THE VAST DUSTY CHAMBERS IN SPARKY’S HEAD

There are two vast dusty chambers in my head and I have only gradually become aware of them. The first one contains all the tears that are issued to us when we are born. It is a fixed quantity and we have three options in dealing with it:

1-We can store them up inside, never let them show, and run the risk that they will rust up the machinery in other parts of our head.

2- We can allow ourselves to cry, in appropriate or perhaps even inappropriate settings without shame or embarrassment. (I never fail to cry when I am standing in formation with my right hand on my heart and hearing the sounds of our National Anthem. My years in the military contribute significantly to this.)

I'm afraid, in my generation, men were taught not to cry. This applies very strongly to Super Macho Fools. Typically, when men are Rolfed,

the trigeminal muscles which are at the point of the jawbone are in chronic tension. When this tension is relieved, the men, to their great surprise find themselves weeping copious tears; as if a reservoir has been breached.

3- Tears are often used for dramatic and manipulative reasons and they seem to be instantly available to serve any imaginable exploitive action.

Since I was raised in the” stiff upper lip” tradition and only gradually grew comfortable with the idea of being able to cry openly, I have that large reservoir of tears in my head to tap into and I take great comfort in my newfound ability to shed tears, many times to the puzzlement of my friends until they begin to understand my journey.

The next section is much harder to even write about. My therapist, in a divine moment of inspiration, asked me about the last time I had told my children that I loved them.

I swallowed a great gulp of air and whispered to her, “Never.”

Thereupon followed a silent interval for both of us while the power of my word slowly settled. I proceeded to babble some nonsense or the other to the effect that men of my generation simply did not say such things to their children. Rightfully so, my therapist ignored my lame explanation and suggested that I begin to tell my children what was in my heart but up till now has been proscribed by that archaic code.

That powerful conversation has had an enormous effect upon me and it is very much as if a dam has broken and a healing river of water has been released upon the dry land.

When I told my son, Davyd, who is almost 50 years old, that I loved him, he did not, at least on the surface, show any surprise. He simply looked at me directly and said “likewise.” I could clearly hear old taboos breaking in my head.

I have taken this shining new tool and have applied it liberally. When I say goodbye to friends that I deeply care about I say to them “I love you” and it is a trade-off as to which of the two of us is more surprised; myself as the initiator or the other person as the recipient. Most of them, bless their hearts, simply pick up on my efforts, do not comment as to any context, and simply respond,”I love you too.”

Since the journey to arrive at this point has been so torturous, I can never take these words for granted; they have so much profound meaning for me. I find them incredibly liberating and they induce a profound rush of neuropeptides in my system.

I am so grateful that I have had the time left in my life where I can allow these words to come out freely. It is truly a gift to me from the Great Spirit and I am pleased to share the details of this journey with my readers.