Author's Preface
While everyone has ups and downs (Even Ozzie and Harriet Get the Blues), sometimes for me the brightest, sunniest days looked blacker than the darkest nightmares, and sometimes situations were so radiantly resplendant in forests in the darkest of nights, that those who loved only the me they would have shaped and molded me to be, became upset, hurt and frightened. Seeking professional help, they found the paradigms to explain away the apparent behavior abberations which were, for me, old but finally uncloseted techniques for dealing with other people and situations which roiled my soul. In so doing, they disproved the children's ditty that:
Sticks and stones can break my bones,
But names can never hurt me.
Don't believe this lie for a moment. Words are POWERFUL. Names can hurt, names can even kill. Some of the names which have most hurt me and impeded my attempts to realign my life with my destinay as a useful and productive child of Allah include, but are not limited to the following:
Alcoholic
Manic Depressive
Paranoid Schizophrenic
Schizophrenic
Borderline Personality Disordered
Fractious Syndrome (also known as Ganser's Syndome, ironically enough)
Convicted Felon
I prefer what I believe to be more accurate and less pejorative characteriaztions of my behaviors and beliefs (as opposed to the oppressiveness of the psychiatric and legal labels, from which virtually NO recovery is possible, nor foreseen) as follows:
Hedonistic
Atavistic
Spiritualistic
Immature old butthead loser
I benefit from my preferred adjectives because they do not carry the stigma that the psychiatric and criminal justice labels carry. Cheers to stigma!
Harry Chapin's Mr. Tanner and Leonard Cohen's The Stranger Song tell my life's stories better than the labels.
Mr Tanner by Harry Chapin |
| Mister Tanner was a cleaner from a town in the Midwest. And of all the cleaning shops around he'd made his the best. But he also was a baritone who sang while hanging clothes. He practiced scales while pressing tails and sang at local shows. His friends and neighbors praised the voice that poured out from his throat. They said that he should use his gift instead of cleaning coats. But music was his life, it was not his livelihood, and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good. And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul. He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole. His friends kept working on him to try music out full time. A big debut and rave reviews, a great career to climb. Finally they got to him, he would take the fling. A concert agent in New York agreed to have him sing. And there were plane tickets, phone calls, money spent to rent the hall. It took most of his savings but he gladly used them all. But music was his life, it was not his livelihood, and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good. And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul. He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole. The evening came, he took the stage, his face set in a smile. And in the half filled hall the critics sat watching on the aisle. But the concert was a blur to him, spatters of applause. He did not know how well he sang, he only heard the flaws. But the critics were concise, it only took four lines. But no one could accuse them of being over kind. (spoken) Mr. Martin Tanner, Baritone, of Dayton, Ohio made his Town Hall debut last night. He came well prepared, but unfortunately his presentation was not up to contemporary professional standards. His voice lacks the range of tonal color necessary to make it consistently interesting. (sung) Full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order. He came home to Dayton and was questioned by his friends. Then he smiled and just said nothing and he never sang again, excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed. He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes. Music was his life, it was not his livelihood, and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good. And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul. He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole. PSYCHOTHERAPEUTIC HEALING LESSON #4: Know thyself. Follow your destiny. What you do for your livelihood does not define you. What you do for yourself is sacred and holy. Never compare yourself to the best of what others can do. The single most useless profession in the world is critic. The critic (differentiated from the commentator who reports facts and bases conclusions on the facts reported ... and no, making stuff up does NOT qualify one to be a commentator) judges, and often harshly what others create. The critic prefers destruction to creation. But one of life's large secrets is this: know what you best love to do, and figure out a way to get somebody to pay you a living wage to do it. The Stranger Song - by Leonard Cohen It's true that all the men you knew were dealers who said they were through with dealing Every time you gave them shelter I know that kind of man It's hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching for the sky just to surrender. And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind you find he did not leave you very much not even laughter Like any dealer he was watching for the card that is so high and wild he'll never need to deal another He was just some Joseph looking for a manger He was just some Joseph looking for a manger. And then leaning on your window sill he'll say one day you caused his will to weaken with your love and warmth and shelter And then taking from his wallet an old schedule of trains, he'll say I told you when I came I was a stranger I told you when I came I was a stranger. But now another stranger seems to want you to ignore his dreams as though they were the burden of some other O you've seen that man before his golden arm dispatching cards but now it's rusted from the elbow to the finger And he wants to trade the game he plays for shelter Yes he wants to trade the game he knows for shelter. You hate to watch another tired man lay down his hand like he was giving up the holy game of poker And while he talks his dreams to sleep you notice there's a highway that is curling up like smoke above his shoulder It's curling up like smoke above his shoulder. You tell him to come in sit down but something makes you turn around The door is open you can't close you shelter You try the handle of the road It opens do not be afraid It's you my love, you who are the stranger It is you my love, you who are the stranger. Well, I've been waiting, I was sure we'd meet between the trains we're waiting for I think it's time to board another Please understand, I never had a secret chart to get me to the heart of this or any other matter Well he talks like this you don't know what he's after When he speaks like this, you don't know what he's after. Let's meet tomorrow if you chose upon the shore, beneath the bridge that they are building on some endless river Then he leaves the platform for the sleeping car that's warm You realize, he's only advertising one more shelter And it comes to you, he never was a stranger And you say ok the bridge or someplace later. And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind you find he did not leave you very much not even laughter Like any dealer he was watching for the card that is so high and wild he'll never need to deal another He was just some Joseph looking for a manger He was just some Joseph looking for a manger. And leaning on your window sill he'll say one day you caused his will to weaken with your love and warmth and shelter And then taking from his wallet an old schedule of trains he'll say I told you when I came I was a stranger I told you when I came I was a stranger. |
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