Debilitating Repression

The following commentary makes us alternate between hope and despair regarding this culture’s ability to let go of the self-instilled fear engendered by unsubstantiated possibilities. Clearly some individuals see things clearly but the fact that this writing was necessary at all speaks to the continued existence of the rigidity that can lead to such atrocities as genocide.

Namaste,

Euroswydd, Reiki Clowne and Mort

Debilitating Repression

I’m curious how the parents who’ve banned a children’s book, “The Higher Power of Lucky” by Susan Patron—age of intended audience 9 through 12—explain to their own progeny the changes that occur in their bodies as those children approach puberty. I ask this seemingly invasive question because these same parents, in their capacity as librarians, have seen fit to ban a book that has won the Newberry Prize for Literature, one of the most prestigious awards in children’s literature, due to its mention of the word scrotum.

Evidently the only body parts suitable for this country’s children to discuss are those used in reference to edible meats. I’ll barely touch on the widely known fact that many, many cultures consider the scrotal sacs of the animals they use for food to be a gourmet delicacy.

In the United States a preponderance of the population deem it appropriate to discuss breast meat, eggs, loins and tongue-- just to mention a few anatomical features with sexual associations—within hearing of children of all ages, while giving the scrotum the cold shoulder. Fried, broiled or barbecued scrotums not being regulars on the dinner plate have rendered its mention taboo.

No wonder our children are so confused, baffled and bewildered. All other obvious body parts are freely discussed, endowed with proper names and chores. What to do about these unmentionables that while apparently inconsequential continue enlarging?

It’s common knowledge that we tend to fear that which we do not understand. Based on that premise it should come as no surprise that the children of parents who insist upon squelching knowledge of something so integral to our being as our bodies should be afraid of a book that makes mention of a scrotum. Perhaps their parents never mentioned THAT word, instead advocating avoidance, hoping all would become magically clear without having to endure the embarrassment of an explicit conversation.

I’m curious how these parents explain ballplayers constant checking and rearranging of their pelvic regions. “It’s nothing dear,” I imagine a panicked parent explaining, “he’s just making sure his seams are straight!” How to explain the disappearance of the neighbor’s dog rear end dangles? And the list goes on. Life must be a nightmare for these parents.

What on earth are these people afraid of? Knowledge, as the old saying goes, is power. Don’t these parents wish to empower their children with all the wonders and knowledge of the world? Actually prepare them for their adult lives as opposed to entangling their psyche’s with crushing conventions whose inception was the desire of a few to control the masses?

The book in question merely tells a story in which a word is used in the most innocuous of manners just the way any other anatomical feature might be mentioned. That there are people who wish to inflict the same mind numbing, life crushing mores that their parents inflicted on them only signifies their desire to punish their offspring, not the opposite.

And a final question. How can one explain—before it’s too late--the process of fathering a child if one can’t even mention the little sac that houses the testicles that produce the sperm?

On The Road Again

Thinking it important that people understand that anyone—not just those struck by a natural disaster or plunked by judgmental types into the ‘poor and uneducated’ category-- can undergo desperate times, we thought we would avail the following letter for all to read. The author lived in the 20^th and 21^st centuries.

Namaste,

Euroswydd, Mort and Reiki Clowne

I will be moving again…soon. Thankfully and for the first time in years the distance between my present abode and my new one is less than 200 miles. Temperance, number 14 in the Major Arcana of the Tarot, when appearing in the upright position encourages moderation even in moderation. Over the last few years that card has evidenced itself only when doing readings for others. Perhaps that should have given me a clue to the wide swings the pendulum would take when I embarked on the move that was to lead to the fulfillment of my dreams nearly six years ago. Each ensuing move has covered distances of no less than 2,000 miles in trucks that while offering various configurations were clearly unified toward common goals.

Successfully one and all encouraged extreme levels and ensuing long term effects of limb cramping, the opening of an umbilicus connection facilitating monetary evacuation from my bank account to a disconcerting quantity of gas pumps, and an appreciation for motels/hotels with parking lots large enough and laid out in a fashion enabling movement in something larger than a compact car. In addition to moving ourselves around this ‘great land of ours’ my partner and I drove a 27’ truck from Long Island, NY to New Mexico to help friends move and a 10’ foot truck from New Mexico to Florida after the death of my father.

Yet in spite of the fact that I’m really sick of moving and thought we’d have a least a year or two before we’d have to broach the project again—we arrived in New Hampshire from Florida, September 1^st of 2006--I am looking forward to this one.

Within a month of arriving in New Hampshire the news that our landlord was selling her duplexes felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. At first we thought we’d buy one of the duplexes but buying something because you don’t want to pack and move that which you’ve just moved and unpacked for the gazillionth time isn’t an adequate reason to buy something that’s not exactly what one is looking for.

Gritting our teeth we began a several month odyssey of exploration. Eventually after getting to know our new state rather well, at least on a regional basis, we were presented with the piece de resistance, a 4.3 acre plot with an old but livable mobile home for a price that we could afford in an area we liked. What a deal.

Our move to sustainability, donkey, chicken and duck caretaking, land stewardship, peace and quiet with eventual replacement of the mobile home with a newer, environmentally designed dwelling has amply shown that after a lengthy time of stagnation our lives have moved back into the concretely obviously productive lane.

I say the concretely obviously productive lane because those nearly six years of beating our heads against the proverbial brick wall has been a time of lessons learned through seeming inertia—in hindsight productive but not enjoyable. We felt as though in a void of nonproductivity.

We’ve experienced homelessness, the stultifying, frustrating fear that things would never improve, subjection to prejudice and profiling, firsthand experience with how worry can completely undo ones mental and physical health, not to mention the weighty responsibility of having to provide for dependents.

Now I want to stress that I’m not talking about whether the cable TV will work, the internet be provided for, and there be enough money to buy the latest and greatest electronic gadget. I’m talking about having a roof over ones’ head, heat in the winter, food all year round and a means of continuing to access the necessities, not the frivolities, of life.

Fortunately for us those years are behind us. We will carry the lessons learned and they will shape our future lives. Not everyone is as fortunate. As a voting population we have of late contributed to making this a country of unrecognized opulence and deep cruelty. A most unforgivable situation.