Life Story#4: Bad, Good, Ugly
Part One: The Pain
My former Buddhist teacher did a lot of writing about his life. He once said "The first thing you do when you decide to write about your life is realise what you are not going to write." This was quite amusing. However, I would go a step further. The first thing you do when you decide to write about your life is realise what you are not going to write. But then you write it anyway...
Which brings us to arguably the darkest little episode in this life story thing. The infant experiments in pain and suffering.
I have never been into pain, harm, inflicting suffering on other beings. I mean, what's that about? I never saw the attraction of going around beating up other kids, picking fights, hurting others and getting hurt yourself. It just seemed wrong, end of story. I observed, however, that many other kids, the boys especially, appeared to derive some real kicks out of this kind of behaviour. They went out of their way to get involved in such activities. So I was age five, six, seven, and curious. Maybe I was missing out on something. Thus were conceived the infant experiments with pain and suffering.
First up was the little kid next door. He was very irritating. One day I just leaned over the garden fence and pulled out a big clump of his hair. He ran screaming indoors. I felt nothing. My only doubt was whether the hair would grow back, or if he would have a bald patch for the rest of his days.
Soon after that, we moved to the new house in the big town. I made friends with one of the kids from Sicily. He lived at the end of the street, and went to the Catholic school rather than the local primary, so was a bit less rough than the other Sicilians. His name was Francis Bianca.
Francis had a younger brother, Peter, about four years old I would guess. One day I just kicked him. Quite hard. For no apparent reason. He ran away fast. It was a funny thing: there was a weird kind of pleasure, almost sensual, in the act.
Then I did probably the worst thing in my entire life. I kicked the cat. It was a horrible act of betrayal, since the cat loved and trusted me - and me the same. I felt immediately awful, ashamed. She forgave me, but I learnt something.
The final chapter involved my tricycle and the back garden. I ran over ants in the garden, just clipping them enough to cause injury, but not to kill them. They were then transferred to the ant hospital, an enclosure with walls of sticks. Then one day I realised what I was doing. I felt some of the pain of the ants, and feelings of revulsion swept through my little body.
And that was it. No more needless harming, no more unnecessary suffering. Maybe it was infant shadow work; I just didn't understand that you don't always need to act things out.
Part Two: The Girl
Francis Bianca had a sister. Her name was Cathy. She was cute, Italian, and wore green pants. There was a shed at the bottom of their back garden, and we would go there to do some snogging. We had seen it on the television, so knew how to go about it. New, pleasurable, and quite remarkable sensations coursed through my young body as I felt her female flesh against mine. It was great.
Cathy had a wicked older sister named Angela. One day she spied on us through a hole in the shed, and snitched on us to her mum. "You mustn't do that any more" scolded Mrs Bianca in her sternest Sicilian tones. And that was that. Nothing more was said - by her, by Cathy, by me. It was as if it had never happened; just like the Second World War. Life continued oblivious. I found it most curious.
From my perspective, little was lost. Cathy Bianca started to go rapidly downhill from age seven. Her dad ran a barber's shop, and I would sometimes catch sight of her inside when I was walking past. Her beauty was gone, far far gone. I was well out of it.
I learnt something from this experience. Actually, two things. I never felt the slightest guilt or shame, which is what I was intended to feel. As the years passed I was typically timid and reticent with girls, and found it difficult to translate the friendships which I could easily develop with attractive girls into carnal affairs. But I learnt no guilt. What I did learn was that some things are better kept quiet about: adults and others may not like it, or understand. And the second thing I learned was that the fruit, the forbidden fruit, was good. Those who said otherwise must be twisted in the head. What really was the problem?
Part Three: Getting Religion
One of the great things about my parents was how selective they were in trying to discipline and control me. I was generally left to my own devices, exploring the world and making my own decisions as far as possible. This meant that, on the occasions when either of my parents did say something strong to me, I knew to take it seriously. I thank them for this wisdom on their part.
One weekend I was sent to Sunday School. "Did you enjoy the morning at Sunday School?" "No." And that was it. Not a single word about Sunday School after that. Thanks, mum. Thanks, dad.
When I was young - I mean, really young - it seems that I was a Jesus enthusiast. At least my sister says so, backing the claim up with stories of how I would apprehend anybody who bad-mouthed the Holy One. After a couple of years or so of school, however, this had all changed. The story of the baby Jesus, turning up in a mess of a world and offering a glimmer of light, didn't go down badly with me. But for the rest....
Not very nice people, angry prophets, violence and viciousness; societies run by fear and terror and vengeful families: this seemed to be the menu dished out from the 'Holy Book', especially its first bit. And then there was the 'Jesus on the cross' stuff, dying for our sins. How could you die for someone else's sins? It made no sense; I just didn't get it.
Nobody bothered to explain why I should give any credibility to the contents of this book. Why I should believe the stories it contained any more than those in this year's 'Dennis the Menace' annual. I suppose nobody tried to explain because nobody could explain. It was simply what they believed, often as literal truth, and that was that. Were these really intelligent, thinking adults? I couldn't make it out at all.
For much of my life I continued to harbour a dirty lingering doubt that I was missing something. Maybe it was so obvious that I just didn't see it. Maybe the spiritual wisdom of this guy dying on a cross with blood spurting out of his wounds was so in-your-face that other people simply took it as read. It took a long while before I had total confidence in my perception, that it was nonsense, and that those apparently intelligent adults had fallen for a pork-pie big time.
One of the more surreal events of my childhood occurred when I was ten, at primary school. I won the Scripture prize. This said more about the academic application of the other kids at the school than about me. Anyhow, Father Edwards, who happened to live opposite our house, came to the school to present the prize, a brand new Bible. "There's been a serious mistake" voices in my head screamed as I stepped up onto the stage to collect the book. "You've got the wrong man. Give it to one of the other kids. They'll come to your church if you want them to."
It was the most perverse thing. I seemed to be good at school lessons, even those I wanted to do badly in....
So I just couldn't get organised religion. It provided nothing for my infant aspirations. But neither did the alternative normally presented to do the business. Atheism: no good. For sure there was something else, or some things else. More, way more, than was handed out in normal life. More than the adults ever talked about. Life, mind, consciousness - did I even know the word 'consciousness'? But that was it. Universes for exploring, and a small yet persistent inner voice would remind me on a daily basis. But nobody spoke about this. I sometimes wondered whether something was being deliberately hidden from me....
Miscellaneous links, on a variety of topics
A beautiful little video, about what education could be about:
Less beautifully, this is a good resource for anybody wanting to keep current with the injection programme and related issues:
Horrifying and inspirational, how things are going in Israel: 'Outcry to the world from Israel':
And a full list of posts on 'The Open Door' can be found in the 'Archives' section on the front page.
