Lesson One: The Heroes Journey
"This task is so exacting and its fulfillment so
advantageous, that he forgets himself in the process, losing sight of his
instinctual nature and putting his own conception of himself in place of his
real being. In this way he slips imperceptibly into a purely conceptual world
where the products of his conscious activity progressively replace
reality."
-Carl Jung, The Undiscovered Self
Let me tell you about a friend of mine. You might say after
reading this that the story only began with my friend, but the reality is; that
his story, and my story, and that of your own, are all one and the same. It is
a story of time, of events and of place, these places and how they shaped our
stories. But mostly it is the story of us all. It is the story of humanity. The
hero's journey.
My friends' name is Barry and he hails from Canada. He is
one of Canada's first peoples, one of the Kamloops nation. Barry is a
homosexual. He has been all his life. Many natives on this continent believe
that some individuals are blessed with "two spirits" or berdache.
They have both the feminine and masculine. Barry doesn't look very feminine;
you'd probably never guess he was gay. I, although having experimented with
both sexes, consider myself to be staunchly heterosexual. However, I too have
always felt the "warrior woman" burning inside me. I am often drawn
more to traditional male activities, and consider myself to be like my friend,
a person with two spirits. Perhaps this is why we have been friends for so
long. We share a nature that defies tradition. We accept in each other, that
which is not acceptable. We are kindred.
Barry grew up in a typical Canadian home. Mom, dad, sister,
typical house, typical neighborhood, football on Sunday, fishing trips and
family barbeques. No trauma, no environmental reason for his sexual
orientation. And unfortunately no comfortable way to confront his family with
the truth.
Barry and I became friends some twenty-plus years ago while
we both were living in Vancouver BC. We became friends, then roommates for a
time, and ultimately moved on to other places and other lives. We see each
other nearly every year and spend lots of money on late night, long distance
phone calls. On one of these recent calls we were discussing for the umpteenth
time; the question of when Barry would move back to the Pacific Northwest so we
could better share in each others lives. It is my hope that Barry will play a
significant role as a male figure, for my son whose father has little interest.
Barry has traveled quite a bit around Canada, the States, lived in the Cayman
Islands for some years and finally settled in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. There
he has resided for some seven years or more. We have discussed his moving back
here for at least three years, and I am getting somewhat impatient and am
perplexed as to his seeming reticence to relocate when logic would dictate him
doing so. He misses his family, is tired of Florida and has no real prospects
there, especially after his last failed relationship. But still he doesn't
move; there is always one reason or another preventing him from doing that
which he professes to desire to do.
Typically we talk about all the fun we will have after his
move; shopping at Pike Place, taking in sports and the theatre, traveling to BC
to revisit old haunts, travels to Kamloops to attend the annual powwow, and of
course visits with his family. During this one particular discussion, I tell
him, look… you have to decide without feeling pressure by anyone, what it is
that will work for Barry. Free your mind and think about where it is you really
want to be. When you have done this you can then go about doing what needs to be
done, to get to wherever this place may be. You're not happy where you are, but
something is keeping you from taking the plunge. End of conversation.
I spent some time pondering the matter the next day while
enjoying the scenery on my drive to Bellingham, when AH HA! I had a moment of
vision and one (I think) of perfect clarity. I remembered talking to Barry
about how he fears "coming out" to his father. I realized in that
moment that the geographic distance he had placed between himself and his
father was a metaphor for the distance he felt in his heart. He had physically
put himself as far away from his father as he could on this continent. Look at
Kamloops and look at Fort Lauderdale and you will see how he hides from the
fear of disappointing the man that he admires and loves most in his life. I was
so excited to call the next day and share this great revelation with my friend,
hoping that when he came to terms with this reality that everything else would
fall into place. It hasn't. But that's only the beginning of the heroes' journey¦..
The next day, when driving from Bellingham back to the
foothills; there it was again AH HA! Only this time it was more like OMG! (oh
my God!) Where on earth was I, and how did that relate to my life?
***
I was born and raised in Seattle. Since the early 1850's
five generations had made this home theirs' before me. I have always felt a
deep connection to the place. I had a very happy childhood, exploring all that
the city, the surrounding waters, and mountains could offer. Seattle was a
great place to grow up and I was nearly content. When in my teens I became
restless and decided I needed some adventure. The familiarity and comfort of
all the family and history of the city had somehow given rise to a sense that
this place was not sophisticated enough for me, nor did it offer the
independence that I sought.
My first move was to the mountains. The Alpental ski resort,
though small, offered up the newness I required, and at seventeen, I felt I had
indeed found paradise. The health and exuberance of its people, the Swiss-like
mountain peaks and architecture, the invigorating fresh air, as well as a
budding new romance; all served to delight and inspire. I was young, vivacious,
healthy, and felt very alive. I was a conqueror. I was spiritually and
physically on top of the world. I knew that I wanted to live in the mountains
forever, this was my utopia¦. Then the season ended and I moved back to
Seattle. What was to be my next step?
Seattle, at this point seemed ever more quaint. Yet I basked
in my freedom, living as an adult with a new (older) friend Lena, we shared
many adventures. We were the female Huck and Finn of the city. Nothing could
stop us. She then 21, and I with fake ID, we soon were the life of every hip
party and trendy nightclub to be found. Men flocked to our door, at our sunny
apartment in Wallingford near the lake. Again paradise found. Until one day she
left. The party had come to an end.
I had come into some financial troubles, and being too proud
to ask my parents for help, I abandoned the apartment. What to do? I remembered
one Tequila soaked night, when my friend Lena and I had impulsively journeyed
to Canada. The clubs had all closed and we sat in her car on a deserted freeway
on-ramp, debating what to do. One sign said north to Canada, so after more hits
on the hash pipe, we cracked a bottle of champagne, and north to the border we
went. I decided that again, this time on my own, I would venture north. After a
short rainy stay, at my (biological) fathers' pig farm in Blaine, I hitch-hiked
across the border, and to Vancouver I went.
Wandering the streets, and too naive to feel daunted, I then
met a girl from Holland who would forever change my life. We became lovers and
co-conspirators on many an escapade. In this exciting new city, I had found a
new home. One romance led to another and eventually I met Ian. He was to me an
Adonis, and we had a chemistry that burned hot and fast. Happily he and I spent
three years together; delighting in each other and all the enticements of a
truly cosmopolitan metropolis. My life there with Tanya, then Ian and
subsequently on my own; was everything one would expect from a trend setter and
rebel of such tender years. My peer groups were drag queens, punk rockers and
strippers. Fashionable gays and Mafiosi called me their friend. We did drugs
and frequented after hour-illegal bars. We had parties, rode in limos and
trashed upscale apartments. There were no consequences, only rewards. The paces
of our lives were frenzied and hot. There was nothing more exciting than living
in the eye of the storm that we knew. I had traveled the country as I won and
lost lovers, but then I met Barry and he would be my friend throughout my last
year in Vancouver, and my journeys beyond.
Returning again to Seattle, I had a sense that it was now
time to grow up. I went back to school, settled down with Danny and started
saving for my future. Still a dream from before; that of a home in the
mountains burned in me so, that I sought its fulfillment. Together Danny and I
worked and I bought a five acre parcel of evergreens on the other side of the
summit. This was paradise beyond my imagination. And I owned it, and built upon
it, and spent every weekend working there, dreaming of a day when I could
finally abandon the one room apartment that I still shared with Danny. Finally
that day came and together we moved. Family and friends in Seattle had thought
I should think better; a girl from the city who didn't have a driver’s license,
moving to the woods, with no job, in an unknown county. What on earth was I
doing? But they didn't understand the dream, the dream of a little girl who
read about pioneers in the wild, the dream of a teenager who longed for open
spaces. Finally at thirty I was there, again conqueror; living in the
mountains. Gone was the makeup, wild leather costumes and late parties. I was
home.
In this new life, I soon discovered that Danny was not to be
my truest love, nor the father of my future children. He moved reluctantly, out
of the alpine cabin; that sweet chalet with French lace, perched on a hill,
looking over a running creek. I was happier than I had ever been.
Surrounded by wild roses, aspen and pine; in the little
chalet that I had built; I now wore black pointed Tony Lama's, jeans and T
shirts. My long wild hair blew free in the wind, and in keeping with some
un-named wild western tradition; I named myself Calamity Crystal for all the
adventures I'd seen, and those to come. I worked as a barkeep in the local ruff
and tuff tavern, and had friends by the number; bikers, hippies, loggers,
foresters and the like. I started brawls in bars and had barbeques at my home. I
listened to Puccini, and the Chili Peppers and Lenard Skinner's "Free
Bird" and the "Monk". I tended my gardens and languished in the
sun by the creek. Then I fell in love.
I had a baby, my son John Jacob, named after his great,
great, great, great grandfather John Jacob Moss, a notable Seattle Pioneer. I
nursed him quietly in the woods, in the snow by the creek. I taught him about
flowers and bugs, and introduced him to his crow friends and all the animals
that shared our home. He thrived in the country air, as his blond curls grew
and shone in the sun. His green eyes held a wisdom as deep as the ocean, and
his pure nature taught me a new kind of love; giving my life a meaning that I
couldn't have conceived of before. Love without jealousy or spite. Love without
boundaries, egos or end. Then one day in December he almost died.
There is nothing in the world as frightening and hopeless as
holding a limp baby in ones' arms, what is worse, I won't speak of hear. After
that day things began to decline.
My husband was an alcoholic and had problems beyond that. He
brought ruin upon us over and over, culminating in my turning him out after
seven years. I never thought, as so many don't, that my love for him would fade
and I would give up as I did, but I knew that in one sense or another my son
and I wouldn't survive him. So out with the dish water he went.
By this time we sold the first home that I had built and so
loved. We had bought another in town but the marriage had taken its toll on
that one too. Finally we found an acre by the lake, resplendent with fir, vine
maple and resident deer. Song birds were numerous and the morning air drifting
in from the lake could only be described as cool silk, and is something I will
always remember. My son and I lived there for five years in a small travel
trailer. Improving the property with a well, electricity and a hand dug drain
field for the septic; we lived in a rustic fashion, but reveled nonetheless in
nature's beauty. I returned to school, attending daily the university some
forty miles away. My son grew to love nature as nearly as much as I; with us
building forts in the trees and mazes in the snow. Many a summer day was spent
idling at the lake, and somehow Santa always found us, leaving presents by the
trees we would glean form the woods. We were happy, although challenged for
money and modern convenience; eventually my son grew beyond proportion to the
little trailer in the forest. I applied
to Western Washington University during my senior year at Central, and was
happy to accept an offer of admittance.
We sold the property that we worked so hard to improve and
without party, goodbyes or fanfare; quietly left friends, favorite places and a
dying husband/father behind. With two aging labs and a young German Shepard we
set off for a new home in Whatcom County.
***
So as I sat here, in my new home, contemplating the nature
of my choices, I thought about all the places I have been and the people that I
had become. I knew that I had moved here because I sought adventure for my son,
but somewhere in fourteen years east of the mountains, a haunting memory of the
smells, sights and sounds of the seashore grew. I had longed for home. The
house that I had built so many years before, the happy chalet that I had prayed
would be my home for all the rest of my life, was long sold, and it didn't
matter anymore; because I wanted to come home. I needed to be back by the sea,
to smell the salt air, and I wanted more than anything to bring my son here.
But why was it to Bellingham, and what did that mean?
When I had left Seattle for Vancouver, I had forever left
that barefooted blue-jeaned hippie girl behind. I had certainly left my
innocence with her. When I left Vancouver, I had left that late night
sophisticate and all her dark secrets. When I moved to Roslyn, somehow those
others didn't belong; I was a wife and mother, a country gal, mountain woman. I
couldn't possibly be those things, and what I was before as well.
When we arrived in Bellingham suddenly I was nobody. I
wasn't the bar brawler. Or the honor student, I was no longer the playgirl from
the big city, I wasn't a wife or a community volunteer, hippie, free spirit; no
professors to vouch for me, or neighbors to share a beer, I was unknown, even
to myself it seemed, I was a clean slate. A bare-naked-empty clean slate. The
only remnants of former lives were my son, dogs, a few mementos and pictures,
as well as a piece of paper that entitled me to attend a university. The only
thing that seemed to frame the future person that I would become was the heavy
weight of various chronic health problems, and an overwhelming sense of
tiredness. A deep sad tiredness; that of one who has journeyed for too long and
too far, in a broken down vessel run out of supplies. That, and a thin,
glimmering hope for future adventures and prosperity.
But why was I here, here? Why had I come to this place? And
I realized that in all the ways and places that I tried to find myself; always
re-inventing myself, I had never truly understood who I was. I had moved and
changed, chasing some illusive being. Seeking satisfaction and complacency, I
kept moving, waiting to find the perfect place, that which would nurture the
perfect version of me. Perhaps seemingly, briefly, but I never really did. And
now in my emptiness, as I examined all that has been, I realized that this
perfect person had been here all along. And that all through my time here, I
have been the same person.
Now I am here as a complete whole, the sum of what has been
and what will be; learning, loving, living and dying. It is all one. I am here
because geographically this is the center of my experiences. This is where I am
now to let layer upon layer of whom I thought I was transcend time and space,
and integrate them into a new whole. I am in the physical center of my
experience in as much as I am in the spiritual center of my being. That is my
metaphor. The metaphor for who I am now, is found in this sense of place. What
I am to become no longer matters, as it is what I have always been, and I now
find myself being that here.
As I think now about metaphors and myths, about God, life
and death, I am encouraged. For some time I had lost faith in my God. My fears
and my grieving over losses had corrupted my spirit. Just as Odysseus and other
heroes before me, I had, whether purposefully or not, stumbled into the depths
of Hades. My soul had become dark, and I was lost in a sea of the monsters of
my heart. I felt fear and remorse, and quite literally did not know if I would
survive the journey, this journey to the center of my being. With the last
mustering of what little strength I had left, I journeyed here, in search of my
life, praying that it would find me and drag me from the surf to some safe
haven. Now I lay on this beach in this quiet cove, and am thankful.
I see now that our human lives are metaphors for our
spirits, our bodies as metaphors for our will, and I see humanity as a metaphor
for God. Through place and culture we assign meaning. Meaning that frames the
real work we are to do here. As we live our lives we search for answers; we
assume that when we die, the truths and mysteries of the universe will be
revealed, that is, one way or another. But the reality is that we come here;
our spirits coming to this physical place, knowing that the answers lie here.
Through culture, myth and metaphor, we create the truths that our souls seek.
The places we travel to are the questions we ask of the universe, and our
hearts are content when we discover that wherever we are; we are home.
My friend Barry? If there were no answers, there would be no
questions. I know someday he'll find his home too.
But I..I am my own hero, and this is my story; my hero's
journey.
