We have been taught by DesCartes that the only reality we directly experience is the world of our thought - and by Kant that the world of thought really is the only world there is. In practice, since all of us (except some Scientologists) must live in the outside world, we live on two levels - what Kant called the phaenomenal level - the level of what we see, hear, feel, smell, taste - and the noumenal level - the level of what our mind makes of these things. And to most of us, that phaenomenal level is the real one. The rest is the 'trip' we lay on things - a map of things that works for us.
I had been deeply moved, in reading those two Sigrid Undset novels - Kristin Lavransdatter and The Master of Hestviken - by the conception of Christianity I had seen in it. I had, in particular, been moved to tears by my understanding, in reading the latter, that Jesus had thought Himself to be God dying for the sins of mankind.
I had been deeply moved, as well, by Candace's talk of a relationship with this Jesus, Who was always with her, would guide her, comfort her, strengthen her, at need.
I had been moved by these things as a fascinating and terribly attractive noumenal map to place on experience - a 'trip,' in fact.
When Candace talked about Heaven, about the New Jerusalem, about eternal life as being the rewards of passing some sort of final judgement by God - I was stunned - and I was filled with fear. For it suddenly came to me that, if these things were true - true in some sort phaenomenal sense - for the concept of any sort of unified truth was still far from me - that if these things were, as I would put it, really true - why, then, it didn't matter whether I believed them or not. Whatever reality they represented would overtake me, eventually, regardless of my state of faith. I might be like a man happily falling from the Empire State Building who did not believe in footpaths.
As I listened to Candace and Greg - Greg whose questions were challenges with a sneering quality, Candace whose answers were full of joy and conviction - I began to know - I must use the word 'know' rather than 'believe' or 'imagine' - to know that, in addition to those two, there were two others listening. I could see nothing of them. But Jesus Christ was in the darkness behind Greg on one side of him - and Satan was in the darkness behind him on the other side. I do not claim this knowledge to be of anything that someone else could verify. It was certainly not phaenomenal knowledge, for there were no phaenomena - nothing that appeared. But I was certain - and I knew that I must choose.
I spoke. I said, "I don't know about Greg, but I need to find out more about this."
This was rather a bombshell. Greg said, in exasperation, something like, "Oh, my God, no! Don't tell me you are taken in by this stuff, John?!!" And, when it became clear to him that I did indeed take seriously the idea that all of this might somehow actually be true, he did say, "Oh, well, we'll have to get round to straightening you out once we have this sector of the galaxy clear." That is really how Scientologists talk, I'm afraid :-)
Candace and I left. I had an undergraduate friend at the University that I knew was, in some sense, a Christian. At least, his father was a pastor and he lived in a room in his father's church. William Joseph Arnold is his name. I said we should go there.
Not, perhaps, the most thoughtful time to knock on a friend's door - it was, I think, about 4 or 5 in the morning. But we went. Bill (as I knew him then; he now goes by the name Joe) received us. He, Candace, and I talked. I was, as they could easily see, in a very excited state - though not so excited that I had no questions to ask. I do remember being quite concerned about the relationship between evolution and the Bible. It is good that I was. It showed that I was unwilling to treat this Christianity as just a trip.
Bill's (very sound) advice was to leave these matters for God to sort out with me later. The great thing was to trust Him.
How? I didn't know what to do - and, it seemed, neither did they. Bill found a cardboard carton full of religious tracts. One of them - I could wish I had kept it - had, at the end, a prayer, that was, I think, perfect. The matter of the prayer was straightforward. God had two claims on me. First, He had made me. I was, therefore, His workmanship, His to do with as He chose. But, second, He had sent His Son to die for my sins to redeem me. He had thus doubly the right to exact my submission, faith, and obedience. I prayed acknowledging these things - and told God that I would henceforth be His man. Whatever He saw fit to do with me was what I wanted.
I remember especially Candace's joy at my conversion. She had never, she said, brought anyone to the point of faith.
She had come to Hawai'i with a sense that it was God's will for her - and she had a looseleaf New Testament for which she had made a leather cover. She had felt led to bring it with her. She didn't know why she should, but she had. She gave it to me. I have it still.
28 January 2012
22 January 2012
Cockcrowing
The word 'Christian' had almost no content for me. I knew the Christianities, rather vaguely, by denomination - somebody was a Baptist, somebody else was a Catholic - and of course the word 'Christian' is part of English - but any reality behind it - well, I knew of none.
I first realised that Candace was a Christian, and that in a shocking sense, when Sue and I, with Candace and their mother, went to dinner at a restaurant. Candace prayed! She bowed her head and prayed. I had seen scenes in movies where a family head said grace before a meal - usually at some special occasion, like Thanksgiving. But... right here, in front of everybody, all by herself! I was shocked, and embarrassed.
And provoked to action.
New Year's Eve in 1969 was on a Wednesday, and I couldn't go out then - had to drive taxi, starting at 6AM the next morning. Greg, one of Airic's Scientology protégés amongst the taxi drivers and a good friend of mine, said he was going to have a New Year's party at his house up in Manoa Valley on the Saturday beforehand, the 27th December. Greg lived in - perhaps he actually owned it? - a very large old house in the valley. Would Candace like to go with me?
My request was not innocent. Perhaps something in Candace's overt Christianity irked me. Possibly I imagined a pink-and-white world of sweetness and light as her mental world. Perhaps I thought I would show her what real life was like. So I asked her - and said that I, and some others, would be on 'acid' - did she mind?
No, she didn't mind, she said. I took my LSD, we got onto my Yamaha 50 and went to Greg's house. Arrived there, I introduced Candace to them all, and - maliciously - told Greg that this was Susan's sister - and that she was a Christian. I then sat down on the couch at the far end of the large living room to watch the fun.
It didn't take long. Greg - who was not on drugs, since he was doing Scientology auditing - had been brought up a Catholic. He started in on Candace.
He asked, I suppose, the usual questions about God. Did she believe that God was a bearded man Who lived somewhere up in the sky? He went on at some length with this sort of question. And Candace, instead of responding, in most cases, to what were, after all, not very serious questions, told Greg - and the others, but it was mainly Greg who spoke - about Jesus. She spoke of Him very personally - and lovingly. She talked about how wonderful it was never to be alone; always to have Jesus by her side, helping her, comforting her.
So far as I know - perhaps Candace will comment on this post and tell me if I am wrong - so far as I know, she did not know that I was paying any attention. The house was old and the living room was large, and pretty dark. I was at the far end of it. For all she knew I was engaged in meditating the whichness of what, and uninterested in what was going on.
I was, in fact, listening intently. I remember thinking how very, very moving all this sounded - how wonderful it would be to think - I was still imagining this, you see, as a kind of mental game to play - how wonderful it would be to think that you had an all-powerful, all-loving friend at your side all the time. That, I thought, would be some trip! Candace's face began to shine as though it were an icon of a saint, with the highlights picked out in gold leaf.
I imagine some, hearing of this experience, will suppose that, under the influence of LSD, I was unable to tell the difference between reality and hallucination. I have heard that for some persons, using LSD, this can happen. I can only say that it never did for me. I could see the gold-leaf highlights. I knew they were projections of my mind onto the face of Candace, because of the subject matter and its associations with actual religious pictures I had seen. I was not deceived; on the other hand, I think that what I saw did, in fact, represent a reality. Candace was speaking of holy things; I was 'seeing' holy things.
Seeing holy things, but, nevertheless, still thinking of them as a 'trip' - a kind of mind game, one that might be good to play, but a projection of the mind, entirely, including Jesus Himself.
Greg asked Candace if she believed in Hell. Did she think that he, Greg, was going to be sent to Hell as a punishment for not believing.
Candace responded, not by talking about Hell, but by talking about Heaven. She talked about it in rather literalistic terms, using language from the Book of the Apocalypse, spoke of crystal seas, of transparent gold, of precious gems. And she spoke of the Second Coming of Christ - and of the Great White Throne and the Last Judgement.
My life had been one continual sinking into darkness. It was not always to be night. The crowing of cocks could be heard.
I first realised that Candace was a Christian, and that in a shocking sense, when Sue and I, with Candace and their mother, went to dinner at a restaurant. Candace prayed! She bowed her head and prayed. I had seen scenes in movies where a family head said grace before a meal - usually at some special occasion, like Thanksgiving. But... right here, in front of everybody, all by herself! I was shocked, and embarrassed.
And provoked to action.
New Year's Eve in 1969 was on a Wednesday, and I couldn't go out then - had to drive taxi, starting at 6AM the next morning. Greg, one of Airic's Scientology protégés amongst the taxi drivers and a good friend of mine, said he was going to have a New Year's party at his house up in Manoa Valley on the Saturday beforehand, the 27th December. Greg lived in - perhaps he actually owned it? - a very large old house in the valley. Would Candace like to go with me?
My request was not innocent. Perhaps something in Candace's overt Christianity irked me. Possibly I imagined a pink-and-white world of sweetness and light as her mental world. Perhaps I thought I would show her what real life was like. So I asked her - and said that I, and some others, would be on 'acid' - did she mind?
No, she didn't mind, she said. I took my LSD, we got onto my Yamaha 50 and went to Greg's house. Arrived there, I introduced Candace to them all, and - maliciously - told Greg that this was Susan's sister - and that she was a Christian. I then sat down on the couch at the far end of the large living room to watch the fun.
It didn't take long. Greg - who was not on drugs, since he was doing Scientology auditing - had been brought up a Catholic. He started in on Candace.
He asked, I suppose, the usual questions about God. Did she believe that God was a bearded man Who lived somewhere up in the sky? He went on at some length with this sort of question. And Candace, instead of responding, in most cases, to what were, after all, not very serious questions, told Greg - and the others, but it was mainly Greg who spoke - about Jesus. She spoke of Him very personally - and lovingly. She talked about how wonderful it was never to be alone; always to have Jesus by her side, helping her, comforting her.
So far as I know - perhaps Candace will comment on this post and tell me if I am wrong - so far as I know, she did not know that I was paying any attention. The house was old and the living room was large, and pretty dark. I was at the far end of it. For all she knew I was engaged in meditating the whichness of what, and uninterested in what was going on.
I was, in fact, listening intently. I remember thinking how very, very moving all this sounded - how wonderful it would be to think - I was still imagining this, you see, as a kind of mental game to play - how wonderful it would be to think that you had an all-powerful, all-loving friend at your side all the time. That, I thought, would be some trip! Candace's face began to shine as though it were an icon of a saint, with the highlights picked out in gold leaf.
I imagine some, hearing of this experience, will suppose that, under the influence of LSD, I was unable to tell the difference between reality and hallucination. I have heard that for some persons, using LSD, this can happen. I can only say that it never did for me. I could see the gold-leaf highlights. I knew they were projections of my mind onto the face of Candace, because of the subject matter and its associations with actual religious pictures I had seen. I was not deceived; on the other hand, I think that what I saw did, in fact, represent a reality. Candace was speaking of holy things; I was 'seeing' holy things.
Seeing holy things, but, nevertheless, still thinking of them as a 'trip' - a kind of mind game, one that might be good to play, but a projection of the mind, entirely, including Jesus Himself.
Greg asked Candace if she believed in Hell. Did she think that he, Greg, was going to be sent to Hell as a punishment for not believing.
Candace responded, not by talking about Hell, but by talking about Heaven. She talked about it in rather literalistic terms, using language from the Book of the Apocalypse, spoke of crystal seas, of transparent gold, of precious gems. And she spoke of the Second Coming of Christ - and of the Great White Throne and the Last Judgement.
My life had been one continual sinking into darkness. It was not always to be night. The crowing of cocks could be heard.
14 January 2012
Genesis 2:18
Many married men appear able to tell you precisely the moment and circumstances of their proposal of marriage to the woman who eventually became their wives. I cannot.
It is embarrassing to reflect on the shallowness of motivation of many of my decisions in life. One might have thought that, having failed in one marriage - entered into with almost no deliberation - I would be a bit more circumspect about a second.
We went to the Creedence concert. Not long afterwards we went to hear Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Somewhere between the two concerts - both of which, I think, we attended in November, 1969 - I had told Susan that we would get married.
I suppose one reason I don't remember proposing to Susan is that I never did. Rather, I think, I precisely told her that we would get married. This, I imagine, might sound romantically forceful. It was forceful enough, but I do not think it is likely to qualify as romantic. I blush, now, to think of the fact - and to reflect on the many times during our relationship that my bull-in-a-china-shop approach to things has been hurtful, sometimes damaging. It is not surprising that only yesterday, as I began to sketch out this post in my mind, did it occur to me to wonder what Susan's inner feelings and thoughts might have been at the time, in reaction to my brutality. Perhaps she may be persuaded to comment here:
I do not think that Susan said anything like 'yes' or 'all right' in response to my 'proposal.' She seems to have received it with incredulity. Nevertheless, over the course of the next few weeks, I took, I suppose, her failure to say 'no' as acquiescence.
Sue continued to live in her flat around Diamond Head, and I in mine in Young Street, but we became a couple. I pressed her, at this time, to move in with me, but she would not. The ostensible reason was that her mother and sister were to come to Honolulu in December, around Christmas time. I myself thought this an inadequate excuse. What difference did it make where we lived? This was, I more or less said, some sort of middle-class prejudice. Nevertheless, she insisted, and stayed where she was.
Virginia (Sue's mother) and Candace (her sister) arrived - when? Before Christmas? After? I don't know. But when they came, I discovered something about Susan's sister that I hadn't known - something that was, to me, almost bizarre: Candace was a Christian.
It is embarrassing to reflect on the shallowness of motivation of many of my decisions in life. One might have thought that, having failed in one marriage - entered into with almost no deliberation - I would be a bit more circumspect about a second.
We went to the Creedence concert. Not long afterwards we went to hear Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Somewhere between the two concerts - both of which, I think, we attended in November, 1969 - I had told Susan that we would get married.
I suppose one reason I don't remember proposing to Susan is that I never did. Rather, I think, I precisely told her that we would get married. This, I imagine, might sound romantically forceful. It was forceful enough, but I do not think it is likely to qualify as romantic. I blush, now, to think of the fact - and to reflect on the many times during our relationship that my bull-in-a-china-shop approach to things has been hurtful, sometimes damaging. It is not surprising that only yesterday, as I began to sketch out this post in my mind, did it occur to me to wonder what Susan's inner feelings and thoughts might have been at the time, in reaction to my brutality. Perhaps she may be persuaded to comment here:
This is Susan again! As young people we are confident and we need to be. All things seem possible. We see the "future" with a clear eye and it all seems to be attainable. I remember a Snoopy cartoon/poster in which Lucy or Snoopy says, "How can we fail, when we are so sincere?"
That about summed it up for me - I would just be able to make my mind up, with good intentions, and things would work out. The problem, though, was that I didn't know much about real sincerity. I had grown up in a family that loved me but I had also witnessed years of unhappiness that finally ended with my parents divorcing. This had a major effect on me and how I saw things and so I was very wary of any kind of commitment to a long term relationship. I was flattered that John was interested in me but I was also wanting to see how things would go after I knew him longer.
I had had to take care of myself for quite awhile. I was definitely in the business of trying to make sure that I was being careful.
I do not think that Susan said anything like 'yes' or 'all right' in response to my 'proposal.' She seems to have received it with incredulity. Nevertheless, over the course of the next few weeks, I took, I suppose, her failure to say 'no' as acquiescence.
Sue continued to live in her flat around Diamond Head, and I in mine in Young Street, but we became a couple. I pressed her, at this time, to move in with me, but she would not. The ostensible reason was that her mother and sister were to come to Honolulu in December, around Christmas time. I myself thought this an inadequate excuse. What difference did it make where we lived? This was, I more or less said, some sort of middle-class prejudice. Nevertheless, she insisted, and stayed where she was.
Virginia (Sue's mother) and Candace (her sister) arrived - when? Before Christmas? After? I don't know. But when they came, I discovered something about Susan's sister that I hadn't known - something that was, to me, almost bizarre: Candace was a Christian.
31 December 2011
Sea-change
The great life-changing events of one's life are, I think, seldom obvious at the time. The first of our amateur encounter groups was a cardinal point - a 'hinge' - in my life.
Tom and I had gone tramping that day up the (incredibly beautiful) Wa'ahila Ridge Trail. We had rather to rush back in time to go to the first of our encounter groups. We looked rather grubby, in an outdoorsy sort of way. Tom, in particular, looked like Tarzan. We made it to the church in time - shirtless?? - where we were divided into small groups, sitting on the floor in circles, facing one another.
Whilst it is true that I was seeking enlightenment, self-knowledge, some sort of escape from the world I knew, it is, nevertheless, that I - as, perhaps, most of the males there - was also definitely interested in meeting girls.
And, it may be, the girls there were interested in meeting boys.
Or perhaps not. I will let Susan take over at this point:
Katie was tall, dark, and rather glamorous in appearance. Tom was tall, blonde, and ... you get the picture. That they would pair off - in the event, they did not - seemed likely.
Susan was neither tall nor short; was thin; and wore glasses with octagonal frames. Perhaps it was the spectacles that made the difference.
Susan will, I trust, forgive me for the facts that, not only was she in the place of second-choice to Katie - but that when I asked her, after the group session, to a Creedence Clearwater Revival concert, it was with a pair of tickets that I had bought to take another girl (a fellow University student) - who had, in the event, turned me down.
Tom and I had gone tramping that day up the (incredibly beautiful) Wa'ahila Ridge Trail. We had rather to rush back in time to go to the first of our encounter groups. We looked rather grubby, in an outdoorsy sort of way. Tom, in particular, looked like Tarzan. We made it to the church in time - shirtless?? - where we were divided into small groups, sitting on the floor in circles, facing one another.
Whilst it is true that I was seeking enlightenment, self-knowledge, some sort of escape from the world I knew, it is, nevertheless, that I - as, perhaps, most of the males there - was also definitely interested in meeting girls.
And, it may be, the girls there were interested in meeting boys.
Or perhaps not. I will let Susan take over at this point:
By the time I met John, I had been living in Honolulu for a few years and wondering what I would be doing next. Would I stay there or return to the Mainland? I wasn't sure where I would go, if I did return.
My parent's marriage had broken up by that time. It still wasn't clear if their living situation was permanent but there was quite a distance between them. My father lived in Seattle and my mother was in Los Angeles. I do know that they did meet at least once in San Francisco.
In 1969, I was twenty-three and very unsure of myself in many ways. In 1967 I had left my family for an "OE" (Overseas Experience) to Hawaii and had navigated many changes since but I had given little serious thought to how I was going to spend the years following. I have often wondered if my family had been the kind who actually gave thought to these questions, where I might have ended up.
Didn't matter, because in October, 1969 I was living in a real dump of an apartment in a really fabulous location in Waikiki.
The location was on Diamond Head almost next door to the Outrigger Canoe Club. There was only one house in front of the apartment and the beach - and the rent was cheap. The only drawback was my roommate, Katie McDowall. Katie couldn't help the fact that she was beautiful but rather an air head. I never knew what to expect from her. She was full of unlimited ideas for doing all sorts of things.
One day, while reading the Honolulu Advertiser, she announced that she had read there would be "encounter groups" held at the Unitarian Church that coming weekend. Yes, I had heard about these groups - who hadn't in our age group?
It didn't take long to decide to attend and just see what would happen. Mainly we were much more interested in maybe meeting guys more than anything else.Thus unplanned are the major events of our lives.
Katie was tall, dark, and rather glamorous in appearance. Tom was tall, blonde, and ... you get the picture. That they would pair off - in the event, they did not - seemed likely.
Susan was neither tall nor short; was thin; and wore glasses with octagonal frames. Perhaps it was the spectacles that made the difference.
Susan will, I trust, forgive me for the facts that, not only was she in the place of second-choice to Katie - but that when I asked her, after the group session, to a Creedence Clearwater Revival concert, it was with a pair of tickets that I had bought to take another girl (a fellow University student) - who had, in the event, turned me down.
Groups
In 1969, I had no idea who Betty Friedan was. I was, and still am, about as a-political as they come - and in 1969, with my world having fallen about my ears, I was, if possible, less interested than ever in such matters as Women's Liberation.
It was not the name of the person who would run an encounter group at the Unitarian Church in Honolulu that interested me. I think that, at the time, anything that seemed to point a direction away from where I was would have been attractive.
I note, from that Wikipedia article linked above, that in September, 1969 that Unitarian Church "...made national headlines when it offered refuge to U.S. servicemen protesting the war in Vietnam...", so I suppose it was politically active, so that hosting an encounter group run by Betty Friedan fits in well. (I also note that, according to that same article, that church was "... where President Obama attended Sunday School during his youth." As he was born in August, 1961 and would have been eight in October, 1969, I seem to have brushed the sleeve of greatness - but that's another story :-)).
It may have been Tom Bratt, again, who told me about the week-end with Betty Friedan. For it was to be a week-end retreat. We would spend two nights in sleeping bags (or whatever) sleeping in the church hall. I don't recall how much it cost, but I don't imagine it would have been cheap - with Ms Friedan, and meals, to pay for.
I went. I was, in fact, bowled over by the experience. If I were to summarise the ethos of the thing, I suppose the following few points might be made:
The retreat finished some time on Sunday. Was it the next week-end that a meeting was called for those participants who wished to engage in a series of such 'encounters?' I think it must have been then - it was certainly a decision made soon, and enthusiastically. We - we may have been 20 or 30 people, I think - determined to meet weekly, indefinitely, at the Church, for our own amateur group meetings. It is clear to me that these became important to me. I continued to attend them from their beginning until sometime in, perhaps, April, 1970.
I suppose the first of these group meetings happened the following week-end (if they were on week-ends - may have been evening meetings). Notices advertising the meetings were widely-enough distributed that the attention of several persons was drawn to them - amongst them Susan.
It was not the name of the person who would run an encounter group at the Unitarian Church in Honolulu that interested me. I think that, at the time, anything that seemed to point a direction away from where I was would have been attractive.
I note, from that Wikipedia article linked above, that in September, 1969 that Unitarian Church "...made national headlines when it offered refuge to U.S. servicemen protesting the war in Vietnam...", so I suppose it was politically active, so that hosting an encounter group run by Betty Friedan fits in well. (I also note that, according to that same article, that church was "... where President Obama attended Sunday School during his youth." As he was born in August, 1961 and would have been eight in October, 1969, I seem to have brushed the sleeve of greatness - but that's another story :-)).
It may have been Tom Bratt, again, who told me about the week-end with Betty Friedan. For it was to be a week-end retreat. We would spend two nights in sleeping bags (or whatever) sleeping in the church hall. I don't recall how much it cost, but I don't imagine it would have been cheap - with Ms Friedan, and meals, to pay for.
I went. I was, in fact, bowled over by the experience. If I were to summarise the ethos of the thing, I suppose the following few points might be made:
- fear is often bad
- the body is good
- openness between persons is good
- man is inherently moral - only fear or closedness makes him bad
- all desires are good when embraced by all parties involved
- openness will always have good effects
- blind walk - blindfolded, you were led around by a partner - to teach you trust and to allay your fears
- blind fall - blindfolded, you let yourself fall backwards, to be caught by your partner
- expressing your emotions about persons - sitting in a circle, you tell how others make you feel
The retreat finished some time on Sunday. Was it the next week-end that a meeting was called for those participants who wished to engage in a series of such 'encounters?' I think it must have been then - it was certainly a decision made soon, and enthusiastically. We - we may have been 20 or 30 people, I think - determined to meet weekly, indefinitely, at the Church, for our own amateur group meetings. It is clear to me that these became important to me. I continued to attend them from their beginning until sometime in, perhaps, April, 1970.
I suppose the first of these group meetings happened the following week-end (if they were on week-ends - may have been evening meetings). Notices advertising the meetings were widely-enough distributed that the attention of several persons was drawn to them - amongst them Susan.
24 December 2011
Encounters
I have never been hungry - I mean, not really I-must-eat-or-I'm-in-trouble hungry and certainly not where-will-my-next-meal-come-from hungry. In September 1969, therefore, although I appeared to face the end of any sort of academic life, and had no job - and were Edna and I divorced by now? Did I have child support and alimony duties? - but in any case, in September 1969 I was 28 and had, perhaps, still the unquestioned assurance that nothing really bad could happen to me. This, it may be, explains why I have no recollection of worry about jobs.
Or perhaps it is just that the passage of 42 years, and the fact that I did get paid work fairly soon, have driven any worry out.
It may have been Tom Bratt who introduced me to Airic - if that is how his name was spelt. Airic was - oh, perhaps 50? People of 28 are not good at judging the age of old people - that is, anyone older than about 40. Airic's name, in any case, was not the name he had been given by his parents. It was the name of someone he had been in a previous life. Airic was a Scientologist. He was also the owner of a small fleet of taxi cabs, driving under the badge of Charley's Taxi. Tom was a close friend from Yap Peace Corps. He had been a trainee in Moloka'i in the 1966 group I had worked with. Now he was living in Honolulu, sharing dope with me - and driving for Airic. Airic and his wife took care of a number of young drivers like me and Tom - I say 'took care of' rather than simply 'hired' because that was the genuine feeling one had. Many of us were in one sort of trouble or another. Airic was no fool. He would not have drivers working for him who could not do the work - but he taught us the ropes, helped us when we were in temporary difficulties, had us around to his house for meals. I have given thanks for Airic often enough since then.
Airic taught me the things I needed to know about taxi-driving. He shored up my shaky lack of self-confidence. He told me the critical things I needed to know to pass the State of Hawai'i examination for taxi drivers. When I had passed, he went out with me for my first couple of runs. Then ... I was on my own.
I had lived in Honolulu since June, 1966. I knew the city well, I thought. I discovered that I knew my way to the University; to the supermarket; to the houses of friends. I had never been to any of the places tourists want to go to. I had never, in fact, been in most of Honolulu.
The very first solo fare I got was an elderly Japanese couple, with not much English, picked up at the Ala Moana shopping centre, who wanted to go to ... well, I certainly don't remember where they wanted to go, but at the time, I had not the slightest idea how to get there - even once I worked out from their pronunciation what the name of the street actually was.
Thankfully, they sat in the back - and I had my map book secreted on my lap. I got there, somehow. It was a fairly stressful trip for me - and I think they realised that I was less than confident.
I suppose I started driving in mid-September, and drove until sometime in January, 1970. By the time I quit, I was a confident driver. I knew where many things were. I knew how to coax the despatcher into helping me find the places I didn't know. I was no longer embarrassed to say that I didn't know where a place was. Nevertheless, I did not like taxi driving. I drove a twelve-hour shift - mine was 6AM to 6PM - which, with preparation of the cab before 6AM and cleaning it up afterwards, and getting to and from work, amounted almost to fourteen hours a day. The money was not unreasonable. Half the listed fare went to Airic, but all the tips - which, in Honolulu in 1969, tended to be fairly substantial - I kept. I was, I think, completely innocent of any thought of income tax. So the money would have been not unreasonable, except that I spent most of what did not actually pay the rent and buy food on marijuana and LSD.
And the job was very boring - except on those rare but not non-existent occasions when it was terrifyingly stressful (such as the time I was driving a man who, I think, was looking for his wife, in order to kill her - I managed to abandon him at one point when he was searching around some house - and I did not worry about my fare).
All in all, though, I am glad of my taxi-driving experience. Airic was good to us all. He made me sufficiently interested in Scientology that I thought of doing something about it - could not, of course, so long as I was using drugs, and anyway, could not have afforded the fees - and, even more, motivated me to find enough about it to know that it was not at all either a safe or a reasonable sort of practice. And, best of all, Scientology eventually became the vehicle by which I came to Jesus Christ - but that is a later part of the story.
Well before that part of the story, I encountered a remarkable woman. Her name was Betty Friedan.
Or perhaps it is just that the passage of 42 years, and the fact that I did get paid work fairly soon, have driven any worry out.
It may have been Tom Bratt who introduced me to Airic - if that is how his name was spelt. Airic was - oh, perhaps 50? People of 28 are not good at judging the age of old people - that is, anyone older than about 40. Airic's name, in any case, was not the name he had been given by his parents. It was the name of someone he had been in a previous life. Airic was a Scientologist. He was also the owner of a small fleet of taxi cabs, driving under the badge of Charley's Taxi. Tom was a close friend from Yap Peace Corps. He had been a trainee in Moloka'i in the 1966 group I had worked with. Now he was living in Honolulu, sharing dope with me - and driving for Airic. Airic and his wife took care of a number of young drivers like me and Tom - I say 'took care of' rather than simply 'hired' because that was the genuine feeling one had. Many of us were in one sort of trouble or another. Airic was no fool. He would not have drivers working for him who could not do the work - but he taught us the ropes, helped us when we were in temporary difficulties, had us around to his house for meals. I have given thanks for Airic often enough since then.
Airic taught me the things I needed to know about taxi-driving. He shored up my shaky lack of self-confidence. He told me the critical things I needed to know to pass the State of Hawai'i examination for taxi drivers. When I had passed, he went out with me for my first couple of runs. Then ... I was on my own.
I had lived in Honolulu since June, 1966. I knew the city well, I thought. I discovered that I knew my way to the University; to the supermarket; to the houses of friends. I had never been to any of the places tourists want to go to. I had never, in fact, been in most of Honolulu.
The very first solo fare I got was an elderly Japanese couple, with not much English, picked up at the Ala Moana shopping centre, who wanted to go to ... well, I certainly don't remember where they wanted to go, but at the time, I had not the slightest idea how to get there - even once I worked out from their pronunciation what the name of the street actually was.
Thankfully, they sat in the back - and I had my map book secreted on my lap. I got there, somehow. It was a fairly stressful trip for me - and I think they realised that I was less than confident.
I suppose I started driving in mid-September, and drove until sometime in January, 1970. By the time I quit, I was a confident driver. I knew where many things were. I knew how to coax the despatcher into helping me find the places I didn't know. I was no longer embarrassed to say that I didn't know where a place was. Nevertheless, I did not like taxi driving. I drove a twelve-hour shift - mine was 6AM to 6PM - which, with preparation of the cab before 6AM and cleaning it up afterwards, and getting to and from work, amounted almost to fourteen hours a day. The money was not unreasonable. Half the listed fare went to Airic, but all the tips - which, in Honolulu in 1969, tended to be fairly substantial - I kept. I was, I think, completely innocent of any thought of income tax. So the money would have been not unreasonable, except that I spent most of what did not actually pay the rent and buy food on marijuana and LSD.
And the job was very boring - except on those rare but not non-existent occasions when it was terrifyingly stressful (such as the time I was driving a man who, I think, was looking for his wife, in order to kill her - I managed to abandon him at one point when he was searching around some house - and I did not worry about my fare).
All in all, though, I am glad of my taxi-driving experience. Airic was good to us all. He made me sufficiently interested in Scientology that I thought of doing something about it - could not, of course, so long as I was using drugs, and anyway, could not have afforded the fees - and, even more, motivated me to find enough about it to know that it was not at all either a safe or a reasonable sort of practice. And, best of all, Scientology eventually became the vehicle by which I came to Jesus Christ - but that is a later part of the story.
Well before that part of the story, I encountered a remarkable woman. Her name was Betty Friedan.
17 December 2011
Idols
Tharngan did, indeed, have a boat, but when Waqyaan went to borrow it, Tharngan wasn't around. Ah, well, he won't mind, thought Waqyaan. So we took it and went out, did some fishing outside the reef (which was fun, although more demanding for me - deeper water and annoying small sharks trying to steal your fish). We came back in and Waqyaan went to return the boat - and came back angry and with a bruise on the side of his face.
Tharngan had slapped his younger brother across the face for taking his boat without permission. I emphasise the 'younger' in that phrase. English has one word for 'brother;' Yapese kin terms distinguish older from younger brother. Tethiig is 'my younger brother;' ironically, 'my older brother' is nganniiq. The distinction is important.
But so, I imagine, is that distinction important most places. Waqyaan's reaction was rather different from what I expected. He did not think it was improper for his older brother to chastise him. He seemed to think, first, that it had been extreme; and, importantly for my own future, that he, Waqyaan, would act the same towards his younger brother.
Why, I wonder, was this incident so exceedingly upsetting to me? For it seemed to turn my world upside down.
For reasons that surely have more to do with my own frame of mind at the time than anything connected with Yapese culture, this experience amounted to a kind of conversion for me. I had, I am sure, made a kind of idol of Yap. The unspoilt native culture, without western hang-ups and uptightness, a people who are naturally in harmony with nature and with one another - and Waqyaan's experience had shattered the idol.
It had shattered it, not only because all was not sweetness and light amongst Yapese, but because I perceived - correctly, I am sure - that it was not western influence that had bruised Waqyaan's face. It was traditional Yapese culture.
It will not help for me to remind myself that cultures may well produce systems that meet their very real needs. It will not help, either, to say that I may simply have been wrong about what was going on between the two brothers. I have called my change of outlook a 'conversion' and by that I mean a major change in me, triggered by objectively inadequate external events. The causes of conversion are seldom sufficiently accounted for by pointing to externals.
This happened in late summer - perhaps mid- to late-August - and I was, in any case, scheduled to return to Honolulu in early September. My return was hastened by an accident that would have been minor anywhere but Yap.
Yapese buildings are built on top of platforms of stone and coral skeletons. One day I was stepping up onto the platform of the house where we ate, and slipped, skinning my left shin.
In Yap, one should not leave wounds open to the air. Perhaps things are different today, but at the time, going to the toilet did not involve nice sanitary flushing arrangements and drains leading to sewerage purification plants. I immediately cleaned the spot, applied anti-bacterial ointment, and bandaged it. No problem.
Three or four days later, it had scabbed over and I took the bandages off.
Oops! Lots of flies gathering around this one spot on my shin! Bad sign. Bacitracin and bandages, please!
Within a few days, I not only had a very bad infection in the spot, it had gone systemic. My temperature was about 39 degrees, as I recall (102F for those of you still living in the 18th Century). Blood poisoning a serious possibility. An urgent flight was arranged for me to Honolulu. I hobbled out to the 'plane on crutches, in fair agony.
On the flight, I recall thinking - feverishly, of course, but not, on that account, unreasonably - about my experience with Waqyaan. I thought about what the difference between Yap and ... well, and 'us' ... was. What did 'we' have that the Yapese did not have - or did not appear to me to have, given the inner nature of my experience.
I concluded that the difference was the Western ideal of love - an ideal, certainly, rather than, in any but the sketchiest sense, a reality. Nonetheless, I decided that we in the West believed, even though we seldom acted in conformity with that belief, that it was somehow the case that love ought to characterise the relationship between people.
I had returned to being a Western man.
I arrived in Honolulu and immediately was seen by a doctor - who told me that he thought he could save my leg. This was sobering. He did - but it took six months of repeated packing of the ulcerated wound with antibiotic-soaked sponges.
I did not enrol as a student for the fall semester, 1969, and nor did I have any work tutoring at the University. I was now unemployed.
Tharngan had slapped his younger brother across the face for taking his boat without permission. I emphasise the 'younger' in that phrase. English has one word for 'brother;' Yapese kin terms distinguish older from younger brother. Tethiig is 'my younger brother;' ironically, 'my older brother' is nganniiq. The distinction is important.
But so, I imagine, is that distinction important most places. Waqyaan's reaction was rather different from what I expected. He did not think it was improper for his older brother to chastise him. He seemed to think, first, that it had been extreme; and, importantly for my own future, that he, Waqyaan, would act the same towards his younger brother.
Why, I wonder, was this incident so exceedingly upsetting to me? For it seemed to turn my world upside down.
For reasons that surely have more to do with my own frame of mind at the time than anything connected with Yapese culture, this experience amounted to a kind of conversion for me. I had, I am sure, made a kind of idol of Yap. The unspoilt native culture, without western hang-ups and uptightness, a people who are naturally in harmony with nature and with one another - and Waqyaan's experience had shattered the idol.
It had shattered it, not only because all was not sweetness and light amongst Yapese, but because I perceived - correctly, I am sure - that it was not western influence that had bruised Waqyaan's face. It was traditional Yapese culture.
It will not help for me to remind myself that cultures may well produce systems that meet their very real needs. It will not help, either, to say that I may simply have been wrong about what was going on between the two brothers. I have called my change of outlook a 'conversion' and by that I mean a major change in me, triggered by objectively inadequate external events. The causes of conversion are seldom sufficiently accounted for by pointing to externals.
This happened in late summer - perhaps mid- to late-August - and I was, in any case, scheduled to return to Honolulu in early September. My return was hastened by an accident that would have been minor anywhere but Yap.
Yapese buildings are built on top of platforms of stone and coral skeletons. One day I was stepping up onto the platform of the house where we ate, and slipped, skinning my left shin.
In Yap, one should not leave wounds open to the air. Perhaps things are different today, but at the time, going to the toilet did not involve nice sanitary flushing arrangements and drains leading to sewerage purification plants. I immediately cleaned the spot, applied anti-bacterial ointment, and bandaged it. No problem.
Three or four days later, it had scabbed over and I took the bandages off.
Oops! Lots of flies gathering around this one spot on my shin! Bad sign. Bacitracin and bandages, please!
Within a few days, I not only had a very bad infection in the spot, it had gone systemic. My temperature was about 39 degrees, as I recall (102F for those of you still living in the 18th Century). Blood poisoning a serious possibility. An urgent flight was arranged for me to Honolulu. I hobbled out to the 'plane on crutches, in fair agony.
On the flight, I recall thinking - feverishly, of course, but not, on that account, unreasonably - about my experience with Waqyaan. I thought about what the difference between Yap and ... well, and 'us' ... was. What did 'we' have that the Yapese did not have - or did not appear to me to have, given the inner nature of my experience.
I concluded that the difference was the Western ideal of love - an ideal, certainly, rather than, in any but the sketchiest sense, a reality. Nonetheless, I decided that we in the West believed, even though we seldom acted in conformity with that belief, that it was somehow the case that love ought to characterise the relationship between people.
I had returned to being a Western man.
I arrived in Honolulu and immediately was seen by a doctor - who told me that he thought he could save my leg. This was sobering. He did - but it took six months of repeated packing of the ulcerated wound with antibiotic-soaked sponges.
I did not enrol as a student for the fall semester, 1969, and nor did I have any work tutoring at the University. I was now unemployed.
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