The book is written mostly as an examination of Tristan, the symbol for the male psyche and is extremely enlightening to this western male.  I think it is probably very informative for women as well.  I would love a similar treatise told from Iseult’s perspective (or whatever myth might be appropriate).  I know Johnson has “He” and “She” as well as several other myth-meets-Jung books.  I’m likely to read many or all of them.

This book has shone a blazing spotlight on the mistakes, missteps, misunderstandings, and miss-whatever-her-name-was that I’ve made in past relationships with women and how they all have come from some flawed, yet completely understandable assumptions carved into my bones by our western culture over the last 900 years or so.

If you are a man who has ever loved a woman or a woman who has ever been loved by a man, read it.

I was swallowed whole by the snake I went hunting. Luckilly, I remembered to bring my flute and my knife and have managed to cut away, piece by piece, until I found the heart and disgorged it. I’m out of the pit now and playing the flute, trying to understand exactly what happened. Things I learned in the belly of the snake:

• Nonassertiveness has been my achilles heel for a long time. I am this way from my father (we recently discussed this). As I examine this further, I see that I have never integrated my animus (Jung’s archetype for the masculine/warrior). Odd, as this is the opposite of what Jung says should happen. Men should be warriors struggling to integrate the anima (female archetype). I’ve never identified with men. I don’t follow sports (save for a 3 year mania where Anna and I were rabid Bulls fans together). I’ve always been repulsed by Robert Bly type of men’s groups. Or by men’s groups in general. I mean, isn’t the world a big men’s group? I have never been a warrior. I never talk to men at parties - I talk to the women. Nearly my entire readership and blogroll is women. Men seem mostly to be fools. Nonassertiveness - I’ve normally been paralyzed with anxiety to, e.g. ask a waiter to bring more water. This was a source of stress between Anna and I. She needed a warrior and I was often a wimp. Now that I’ve seen this weakness with my conscious mind, I’m finding it surprisingly easy to overcome. I watch people who are assertive (especially a guy at work I really admire who is assertive and also has a kind heart) and I learn from them. I’m making great strides in areas large and small here. I’m beginning to find my own internal warrior. Perhaps my mind knows I can’t afford to be back inside that snake. I almost got completely digested.
• On the subject of God, I rejected the Christian god 20 years ago. The imbalance toward the patriarchy in Christianity filled me with the urge to defecate. But I do believe in God. I’ve been afraid to admit it for a long time. To surrender to the idea that there is some greater power that I can not access via my ego, my intellect. Some experience that is tangential to reason. My ego and intellect are what have allowed me to survive, (to be a warrior?) in this merciless, capitalistic, patriarchal world. I’ve studied Buddhism for years, but I avoided the more mystical aspects of it. Now I see there is some joy in surrender. Oddly, I’m becoming more and more disillusioned with Unitarian Universalism. We have no common symbols, no shared myth. Like Seinfeld, it’s a religion about nothing. To deny the power of symbols and archetypes is to institutionalize suffering, the very thing that religion should be attempting to alleviate (speaking only in a spiritual/psychological way - UU is pretty great in terms of social justice). The west is *impoverished* with the downfall of religion and myth. It’s Hollywood’s job to peddle myth now and they do a pretty craptastic job of it, mostly.
• I have no idea how to understand love, romance, commitment, and connection with a member of the opposite sex. None. I think few of us do - it’s the curse of our western psyche. I’m beginning to unravel some of the mystery of it via Robert A. Johnson’s “We”. I do know I fell in love with a girl. Fell in love once and almost completely. And it utterly wrecked me. Yes, it re-triggered my grief about Anna. But it also triggered something much, much older and deeper. I thought it triggered something old in my family of origin. Now I’m beginning to see it’s even older and deeper than that. Which would explain why it hurt down to my soul’s core. And why it’s still so inexplicable.
• I have been living without intention for a long time. I’m beginning to learn to cultivate mindfulness via meditation practice. Something I’ve wanted to do my entire adult life. I guess that tight, dark snake belly is the motivator here, too. It feels like learning to ride a bike or even to walk for the first time. The intent at the outset was to alleviate depression. The larger intent is to find some inner peace for the first time in my life. To truly be able to see my thoughts, feelings, physical sensations as weather patterns in the sky and to inhabit the sky itself.

Now I’m late for the sky and haven’t meditated yet. Time to get practicing.

The opposum laid there, struggling to move, limbs akimbo, unobeying.

Thursday evening I went out for some last minute groceries, getting ready for the long road trip Saturday morning. It wasn’t going to be an easy trip. Alyssa was 8, Ian just 3. Emma’s age still measured in months. Anna and the kids had been in Charleston for the whole month of July, enjoying family, beach trips, ferries, turtle rescues, crabbing, surfing, movies, aquarium trips, and more. I had driven everyone out at the beginning of the month, stayed a week, and then had flown back to Indiana to work for a week and a half. When we arrived, Anna was feeling pretty good. Perhaps the best she had felt in the 16 months since her cancer diagnosis. It had stopped progressing for several months and her energy level and mood were way up. Despite the anvil still hovering inches above her head and the heads of all of us, there was a certain live-in-the-moment, cancer-be-damned ease about it all. A month at the beach was exactly what everyone needed.

While I was home mid-month, the call came in that Anna was experiencing some new abdominal pain. A trip to the ER brought the anvil down hard. Her cancer had spread all through her abdomen. It had finally outwitted the $3000/month molecular chemotherapy wonderdrug. There was still one bullet left in the gun, one more drug she could try once we got her home. We had to get packed and get home quickly.

On the trip home from the grocery store, I saw the oppossum. It had been hit. Its eyes were full of fear. I passed it and pulled over. Unsure what to do (could it be rescued?), I called my sister-in-law that we had been staying with, a naturalist. Her advice was to do the humane thing and put it out of its misery. There would be no way to save it or to rescue it. I steeled my will and went back. I drove slowly, feeling the crunch of its skull under my wheel. It was the right thing to do and the only thing to do.

Friday was spent packing. Feed and entertain kids. Anna’s pain was becoming quite severe. Despite a dramatic increase in her pain meds - morphine - she was really struggling. She spent the whole day in bed. Didn’t eat anything. Drank a bit of Boost was all. I sent the kids to the pool with my sister-in-law so I could just focus on packing up a month’s worth of living and get us home. Just had to get us home. Just had to get to her rockstar oncologist. Buy a little more time. A thimbleful more hope.

By 3pm I knew something had gone very wrong. Anna’s extremeties had started turning a greenish-yellow. Anna’s brother, R, had come over and we decided we needed to take her to the ER. Somehow, someway get some help so we could get her home. I helped her out of bed and down the steps to the van. That short journey was a huge struggle for her. Her last steps. Her pain was intense and overwhelming. We drove quickly and in silence to the hospital. Anna just trying to rest and manage her pain. I tried not to make a sound as the tears just ran and ran and ran down my face. My normally inexhaustible supply of hope was running dry quickly. At the ER, we got her in a wheelchair and into triage. Her condition was obviously so desperate that they wheeled her right to a room. The nurse there quickly sprang into action, moving rapidly and efficiently. Summoning help from others on the floor with urgency. She tried and tried, but couldn’t get an IV started. I just wanted them to get some pain meds into Anna so she wasn’t suffering so badly. I held her hand or stroked her shoulder or rubbed her forehead as much as possible, trying not to interfere with the nurse’s important business. Anna’s blood pressure was dangerously low - like 60/40. Her pulse was stratospheric - like 170 bpm. They couldn’t give her pain meds until they got her blood pressure up and her heart rate down. She was fighting for life. She couldn’t get any air. They got her stabilized, but it took a while and it was tenuous. We were told she was being moved to the ICU, so we headed up to the waiting room, awaiting further news and consultation.

I think it was maybe 9pm or so at that point. We realized we’d gotten hungry and probably had a long night ahead of us, so Anna’s brother went out to pick us up some dinner. Just as he was returning, we found out they hadn’t moved her to the ICU, but that she had taken a turn for the worse in the ER after we left. They had been looking for us. We rushed back down and the room was packed with doctors and nurses. It wasn’t looking very promising at all. Despite Anna having a Do Not Resuscitate order, she was conscious and had agreed to be intubated when the doctor offered. In other words, she was put on a ventilator since she wasn’t able to breathe. Of course she would have agreed. No one would elect to suffocate. They anesthetized her so she could be intubated. I stood outside the room and was sobbing uncontrollably. Anna’s brother beside me, standing by steadfastly. The young guy in the next room came over and told me I had to stop crying and be strong. I didn’t know whether to agree with him, tell him to shut the fuck up, hug him, or just ignore him. He had no idea just how strong I was and how strong I had been for 17 months. I just mumbled something and hoped he went away.

They finally did move Anna to the ICU and the doctor came and consulted with us. She was kind and competent and didn’t give us false hope, but outlined possible scenarios for success. Her best guess was sepsis and they were going to try and get her stabilized and back to some reasonable shape based on that theory. We sat in the room, me throwing kleenex into a mound on the floor, unable to find or care about a trash can. At this point, it was maybe 1am and we decided it was going to be a long day Saturday making lots of decisions, so we should try and get some rest. Anna was unconscious, stable, and as good as she was going to get for the time being. I went in and said goodnight. She was heavily sedated, but not completely out. She had the breathing tube in and was struggling at some low low level to get it out by tossing her head back and forth. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I squeezed her hand and told her I loved her and rubbed her head and had to go. We headed back in silence and laid down to rest.

The call came in at 3am, July 29, 2006. One year ago today. Bad news and we had to get in right away. They wouldn’t tell us on the phone what had happened. We got back in the van and headed back in silence to the hospital. Whatever it was, it was obvious that hope had run out for us. The drive took moments and hours at the same time. The city was quiet, peaceful.

When we arrived, the doctor sat us back down in the room with the red couches and the no garbage can and informed us that Anna’s heart had stopped. They were able to revive her, but it was likely that she suffered brain damage. There was no longer any hope at all. We had to make the call about whether to keep her on life support. I already knew that Anna did not want her life artificially prolonged. I told the doctor it was time to say goodbye. It was the right thing to do and the only thing to do.

We waited a few minutes while they removed the ventilator tube and took off the various wires and tubes. We were ushered in. She was still breathing, albeit laboriously. She wasn’t conscious, but her eyes were open. The nurse put one final injection into her IV. I sat by her bedside, just stroking her gorgeous red hair over and over and telling her how much I loved her and how much our kids loved her and how much I appreciated her and how great of a mom she had been. How I was grateful for our lives together. How I would take good good care of our babies. How very very much I’d miss her. I just did that over and over again until she took her last breath. I watched her take her very last breath. She finally stopped struggling. Her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost completely black. I told her it was okay and she could rest. No more pain and no more struggle. I sat there doing that for a long time after she stopped breathing. Kissing her forehead and rubbing her hand. Rubbing her cheek. I saw no machines, I heard no sound. I just felt the deep, deep connection and love we had and that I knew we’d always have.

I was able to find some time that last Friday to talk to Anna. To reminisce a bit, to talk about what was to come. Despite not wanting to admit it at the time, we both knew it was the end. She told me I was a good father. She was grateful for the love we shared. Anna never swore. She looked at me and said “I’m fuckin sick, dude”. She wanted me to know, in my own language, that things weren’t right. I didn’t really say goodbye during that talk, but it was, in effect, our goodbye. I took a picture of her hand that day. It was intended for me to get a fingerprint for some pendants for the kids. It was the last photo I took of her.

The drive home from the hospital was surreal. 6am. The sun was rising. Everyone was going about their business. I could not understand, looking into every stranger’s eyes in their cars how they were not overcome with sadness and grief, not crying their eyes out. I was exhausted and overwhelmed. And my next task was about to be my hardest. Harder than everything that had come before. I had to go back and tell my children that their mommy had died. I had no idea. I mean, I figured the day would come. But today? Shouldn’t that still be in some tomorow? I called Cricket, my counselor. Our counselor Her wise advice shone through like it often does. She told me my job was now to lead the grief. To show the kids that it was ok to be sad. Really, really sad. But to also let them know that the world was still safe and that I would protect them. To let them see me grieve. To let them see me genuinely stricken. But not to let them see me completely break down. If at all possible, to save that for when they weren’t around. And that’s exactly what I did.

J had gathered them up while we drove home. They were already awake anyway. I sat them down in R&J’s bedroom, us, them, and their 3 kids. I just told them that mommy couldn’t fight the cancer any more and her body was too sick to stay alive any more. Alyssa was heartbroken and came up and sat and cried with me. Ian was confused and sad. He also sat with me. Emma was just too young to understand. We sat and talked and shared memories. After a couple minutes, Ian got up and quietly starting playing with a fire truck. It was his own way of channeling his sadness. Alyssa just sat quietly with me. We just stayed together for a long, long time, crying. Wishing it weren’t like it was. Alyssa wanted to know some of the logistics - what would happen to Anna’s body? How would we get her home? She was very sad that she didn’t get to see Anna one last time. She wanted to see her body once more. I told her she’d have a chance at the funeral, but that it wouldn’t be the same. And that mommy’s spirit would always live on with her no matter where she was. We spent the day cocooned. Eating some, resting some. My nieces, nephew, and R&J offering endless comfort to all of us. I could not have survived the day, the whole process, this whole year without them.

Anna was a wise woman. She was raised on the beach and always wanted to move back there. She had saltwater in her blood. A Seal Maiden, I believe. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she planned her own end so that she was on the beach. We had a small memorial service later the next day. We picked some flowers from R&J’s garden and took them to the Isle of Palms beach. We invited their minister. Said a few prayers. Kids and adults alike (and my father who had flown in for support and to help me with the drive home) tossed flower petals into the ocean, remembering Anna. We’ll be doing the same thing later today in the same place, just R&J and the kids and I.

Thank you Anna
Thank you for the love you gave me
Thank you for the 15 years of your life you shared with me
Thank you for the beautiful children you bore me, faces of God all
Thank you for your patience with me
Thank you for sharing your secrets with me
Thank you for sharing your body with me
Thank you for your wisdom
Thank you for your heart

I miss you dearly and will love you always.

Love,
Jase-o

My artist, Mike, said he’d always wanted to play the harmonica. He’s a guitar player. So I gave him a nice harmonica (in addition to a few bucks) for a tip this time. I think he was pretty pleased about that.

You can see it’s peeling a bit right now. More pics when it’s totally healed.

Opinions of any sort are welcome. Don’t hold back.

In this post, I wrote about the tree that grows by Anna’s grave. I got a likeness of that tree tattooed on my leg today. I’ve always wanted a tattoo as far back as I can remember as an adult. I just never had an image that I felt so strongly about that I wanted it on my skin for the rest of my life. I woke up 5 weeks ago today and as I became conscious, the idea of this tree on my body was already committed to my skin. It was just a matter of finding the right artist at that point. I told my dad it was divine intervention and he (the devout Catholic) totally cracked up.

I’m so incredibly thrilled with it. There are still about 2 hours of shading work to do, but I wanted to post pics so far. I had it done by Mike Prickett at The Tattooed Heart in Lafayette, Indiana. I can not say enough about how professional and talented the guy is. The shop was clean and well-maintained. The atmosphere was friendly. Mike did the design and the ink. Did it hurt? Yeah. Like hell. Especially on the top of my foot. The pain was exquisite at times. I felt like passing out. But it was totally worth it. I can’t wait to go back (3 weeks) to get it finished. I just want to sit and look at my leg all night.

It’s been a dynamic couple of months in the world of Jase. Pull up a chair. What are you having?

First, I’d like to introduce you to someone. But before I can do that, I have to go back a bit and let you in on some of my history. I left home at 17 for college. I crossed the Indiana state line with a few pieces of furniture, a class schedule, and a great deal of rage and sadness. Not to say I was a sad or angry person, per se, but I was just holding on to a lot of shit and had no way to get it out. My parents were divorced when I was five. When I was about 7 or 8, my dad married my stepmother. To say my stepmother and I had a lot of trouble getting along is a bit of an understatement. I went back and forth between parents between 5 and 18 and had a difficult time, emotionally, the years I lived with my dad and stepmother. I went searching for counseling in my late teens and early 20s to try and deal with this anger and had no luck. I went to one therapist who literally had me focusing on glowing orbs inside my abdomen and channeling dolphins and shit. Couldn’t find anyone that just wanted to talk. So the anger festered. After I got together with Anna in my mid-twenties, she suggested I find someone a bit more down to earth. She had worked with someone in the Marriage and Family Therapy discipline named Cricket (don’t you love her name?). I did some work with her and realized I was on the right track. She helped me get started working out my anger. Anna and I did a bunch of relationship work with Cricket over the years. She was/is extremely insightful and highly practical at the same time. I still see her regularly. She’s like my tribal elder. A guru of sorts. After seeing her some in my mid-twenties, she pointed me to Dick Schwartz in Chicago who does Internal Family Systems work.

The idea with IFS (which Dick developed, I believe) is that when we encounter emotional or spiritual trauma during our developmental years, we experience a sort of break, a mini multiple personality disorder, if you will. That person becomes stuck at that age and will sort of live within you and try to keep working out whatever they need to work out, often subconsciously, and often ineffectively. I thought the idea of IFS seemed a bit contrived at the time, but it’s turned out to be a pretty useful model to help me work out my own demons. You address these various internal people directly. I did some intense work with Dick and actually came out the other side having literally left behind all of the anger I felt toward my stepmother. I am eternally grateful for the work we did.

So let me introduce you to someone now. His name is Jasey Boy. Jasey Boy, Internets. Internets, Jasey Boy. Jasey boy is the 5 year old kid who has spent about 32 years trying just to understand what the hell happened to his family and why he can’t just get the love and attention he needs and deserves. I’ve been talking to Jasey Boy a lot lately. All the work I did with Dick and IFS mostly focused on another part who used to be really angry with stepmother. I haven’t talked to him in a long while. Like the scene in Little Miss Sunshine, he helped push the minibus up to a certain speed and then hopped in. Jasey Boy has demanded a fair amount of my attention since Anna died.

We’ve been doing a lot of talking over the last couple of months and I think it’s safe to say, he’s finally getting on the bus now. How did that happen? Well, there’s Jase. He’s the core person. The leader. He’s me. I’ve basically been able to show Jasey Boy that we’re going to be ok. Really ok. Better than ok, actually. We hit a point sometime last week where I think he finally let his guard down and decided to take my hand. There’s plenty of reason for Jasey Boy to feel safe and cared for. I’m raising 3 kids alone and doing a rather good job of it. (With no small amount of logistical help, for sure) None of them are maladjusted or terribly misbehaved or showing evidence that they’re cracking. On the contrary, they’re usually well-behaved and mostly happy (video below notwithstanding ). I get a constant stream of compliments about them. We have an enormous amount of love that flows in our household. It’s palpable. My friends see it. My family sees it. I’m paying the bills and making it to dentist appointments. I’m getting my body back to the place it needs to be which means I’ll probably be around for a while to raise my kids. I’ve earned a green belt in Tae Kwon Do in 9 months. All of these are external validations, of course. But there’s something deeper happening here.

When I lost Anna, it occurred to me that love is the only reason to exist. Everything else is only distraction and bullshit. Sure, you gotta pack your lunch in the morning and go to work each day, The Pretender. But that’s doing. I’m talking about being.

Jessica wrote about wholeness recently. I like the idea of wholeness. It’s easier for me to relate to than the idea of perfection. Perfection is unattainable. Wholeness seems to me to be everybody on the bus, trying to keep it pointing down the road without running over the curb or rear-ending anyone. Perhaps looking up at the bright blue sky sometimes. I’m getting there. Tae Kwon Do has “five tenets”: Courtesy, Integrity, Perserverance, Self-Control, and Indomitable Spirit. I always like reciting “indomitable spirit, sir!” in class. It just means “keep trying, you’ll get better”.

I’ve been going out over the last month or so with a woman I met on match.com. She’s a very sweet woman. Funny, intelligent, creative, attractive, literate, dedicated to raising her daughter, has a noble profession. It turns out there was a mismatch on what we were looking for, in terms of pace and direction. She made it pretty clear that she wasn’t sure she wanted to get into “looking for the one” relationship right now. I hadn’t wanted to hear that, given how great of a person she is, so it took a while to sink in. Once it did, I re-membered that I really am ok and that I’ll wait patiently for that relationship that takes things to the next level, spiritually, being more OK in my own skin than I ever have in the meantime. One of the many gifts I was given spending time with her was that the bar has been raised on the caliber of person I hope to share my life with at some point. I hadn’t been so sure about the dating pool at this age when I first set out.

I do have to admit I have another crush. I’ve only mentioned it to a few close people IRL. It’s highly improbable. And being only a crush, who knows where it will go. But she seems pretty in tune with herself, generous, kind, also striving toward wholeness. Even if nothing comes of it, it’s more indication that I’m finally in the place I need to be. In the words of Joseph Campbell, “If you want the whole thing, the gods will give it to you. But you must be ready for it”. I’ve tried to follow Campell’s famous words “When you follow your bliss… doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors, and where there wouldn’t be a door for anyone else,” for many years. He hasn’t led me astray yet. I’ll die with my current wedding ring on my right hand. Maybe I’ll have one on my left hand too. Gravy.

This song is for Jasey Boy. Maybe we’ve found our One Safe Place, my uneasy friend. (You can ignore the video. Unless you are attractive, single, and Kiefer Sutherland stirs your loins and makes you want to email me.)

(It’s from Marc Cohn’s forthcoming CD. The track is called “One Safe Place”.)

Grace.