Talking with a good friend the other night, I experienced a deepening of connection with him. It seemed that as we talked about the ephemeral whisps of feelings about life, connections - things that are so hard to describe with any precision - that each of us recognized in the words a similar experience, and there was precious shared experience between us from our words, so inadequate a carrier of such profound experience. An excitement and satisfaction arose from discovering a kindred spirit, one who seemed to have been where I had been, for at least part of the journey.
Two other people heard our conversaton and joined us. Soon, conjectures, theories and statistics replaced our time of touching each other's soul, and we competed for rightness, for having the stronger argument, for being able to quote sufficient experience to make our theory about our experience appear more valid.
This was a very different experience - one I had had many times throughout my life. There was a male energy, a sense of competition and testing each other's strengths and looking for the weaknesses in each other's arguments. But I found myself deeply missing what had been replaced - a moment of feeling like some of my deepest experiences were actually understood by and shared with another human being. The theories exercised the brain but did not touch the soul. Who I was or what I had experienced was no longer relevant to the conversation - what now mattered was constructing a more correct explanation of the universe.
I felt sad for the change, and for what had been lost. And I felt resentment over a change I had not chosen. Later, I thought to myself, should I have shared my resentment? Like my sadness, that would be exposing something personal about me that could be accepted or rejected. But in the current atmosphere of polemic discussion, I imagined it would spur a discussion of why resentment doesn't serve us, or an attempt to help me get rid of the resentment; and the humble experience of the churning of my stomach would be lost.
Yet I crave intimacy. I want someone to hear my experience of resentment, of feeling lost and unheard. I want someone to know of my great desire to connect as I had connected minutes before, of the amazing sense of coming home I had when the two of us not only had common experiences, but recognized those experiences in each other, and felt a bond as a result.
I left the conversation in confusion over my reactions and resentment. Old voices rose quickly to the surface - "What's wrong with me? Why can't I be more social? There I go, getting angry over nothing again. There I go, wanting to isolate instead of participate again. I'm not accepting everyone as they are. I'm not accepting the situation as it is. Maybe I don't belong here. Maybe I don't fit in." ...and on and on.
After a few hours of these voices, I began to step back and notice what I was experiencing again, rather than seeing the world through its lens, like water to a fish. I noticed I was saying and believing these things, instead of recalling what had actually happened. Immediately, the voices began to fall away, and I was left with sadness, and some frustration that I can't make people act in the way that would fulfill my needs better. My mind has not fully accepted that fact, and is still busily making plans on how I could explain this, and then they would see how wrong they had been and how right I was. And the moment I write this, the trap I am in is apparent to me, and I know I have to let go even more, let go of the demand that others meet my needs in the way I want them met.
Slowly, a sense of freedom builds, as I look over all that happened, and how each of us were just being who we are, and in a sense were each putting ourselves out there as we best knew how. But none of us were listening to the heart of the person spouting his theories - the heart saying, "Hear me. I want to be known and accepted, be part of you. I want you to hear the yearning behind my words, the reason I sit here at all. I only want to be right so that I will be accepted by you, so that I, too, will have that deep connection." Our communication of who we are and what we need often fails us, and into the void rushes the shadow voices, also wanting to be heard and accepted, just as our heart does. Does all of nature cry out for intimacy, or is it just we strange humans with our odd ways? We all do the best with the light that we have. I am left with sadness, but also enough taste of the huge potential we have, to get out of bed and face a new day.
Two other people heard our conversaton and joined us. Soon, conjectures, theories and statistics replaced our time of touching each other's soul, and we competed for rightness, for having the stronger argument, for being able to quote sufficient experience to make our theory about our experience appear more valid.
This was a very different experience - one I had had many times throughout my life. There was a male energy, a sense of competition and testing each other's strengths and looking for the weaknesses in each other's arguments. But I found myself deeply missing what had been replaced - a moment of feeling like some of my deepest experiences were actually understood by and shared with another human being. The theories exercised the brain but did not touch the soul. Who I was or what I had experienced was no longer relevant to the conversation - what now mattered was constructing a more correct explanation of the universe.
I felt sad for the change, and for what had been lost. And I felt resentment over a change I had not chosen. Later, I thought to myself, should I have shared my resentment? Like my sadness, that would be exposing something personal about me that could be accepted or rejected. But in the current atmosphere of polemic discussion, I imagined it would spur a discussion of why resentment doesn't serve us, or an attempt to help me get rid of the resentment; and the humble experience of the churning of my stomach would be lost.
Yet I crave intimacy. I want someone to hear my experience of resentment, of feeling lost and unheard. I want someone to know of my great desire to connect as I had connected minutes before, of the amazing sense of coming home I had when the two of us not only had common experiences, but recognized those experiences in each other, and felt a bond as a result.
I left the conversation in confusion over my reactions and resentment. Old voices rose quickly to the surface - "What's wrong with me? Why can't I be more social? There I go, getting angry over nothing again. There I go, wanting to isolate instead of participate again. I'm not accepting everyone as they are. I'm not accepting the situation as it is. Maybe I don't belong here. Maybe I don't fit in." ...and on and on.
After a few hours of these voices, I began to step back and notice what I was experiencing again, rather than seeing the world through its lens, like water to a fish. I noticed I was saying and believing these things, instead of recalling what had actually happened. Immediately, the voices began to fall away, and I was left with sadness, and some frustration that I can't make people act in the way that would fulfill my needs better. My mind has not fully accepted that fact, and is still busily making plans on how I could explain this, and then they would see how wrong they had been and how right I was. And the moment I write this, the trap I am in is apparent to me, and I know I have to let go even more, let go of the demand that others meet my needs in the way I want them met.
Slowly, a sense of freedom builds, as I look over all that happened, and how each of us were just being who we are, and in a sense were each putting ourselves out there as we best knew how. But none of us were listening to the heart of the person spouting his theories - the heart saying, "Hear me. I want to be known and accepted, be part of you. I want you to hear the yearning behind my words, the reason I sit here at all. I only want to be right so that I will be accepted by you, so that I, too, will have that deep connection." Our communication of who we are and what we need often fails us, and into the void rushes the shadow voices, also wanting to be heard and accepted, just as our heart does. Does all of nature cry out for intimacy, or is it just we strange humans with our odd ways? We all do the best with the light that we have. I am left with sadness, but also enough taste of the huge potential we have, to get out of bed and face a new day.
Comment posted by Advait aka Tom
at 4/30/2006 5:06:00 PM
Hey Gene, Tom here. I finally got a moment to read thru this post more thouroghly. Your feelings and clarity on this came thru clearly for me. I really enjoy how you can so effectively translate the flow of your thoughts into the keyboard. Part of the magic you bring to your writings is that you can shed light on subtle and delicate inner dynamics that can easily get lost in the glare of verbal constructions. This is the same balance achieved by all good poets. 1+1=2 is very robust! Its hard to distort. But effective communication of inner feelings & experience is a real art. Each time you, I or others can illuminate & share our inner worlds, perhaps the more present we'll be when similar situations happen in the future. Thanks!
Comment posted by Anonymous
at 4/26/2006 12:17:00 PM
I believe that it is possible for rationale to take over in the process of connecting for the reason of impressing others how intellectual we can be. It is more like masturbation of the mind. It feels good to sound smart and interesting. Furthermore, it has been my experience that when I am truly listening to someone else I have no need to talk other than to ask for questions that allow for more of that awesome intimacy.
Comment posted by Anonymous
at 4/26/2006 4:17:00 AM
Gene,
I feel a pang of longing from your words. I think you put into words what I often feel - I have talked too much - I have lost that moment of deep touch with the other person. I find myself wanting to get it back by adding more words and I try to talk it all out - and the more I try to explain, the more clumsy I feel.
I think you said it beautifully, that when rationale tries to touch the heart, it loses something of its intimacy.
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