the society of others

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Yesterday was an uncharacteristically social day.

In the morning, much to my surprise, Andy, who was once a colleague on the Saturday morning peace picket line, called to ask (more politely) where the hell I had been. In summer's heat, I had stopped showing up for the one-hour vigil outside the courthouse on Main Street. The heat was too strong for me and so the habit of not-going kicked in. Usually, Saturday morning vigils were, for me, an exercise in coalescing and dispersing -- coming together with little or no social interaction outside the one-hour event. So Andy's call was a surprise ... and perhaps an inspiration to get my act together and join the group once more.

Later, in the supermarket parking lot, I ran into Grumpy, a fellow I had met while trying out "The Wisdom Project," a conversational gathering at the Senior Center. I quit the group when I realized I didn't think much of creating a gathering on behalf of something called "wisdom." I always admired Grumpy for his background and good spirit ... a fellow, now in his 80's perhaps,  who might have gone to college on a full scholarship except that his stepfather had two daughters from a previous marriage and hence many mouths to feed ... and so, after high school, Grumpy found himself learning a money-making bricklayer's trade ... and he did that for the rest of his working life. It was his wife who dubbed him "Grumpy" and, although he is unremittingly pleasant, the name stuck. And what saved his ass in his life was his love of and capacity for music ... banjo, guitar and I forget what other instruments. He still plays in a band. We chatted a bit in the supermarket parking lot ... and then moved on.

In the afternoon, Emmett Coyne, 73, a Catholic priest and author of "The Theology of Fear," came for a visit and dinner. Emmett and I had only met on the Internet and once by phone, but suddenly, there we were, sitting on the couch, sipping the wine he brought and gabbing. Emmett arrived around 4:30 and left at perhaps nine. The conversation ambled and meandered like a dog on a New York sidewalk, sniffing here, stopping there and occasionally lifting a leg for an inviting fire hydrant. Nothing, from spiritual life to personal background, was out of bounds, but there were moments to pause and correct what seemed to be an imagined misperception or point of emphatic agreement. Gift o' the gab, you might say, and it really was pleasant to be with a contemporary who had lived long enough to have opinions and biases but was not  wedded to them in such a way as to impede the conversational flow with self-serving rants. Emmett seemed to like my 'chapel,' as he called the zendo I took him into the backyard to visit. I gave him a copy of my book, "Answer Your Love Letters: Footnotes to a Zen Practice," and he signed a copy of his which I had bought. My inscription to him: "For my new friend, Emmett Coyne, with all best wishes. SEMPER FI!" His inscription to me: "What hath fear wrought? The gift of a scintillating soul!" Eddies and currents....

I guess I was never trained well to credit the social interactions I can enjoy so much. Somehow, perhaps because of an upbringing that lacked the love I craved, the society of others can seem to underline with a piercing clarity a sense of  loneliness ... and hence both social interaction and loneliness can feel lonely. The faith that others seem to embrace and credit -- the faith in social interaction -- is not a faith at which I am skilful or in which I seem capable of being convinced. It is strong medicine and I am probably too old to change my spots, so I have to content myself with the air I breathe. I may wish and wish ... but "if wishes were horses, beggars would ride." And the question poses itself -- quietly whispering in the background of social enjoyments -- on behalf of what disease is this medicine prescribed?

And, after a day dotted with social activity, I was as worn out as if I had been digging ditches all day. Worn out as a candle. Pleasantly ... but still....
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