S is for Sacrosanct


1. (esp. of a principle, place, or routine) regarded as too important or valuable to be interfered with.

Let me tell you why I  loved fighting, then  acid and later, meditation. They make the world shiny. After a  throw-down fight, a good trip or a long deep meditation I have gotten the same feeling, like the world is new and shiny, like I am seeing it anew again. I adore that feeling.

My friends and I went directly from the meditation seminar to The Boys’ home in Portland. It was the first time I was bringing friends with me. The Boy and his moms never came to my home in NJ, which made minimum exposure to my friends rather simple. This time I was making a choice to do so.  It was all about choices.

If they didn’t see where I lived or meet the people I associated with, they only had what I chose to show as fodder for the picture of me in their heads and I liked it that way. I only spent a few days of any given year in their company, that time was sacrosanct and I could play pretend for that long, mostly. Yes, of course I was perfectly healthy, yes my girlfriend is great and not an abusive jerkface, yes my job is fulfilling and interesting, yes my social life is full of kind, intelligent, generous souls, everything is GREAT.

Addressbook (1)

I am sure I didn’t fool them, they are smart cookies and Gwynnie had long ago,  given up on writing down any of my contact information in pen, it just wasn’t worth the mess of crossing things out so often. I was never stable, not really.

turret2I brought Robyn and Rosencrantz because they were my closest friends, I was proud to be their friend and additionally, I needed SOMEONE to play witness to the insanity that is the Maine Hive Household. EVERYONE is awesome… it’s tiring. I have met scientists, professors, dancers, master fire dancercarpenters, inventors, tattoo artists, fire dancers, nationally syndicated comic artists, yoga instructors, castle builders, performers of all sorts, artists, singers, musicians, activists, sustainable farmers..so many people and most of that list can be found on their block and many of those people do two or more of those things. They are all intimately connected, in some way. Everything is made from scratch, there are handmade cookbooks and a constant string of baked goods being kneaded and pulled, there are compost piles and supplies bought from local purveyors and farms. There are gardens tended and preserves jarred. I once called the house about something and was told “ Oh! We just went strawberry picking at our friends place, you know the one that built that turret? We picked about 65lbs of strawberries, and we’re making jam now”. It’s hard not to feel like a failure at existence before you finish your filtered coffee with foamed milk and crystalized ginger scones in the morning at the kitchen table where there are people up and running hours before I’ve left my bed.

None of this is braggartly. they are just living their lives and this is how they live it. There is a constant stream of friends and relatives in and out of the house, coming up and down from the basement that connects some of the houses inhabitants. So many people are visiting during the warm months of the year, they have to juggle the bookings. People are taking ferries, meeting ferries, skateboarding, snowboarding, sailing, hiking, twisting into yoga knots and dancing hither and yon.

ashtray_ (1)There is a chair on their porch, to the side of the house, that is made from bent metal, with finely woven rattan covering it, it is almost like a modified rocker, and beside it is an old smokeless ashtray, most likely, salvaged humanely. It is slightly hidden, and this is where I hide. On this trip, I had comrades in arms and I was happy to have them, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t crazy.

So much genuine friendliness, passionate interest and graciousness, was just really hard for me to process. I always felt like the Grinch, looking down at Whoville with such cynicism and really, who wants to be the Grinch?  Like the Grinch, I secretly wanted to be a part of that joie de vie, but it was always just out of reach. My envy was debilitating.

I wasn’t stupid enough to believe my new shiny eyes would never get clouded again by my own insecure stupidity; but for this trip, they weren’t and it was the first time it wasn’t so overwhelming, I could just faintly see the hope of finding my own path towards this kind of life. It was the first time I saw a roadmap instead of a warning sign that blared “ Danger! Do Not Enter! Authorized Personnel Only!”.


One thought on “S is for Sacrosanct

  1. Pingback: Z is for Zany | Transitional Meltdown

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s