Classroom Talk
Fifth and Sixth Grades Archive
"Tis better to have loved and lost . . ."
Posted by John on 01/24/2003 19:41:56
Hi, Folks,
Brent said to tell you that he'll be switching our website over to our new web service provider during next week. All URLs and email addresses will
stay the same, and the site shouldn't look any different to you then than now, except Brent had to rebuild Classroom Talk a little differently for the
change-over.
The advantage of this move is that it will give Brent much more control over the site in the architectural changes that he's planning to make during this
coming year. The new server matches up better with the building equipment that he's got at his disposition to use. (We've always loved Opus.1, in
Tucson, and have been deeply grateful for the sophisticated and innovative services they always provided our experimental website during these past
years! And they've been *great* people to work with! My heartfelt thanks go to them!)
Brent said there's a possibility that the site may be off-line briefly during next week while he's making this change, but he thought that might not
happen.
And he said to tell you all to start thinking again about ways you'd like to see this website change architecturally and artistically to be better, more
beautiful, and perhaps more effective than it has been.
.........................................................................
I'm not ready to resume coaching yet, because I'm still "spun," as Carlos Castaneda put it, by unlikely events that took place from the December full
moon meeting with that new woman in my life that I told you about, precisely through this just past full moon of January. It was an unbelievably
wonderful month, yet she is certain that "it isn't meant to be," as the saying goes. And I get it.
I've cried some. That's natural. It's "a lost love situation." One thing I can say is that I'm not suffering—not today, at least. But I am "spun" by the
whole experience of it all. And I'm still recovering, and getting my calm bearings again. I'll say a little more about this however, because there is *so
much* to learn in it, no doubt, and thus, probably some good coaching to come out of it, too . . . . . when I get a little clearer about. uh, *what
happened*??? Maybe you Kiddies can help me figure that out.
I would say—and this is probably the first time in my life in this situation that I can say this and really mean it: it *is* "better to have loved and lost
than to never have loved at all?"
Who was it? Was it Shakespeare who said that? Where's Douglas when we need him? Whoever it was that wrote that famous line, it has always
seemed like pure malarky to me, every time I was in that situation of being rejected again during my life, after I had become real close friends with and
grown to start feeling, you know, "sweet" towards the woman in that touching and delicate stageplay with me. So I seem to have grown in this way,
in my return after so many years to participating in the human mating dance. So far, I haven't reacted to it in the self-tormenting ways I remember so
well that I used to do in younger years. This once used to be one of "the worst things that ever happened to me" in my life.
"You're the sweetest man I ever met . . . and I don't feel 'that way' about you." It's a classic situation that many men have gone through over the
course of their lives. (There has got to be a counterpart of this for some women, as well.) All the long-standing men friends that I've turned to for
solace were able to share stories that were amazingly similar, down to the details, stories that lasted much longer, in fact. And to a man, they
congratulated me for getting out of it in just one revolution of the moon. This is a suffering syndrome in life that I think many men are too well familiar
with.
So for a month I was treated *better* than any girlfriend, or even wife had treated me before (not that I would have deserved it!), by a truly
wonderful and even spectacular woman who knew from the outset that I really didn't "stand a chance with her."
Walter pointed out to me: "She picked you. And she had her own criteria and plan. The whole play was written before she met you. Your part in it
was already written."
Yes. Somehow, seeing the truth in this was immensely comforting to me. It was a totally chaste relationship. There were so many wonderful things in
it. She taught me how to make Satay. She's a pianist, and I showed her how she could jam with any blues tune that plays on the radio. We had
wonderful conversations, and I felt that she was transparently honest, even transparently honest about her absence of "that kind of feelings" towards
me. We didn't even hold hands. I told Walter I wasn't against a long friendship without sex. But . . . well, there were days out in the country where
I had to walk up a hill to water a tree that needed watering. And I'd walk back down to my van, and I couldn't remember if I'd watered the tree.
Another time, I couldn't remember if I'd turned the water off. At times, I couldn't get her out of my mind. It was things like this, that I hadn't
experienced in such a long, long time that made me suspect that what was happening was that I was "falling in love," as they say. Something strange
was certainly happening in me. It was wonderful. And I liked it. I was being thoroughly happy throughout this time, and I started feeling affection
that was surely perceptible to her at times, and sometimes transparent. Yet, I knew it wasn't what she wished of me.
What a dilemma! These feelings just came up in me spontaneously. Could I turn against these feelings and stop them? What about "being authentic,"
that I admire so highly in any person? Could I allow these feelings, and not show it? It seemed that a warrior would find a way. — She had
impressed me in so many ways—intellectually, her competence, her poise, I could go on and on. Not to mention . . . . well . . . . . I took her to a
mechanic I know when she had mysterious car problems and introduced her to him. Every other mechanic in the shop stopped the work they were
doing and came over to hear about her mysterious car problem and offer suggestions. She has an amazing inner light and energy about her, and an
extraordinary attractiveness to men that I saw happening wherever we went. And I was completely happy tripping along with stars in my eyes. I felt
like I was in Hollywood.
In the end, I seemed to come to my senses suddenly. It was in an affectionate moment for me, sitting together before a fireplace fire, listening to music
and talking softly about the day, and I knew I was responding inwardly to things she was saying with "bursts of tenderness" for her. And I tried to
tell her the truth of what I was feeling then. And she said: "Don't do that."
Whew. . . . . . . I asked in my own private contemplation later, "What would a mindful warrior do in a situation like this?" Probably not get into this
situation in the first place? Maybe so. Yet I had had more fun and enjoyment during this month than I had known for years before that. Probably
not show my feelings so as not to put a burden on her. Yes, probably so. A mindful warrior would probably just be friends, and leave it at that . . . . .
. . . . . . . or else . . . . . dive for the space, and see what comes up next. Like I said before, the first thing that pops up in that "yawning space," in
exercising space technology, may not be the final harmony. ("Treat every rejection as a green light to keep right on moving forward to the rest of
what's out there in space.")
The awareness game has a model of "the human mating dance" that is purely a theoretical model that I've developed, although it is based on
observations I've made for years in other people. This model says that it is the woman's part in this human dance to pick the man. And it is the man's
part to stand by the woman. It says it is the woman's challenge to keep asking herself honestly, "Can I really pick this man to be my man?" And it is
the man's challenge to keep seeking honestly to recognize the truth of it: "Can I really stand by this woman and be her man?"
This woman had obviously picked me. And she obviously admired and appreciated me. It was as if she would do practically anything to please me.
And yet . . . picked me for what? There were many sweet moments that passed when the absence of even modest spontaneous gestures of affection
from her seemed to stand out in high relief—times when even "a friend" would have hugged me or kissed me on the cheek. At least I was surprised
by that absence of such seemingly harmless gestures. It's hard for me to see a relationship without any gestures of affection at all. Isn't that what it's
about? And I did keep standing by her, in every way that I could . . . and it seemed comfortable and even fitting for me to be standing by her.
And then, certain mysterious, intoxicating, and powerful emotions came into the picture for me. What of that? What's to be made of that? I wonder
if any of you students have any ideas on this. It must be a sort of universal subject. Was your ol' Coach just being another male chauvinist? I don't
know. Perhaps it's so. You can be candid with me, Folks!
"John, you're one of a kind," she told me out of the blue, the last time we went out together. "I don't know," I said, "I'm just an ordinary guy."
In the end, it was the light of the full moon through my window that showed me that she wasn't *really* picking me, and that I couldn't *really* stand
by her. I had no blame of her at all when I called the next day and said goodbye. I was impecable about that. She made no effort to change my mind.
That was noteworthy. I reassured her that I wasn't angry with her and that I wasn't angry with me—both true. Going from work to see her had
become like an extra life for me—squeezed in somehow from another dimension, another world—a fantastic holiday season of riches for me in itself!
Why, she cooked for me from recipe books . . . she made me cookies, she made me teas, she'd even have a hot bath waiting for me, with bubble bath
in it, when I got there, tired after work. She built a fire. She put on music. We "bundled" together on the couch, under separate little blankets.
I loved the time I spent with her and I told her so in that last phone conversation. It was some of the best fun I've ever had in my life. I'm sure I am *
changed* the better for it now!!! I told her she is wonderful, and she is. "I guess I'm just not your person," I said. "It's for the best," she said.
So, remarkably, I don't seem to be suffering these days, but I *am* still spun. It"ll be interesting to see what kind of shape I'm in next week. At the
ranch, they *promised me* that I can have all five weekdays off next week. I do intend to be here then. (This just past week again, as you've
probably guessed, they needed me out there.)
So . . . . see y'all next week. Isn't life a magical mystery, Folks? You never can tell what'll happen next!
Coach
Archived 09/22/2003