoughts on a solution? Did he
even have any clue of the danger he was in?

Was he saying to himself, "There must be a way off this flying twig. Though
I've never been in this situation, I know I can get out of my predicament. I
just need to stay calm and try all my options."

Whether he was aware of it or not, the centipede relinquished control of his
life when he blithely climbed onto my twig. Had I wanted, I could have
crushed him. I could have carried him to another place, far, far from his home
and his terrain--his "comfort zone", you might say. I could have fed him to
my pet rattlesnake. Or I could have put him in formaldehyde and taken him
home where he would remain forever mine, and I could always remember him
as he was that day when I enjoyed playing with him. Thus frozen in time, I
could pay a nostalgic visit to my past whenever I sought distraction from
facing my problems or fears. I could even use him to start a centipede
collection. Collecting things is always a handy way of distracting ourselves
from our troubles and giving us some kind of false sense of security.

I had many options. He had few. I felt powerful. The helpless creature
couldn't even express his opinion on my actions; he couldn't express his
feelings. But I wasn't interested in his feelings. I was interested in mine. I
was enjoying the instant gratification of the power. It was all the more
convenient that he could say nothing. I didn't have to hear his opinion, so I
didn't need to be bothered with considering his fears or his desires. It was
pure narcissism.

Like in most relationships, there was an imbalance of power. My power over
him was both physical and mental. I could move him, and I could outsmart him.
If I wanted him to go up, I turned the twig down. If wanted him to go down,
I turned the twig up. I was the one who decided when and where he could
go. He reacted just as I wanted him to. I liked that, too.

His purpose in life had become the satisfaction of my needs: my need for
control, my need to feel powerful, my need for entertainment. He needs were
subordinate to mine. He would literally die if I kept him on my twig in the air.
Quickly, he became stuck in a rut of repeating the same futile steps; of
reaching for something he would never find while he remained under my
domination.

At one point, I put him down, and he scurried off my twig. Not sixty seconds
later, I put my twig in front of him, and he mindlessly climbed right back
onto it! I lifted the twig, and he was, once again, mine. "Silly centipede. Don't
you ever learn?"

The centipede could not break his old habits: of going back and forth, of
clinging to whatever was there, of taking whatever I offered, of simply
reacting. He didn't realize there was a solution, a way to regain control. But
there was.

The centipede had more power than he realized, much more. But he didn't
know his power, so he didn't exercise it. Or perhaps it was his fear which
stopped him. The fear of jumping, or of the unknown consequences of taking
a leap of faith. He was accustomed to having his feet on something. Jumping
was evidently just too scary. He probably knew nothing about jumping. Maybe
he had neither been taught nor learned on his own. And perhaps his prior
conditioning was so strong the thought of jumping may never have even
entered his mind.

continued in part 2

The Centipede - part 2 - 9/25/2000

I wondered whether he was more afraid of the process of jumping or of the
fear of hitting the ground? The jump certainly would not have killed him, so
his survival instinct was misleading him; had he jumped he would not have
been hurt, and, more importantly, he would have regained control of his life.
But the silly centipede continued to crawl, twist and reach into thin air. I
laughed at his ignorance.

I was entertained more so than my friend, to be sure. She was very smart,
but very emotionally damaged by her divorced parents. They taught her to
be approval seeking and concerned with external appearances and other
people's opinions. She never felt accepted by her parents so she sought
acceptance from men. Thus, she was more concerned with combing her pretty
red hair. She wanted to be ready in case the "right" person might come along
and put a twig in front of her.

After getting to know her for two days, I guessed she would not hesitate to
climb aboard and turn over control of her life, just like my many- legged
friend. It is a shame that she wasn't paying more attention to both her life
and the centipede's. Perhaps she could have saved herself some pain.

Something about my personality makes me feel others' pain; something makes
me want to save them from future sorrow. In our time together I tried to
counsel her, to inspire her, to build her self-confidence. But a few days is
not long enough to offset years of negative programming. She would, no
doubt, climb from one perilous twig to another in the ensuing years. The
thought torments me; in her situation, I am the one who is powerless.

[Or so I thought at the time. Now, five years later I realize that had I been
a better listener, had I not tried to force my ideas into her head so quickly,
had I not looked to her to help fill my unmet emotional needs through the
substitute of sleeping with me, then perhaps we would still be in touch,
perhaps we would be best friends, maybe even lovers. Perhaps just by
sharing my life with her, by being myself and taking care of my own needs,
I would have been a positive influence on her. I feel a sense of loss now, of
regret. I can still faintly remember her voice on my little tape recorder,
leaving me her address... I feel lost in the memory... Amy feels sad and almost
ready to cry. She reminds me, hey, you didn't even know me then! Yeah, wish
we would have met each other sooner. But back to my story.)

Soon I tired of my crawling friend; it took much longer to detach from my
walking friend. Perhaps it was her hair, perhaps she reminded me of my one
true love many years before; the love that the same narcissism drove away.
(Now I simply would say that my unmet emotional needs -- UEN's -- drove
away.)

One thing I am certain of is that the centipede had little to offer me, except
perhaps as a small insight into my own life. The pleasure and the brief thrill
of total domination quickly faded. I then had to make a decision. I didn't
really want to carry him around as I followed my own path up the mountain.
I was already quite tired from climbing, and we had only planned to stop for
a moment to rest when we saw the centipede. How quickly plans change if one
lets them.

But being goal-oriented, I chose to make him just a temporary diversion from
my larger purpose of watching the sunset from the top of the mountain. Had
I played with him much longer, I would have missed the setting sun, for the
setting sun waits for none.

Sunsets are important to me for they mark the passing of time. I like to
reflect on each day as the day becomes night. It is at this time each day I
ask if I have made good use of my time. At sunset, the sun seems to move
quickly, as do the years in the latter stages of life.

Because I value my independence, I knew I definitely did not want the
responsibility of caring for him. I was interested in neither helping him nor
harming him. Though in all honesty, I must confess the thought of smashing
him did enter my mind. There was a time in my life, in fact, when I was so
filled with internal strife, so filled with anger, that I might have found some
diabolic pleasure in smashing him. Maybe to "teach him a lesson," though what
a bad instructor I would have been. Maybe to vent my anger. Or maybe just
for the thrill of exercising my own strength in order to feel more powerful.

But I had been growing, and I had been discovering an elusive inner peace
in the months just prior to our encounter. So I didn't feel the need to snuff
out his existence, nor to pluck out a leg or two to "teach him a lesson." Now
I am learning it is pointless to try to teach lessons to others, especially when
I have so much to learn myself.

I handed him, twig and all, to the Canadian. Without being aware of it, I chose
to let her make the decision about his destiny. Perhaps it was too much of a
subconscious responsibility, having to decide what to do with this little piece
of life which I had literally picked up -- an action admittedly preceded by
little thought of my own.

My Canadian friend was now in control. I had quite literally passed control off
to her. Again, the centipede could not anticipate the consequences of my
decision, nor could I. The young woman looked at life much differently than
I. You might say we lived in different worlds. She'd had much different life
experiences than I. From the moment she was conceived, her life took a
different path than mine. Our paths had simply crossed that week. Being a
female in itself suggested important genetic differences, but that was just one
of thousands, if not millions, of differences between us.

The centipede - part 3 - 9/25/2000

As I reflect on the three of us coming together that summer day, I consider
how each of us is unique. It is certainly no great secret that we are all
different. But if we know we are different, why is conformity so important to
so many people. Why do others spend so much energy trying to convert
others us to be like them? Why, especially, is it that the more we supposedly
care about someone -- the more we "love" them -- the harder we try to
change them?

But let me return to my story.

As you recall, my friend found herself in control of the silly centipede. By the
way, she didn't ask for the twig. I simply said "Here" and handed it to her.
She was the one who then had responsibility for the damn thing. (I find
myself suddenly angry at it. "Why?", I wonder. Because it failed to amuse me
further? Or because of its dependence on me? Or because I had other needs
which I realize it could never meet?)

My fiddler-playing friend, held the centipede for just a moment. I briefly
wondered if she felt the burden of responsibility that I had begun to feel. Or
did she want to crush it, as I had considered. Or would she play with it as
I had done.

But I was trying to guess her thoughts based on my version of the world.
She simply put it on the ground, and let it go its own way. She and I then
continued on our own way up the path to the top of the mountain. When we
reached the top, we discovered a place of amazing beauty and quiet. As we
alone watched the sunset, I wondered how many had driven by this mountain,
and never chose to climb it. I wished she and I were closer. I wanted her to
have the feelings I had. Still, I appreciated the view and our moments
together. I reminded myself that I alone was responsible for my feelings, and
that she was no centipede; that I couldn't control her or her feelings for me.

My thoughts then returned to the centipede. I wondered what became of him
after our paths crossed. All I knew for certain was that he went along his
way. He was unharmed and perhaps, like I, a bit wiser for the experience.

Perhaps.

Nice quote on life.... copied from Smidgen- Thanx - 9/25/2000

~If I Had My Life To Live Over~

If I had my life to live over again,
I would try to make more mistakes next time.
I'd try not to be so damned perfect;
I'd relax more, I'd limber up.

I'd be sillier than I've been on this trip;
In fact, I know of very few things I'd take quite so seriously;
I'd be crazier ... and I'd certainly be less-hygenic;
I'd take more chances ... I'd take more trips ...

I'd climb more mountains ... I'd swim more rivers ...And I'd watch more
sunsets;
I'd burn more gasoline,I'd eat more ice cream - and fewer beans;
I'd have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones,

You see, I was one of those people who lived sensibly, hour-after-hour and
day-after-day;
Oh, that doesn't mean I didn't have my moments,
But if I had it to do all over,
I'd have more of those moments,
In fact, I'd try to have nothing but wonderful moments, side-by-side.

I was one of those people who never went anywhere
without a thermometer, a hot water bottle,
a gargle, a raincoat and a parachute;
If I had it to do all over again,
I'd travel lighter next time.

If I had my life to live all over again,
I'd start barefoot earlier in the spring
and I'd stay that way later in the fall;
I'd play hooky a lot more.

I'd ride more merry-go-rounds,
I'd pick more flowers,
I'd hug more children,
I'd tell more people that I loved them,
If I had my life to live over again;
But, you see, I don't."

> the Journal of Humanistic Psychology~
~Written by an 85-year-old man~

I reached out to help you - a poem - 9/26/2000

I reached out to help you,
but in my haste I extended my arm too far
and pushed you off the ledge.

I reached out to help you,
but I didn't know my own power.
When I took your hand, I crushed your delicate fingers.

I reached out to help you, but I didn't see the bruise just below the
surface.

When I touched this sensitive spot you screamed and I felt
rejected.

I reached out to help you, but you clung to me and now you won't let
me go.

I reached out to help you, but you followed me and did not go your
own way.

I reached out to help you, but you had been hit so many times that
when I went to wipe away your tear you bit my hand.

I reached out to help you, but you had already self-destructed.

I began to wonder if I should just stop reaching out.

S. Hein

Bible Humor - in my opinion of course - 9/27/2000

[What to do when the high priest sins unintentionally...]

Leviticus 4: 1 - 35

1 Then the LORD said to Moses....."If the high priest sins,
bringing guilt upon the entire community, he must bring to the LORD
a young bull with no physical defects.

4 He must present the bull to the LORD at the entrance of the
Tabernacle, lay his hand on the bull's head, and slaughter it there
in the LORD's presence. 5 The priest on duty will then take some of
the animal's blood into the Tabernacle, dip his finger into the
blood, and sprinkle it seven times before the LORD in front of the
inner curtain of the Most Holy Place.

7 The priest will put some of the blood on the horns of the incense
altar that stands in the LORD's presence in the Tabernacle. The
rest of the bull's blood must be poured out at the base of the
altar of burnt offerings at the entrance of the Tabernacle.

8 The priest must remove all the fat around the bull's internal
organs, the two kidneys with the fat around them near the loins,
and the lobe of the liver.

10 Then he must burn them on the altar of burnt offerings, just as
is done with the bull or cow sacrificed as a peace offering. 11 But
the rest of the bull - its hide, meat, head, legs, internal organs,
and dung - 12 must be carried away to a ceremonially clean place
outside the camp, the place where the ashes are thrown. He will
burn it all on a wood fire in the ash heap.

[What to do if the entire community sins:]

13 "If the entire Israelite community does something forbidden by
the LORD and the matter escapes the community's notice, all the
people will be guilty.

14 When they discover their sin, the leaders of the community must
bring a young bull for a sin offering and present it at the
entrance of the Tabernacle.

15 The leaders must then lay their hands on the bull's head and
slaughter it there before the LORD. 16 The priest will bring some
of its blood into the Tabernacle, 17 dip his finger into the blood,
and sprinkle it seven times before the LORD in front of the inner
curtain. 18 He will then put some of the blood on the horns of the
incense altar that stands in the LORD's presence in the Tabernacle.
The rest of the blood must then be poured out at the base of the
altar of burnt offerings at the entrance of the Tabernacle.

19 The priest must remove all the animal's fat and burn it on the
altar, 20 following the same procedure as with the sin offering for
the priest. In this way, the priest will make atonement for the
people, and they will be forgiven.

21 The priest must then take what is left of the bull outside the
camp and burn it there, just as is done with the sin offering for
the high priest. This is a sin offering for the entire community of
Israel.

Personal stuff - 9/27/2000

What is bothering me this morning:

Over-analyze comment

"It wasn't an attack" comment - when I told someone I felt
attacked.

Indirect communication: I would appreciate it if you didn't...
(really means I will resent it if you do)

----

Felt depressed yesterday- more specifically felt rejected,
unsuccessful, unappreciated, lonely, misunderstood, attacked,
devalued, unesteemed, invalidated, unsupported, discouraged,
powerless

----

So this morning I made a fire in a new way- helped me feel
successful. Moved two little pine trees, more help. Also dug out a
big bush, which also helped me feel successful.

Then I made a new little clearing on the north end of the property
under the big pine trees.

I did some writing and now I am feeling back on track.

Next