Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP Posting-Version: version B 2.10.1 6/24/83; site pucc-h Path: utzoo!watmath!clyde!burl!ulysses!mhuxr!ihnp4!inuxc!pur-ee!CS-Mordred!Pucc-H:aeq From: aeq@pucc-h (Jeff Sargent) Newsgroups: net.singles Subject: the basic choice Message-ID: <1671@pucc-h> Date: Tue, 15-Jan-85 04:54:59 EST Article-I.D.: pucc-h.1671 Posted: Tue Jan 15 04:54:59 1985 Date-Received: Wed, 16-Jan-85 04:33:30 EST Organization: the PIRATE ship Lines: 72 What we are talking about here is indeed a matter of life and death. Not necessarily physical (though that may be involved, as we will see later), but rather spiritual (or psychological -- and, having just finished my first fast reading of "The Road Less Traveled", I can see the intimate relation, perhaps even identity, of those). But anyway.... I have just been cast in a local production of a play called "The Tenth Man", by Paddy Chayefsky; I will be playing a character remarkably like myself, but exaggerated in both the negative and positive directions -- a character who begins by saying that life is utterly meaningless, and ends by praying, "Give me the ability to love", and by actually loving in a way far beyond what I currently have the courage to. This play served as a catalyst for me; I could not avoid being affected by that line (and echoing it for my own self, with tears), or by a line earlier in the play addressed to my character by another, "Love is an act of faith, and yours is a faithless generation." But for all that help, it was/is still a struggle to love -- knowing that I want to, and yet being what I called afraid to. Most of Sunday I was in major distress, including annoying psychosomatic problems (horrendous backache, tense stomach); and as I spent the evening in prayer/introspection, it became clear to me that fear was not the culprit at all -- that rather, I had to choose between a) not loving and thus surrendering myself to spiritual death (and, the way I felt, I wondered if physical would be far behind), or b) loving and heading once again up the steep and rocky path toward (of?) spiritual life. It felt as though I was really wrestling with a malevolent demon trying to bend me toward the first course (and quite possibly I was). My choice, for the evening, consisted solely of this: either remain in bed, where I had been praying, and fall into a sleep from which it wouldn't be worth waking up, since I would not actually be alive, irrespective of the functioning of my body; or get up and write a letter to the woman I met on Christmas, expressing how much she had given me by finding me likable and even attractive when I didn't. It was a choice between giving nothing, and giving what I had -- which was only tortured honesty, but at least it was giving myself. I got up. I wrote the letter. I mailed it. I was so drained that I called up probably the only friend I have that I could call at 11:15 p.m. and say "Can I come over?"...who happens also to be the sister of the woman I wrote to. I think my friend was pleased to be able to help (indeed, to love) me, since I have provided her with a fair amount of what I suppose could be called love in the past couple of years; she has wanted to return the favor for some time. She helped me recover a little of my psychic energy, not to mention expending a great deal of effort on backrubs. But anyway, all my struggles you have been seeing in recent weeks (which were particularly bad when my therapist was on vacation for a couple of weeks in early January) stemmed, I admit, from my trying to evade this basic choice. (Heavens, echoes of Ayn Rand!) But perhaps this was for the best; I have now had the choice presented to me in the clearest terms (since I ignored all others); and failing to share those clearest terms with anyone interested would be a terrible reversal of that choice, hence this article. Although I am distressed at the multitude of other choices I still must make (or, looking at it the other way, have the terrible freedom to make), I will try not to use that distress to provide energy for such purposes as returning the flames I have received; that would be another, though more subtle, reversal of the basic choice. And of course, one can infer from the last couple of paragraphs that this choice must be continually made and re-made as long as one lives. Sigh.... Scott Peck (in "The Road Less Traveled") talked about the joy of being a loving person; he also talked about the work; I find the second much easier to believe than the first. But I hope I can continue to believe that it is better to work and live than to sit and die. -- -- Jeff Sargent {decvax|harpo|ihnp4|inuxc|ucbvax}!pur-ee!pucc-h:aeq Proud owner of two Control Data doorstops.