Stop Resisting!

 

We were there for three and a half weeks, in Poland. It was to be our first adventure together in the van. In preparation we'd given up our apartments and our jobs to work at farms, intentional communities and eco villages across Europe. This was our first stop. Technically Asia had started the journey before me because of a last minute flight to New York which stole me away to another continent over the Atlantic. You know the story. Wilma (our trusty German steed) was a joy to ride in. She hummed along on Polish highways, carried us for hours and hours through forests and green hills, past fields of radiant golden rapeseed, until delivering us finally to our rural destination in Western Pomerania. Late on a Friday evening, we arrived. The grounds of the community are lush and hilly over the approximately dozen acre settlement. A thriving ecosystem of birds, insects and various frogs create a lush soundscape. On the eastern side, opposite to one of the several small ponds, cranes could be heard early in the morning and late at night. Near to the house, in the center of the land, atop an old concrete electric tower, a pair of storks constructed a giant nest housing two small chicks. Throughout the day the distinctive cluck-clapping sound they make with their beaks would send the resident canines into a frenzy. The dogs would bark and howl and chase the enormous birds all across the place. 

The area used to be marshland. Around the farm there are many beautiful lakes. Unsurprisingly, there are many mosquitos. A walk to the surrounding forest would result in sheets of mosquitoes stalking your every step. They would gather in droves along my pant legs - or across the backs of anyone depraved enough to venture into their territory - and stab madly with their proboscises trying to penetrate and extract warm blood for their young. Giant hornets and moderately sized wasps would patrol the village looking for anywhere and everywhere to install a nest. One had to be taken down from inside a stationary camper, another inside the entrance to the stone house, or inside an outdoor toilet, so Asia and myself had to take great care to leave the van door closed to prevent them from exploring the cool dark space within. The entire property was teeming with life. Ambitious blades of grass raced upward with ludicrous speed. It seemed as though they were being cut every week with a scythe. Over the course of one of the weeks we watched a patch of asparagus sprout up from the earth and grow into an intricate lattice structure almost as tall as me. Who would have guessed asparagus capable of such rapid and thorough transformation?

Everything was transforming, it seemed. Our bodies, unaccustomed to daily physical labor, began to grow harder and more durable - though they felt flimsy, sore, and brittle during the slow transition. So too did our emotional capacities begin to expand and deepen. The work at the settlement focused primarily on addressing the question of what it means to be human in the times of poly-crisis. Much of the discourse, practice, group activities and practical interactions hinged on this inquiry. Each day consisted (at least at the beginning) of an hour's meditation at 7:00, breakfast at 8:30, work from 9:30 until 14:00, lunch from 14:00 - 15:00, more work until dinner at 19:00, and then a group activity at 20:00 with bedtime at around 22:00. The schedule was full. As a lifelong introvert and desk worker, the shift was dramatic. So much learning happened every day; new tools (physical and otherwise), new concepts, new insights, new ideas and activities; a new me in the mirror. 

One morning, near the end of breakfast, there was discussion about meditation; Zen and Vipassana. A member of the core team spoke of her spiritual journey in search of insight and clarity, but how she hadn't yet had even a glimpse of enlightenment. She mused on how frustrating the process was. Have you ever felt a glimpse of it while under the influence of a psychedelic? No, not really, she said, maybe, but nothing that stuck with me. Yeah, it sometimes seems you can cheat your way into nothingness through self obliteration and that enlightenment doesn't care how you get there, but those shortcuts are just shortcuts and aren't likely to provide any lasting changes: you need to put in the work. Our conversation was cut short as the leader of the community interjected. C'mon, most of the people at these retreats and meditation workshops are just self-interested and want to get to enlightenment as quickly and as easily as they can. It's irresponsible and just reproduces the systems of consumption we see in modernity. It's a way to escape and retreat into yourself and hide from the harsh realities of the world. Sure, maybe for some people, but most people? Yes. Most people. It's bullshit and we should be honest with ourselves about it. That's not my view on things. Anyone who's read even a single book on Buddhism understands - hopefully - that the whole purpose of enlightenment is to be in service to others. It's why the idea of the Bodhisattva is so beautiful. So all of us can sit around and talk about how enlightened we are and spend our days meditating and hoping for a better world without doing the work to actually make the world better? What's the difference between that and denial, he asked angrily. His judgmental tone and imperious attitude suffocated the space. He seemed to be glaring at me. It was unclear why the casual conversation took such a sudden and severe turn. You're entitled to your opinions but I didn't hear any of that in anything either of us were just talking about. I invite you to have more honest discussions about your denials and notice when you're participating in or perpetuating these kinds of things. Do you want to have that discussion now, because to me it doesn't feel like the space is safe for that discussion. His eyes were unwavering. The world isn't safe, he said. Everyone at the table looked around nervously. My upper lip twitched with anger and confusion. Breakfast was over.

Learning, for me, happens not just through practice, but through dialogue, through interrogation, through rubbing two things together to see how they interact. It suddenly became clear that some of these methods were considered vulgar or disrespectful by the leader of the village. We are a community of practice, he'd say, talking is not doing. This struck me as strange given talking is verb, not a noun. He seemed defensive the day before when, during a conversation, the words my issues with authority leapt to his ear from my lips. He responded curiously to this and seemed to take it as a challenge. The topic was on masculinity and appealing to authority in the form of experts, high priests or elders. My perspective was that perhaps it would be better to come to our own conclusions through the examination of concepts and ideas and then check them against an authority instead of allowing any figure of authority to prematurely color our opinions. Unfortunately my view was not shared by our leader or his vocal, spectacled acolyte. My participation was then interpreted as hostile, resistant and blasphemous - for having questioned their gods. On a not so distant morning it would be added that in some villages, when you question their elders you are told to leave. And so began a series of conflicts and misunderstandings that would inevitably lead to a sort of intervention in the form of surprise tribunal which would put me on trial for committing crimes similar to Socrates. 

One evening, smack in the middle of this public hearing where the leader announced that he wanted to address some concerning developments in the community, he said that myself and another member had been showing signs of resistance to the culture. It soon was clarified that the bulk of these crimes had, in fact, been committed by me. The charges were as follows:

• Refusal to accept an invitation to an anger workshop
• Questioning Robert Bly as an authority on masculinity without having read Iron John
• Expressing resistance to authority
• Not attending a village dance party
• Refusing to wrestle in a men's circle
• Attempting to kill the men's circle

The main crime was described as general resistance to the culture they were trying to create. It seemed clear, at least to me, that the intent was to publicly pillory me - to excoriate and potentially intimidate via verbal flogging for my indecent disagreements. Of course, at the same time, it made sense that my behavior was problematic. It made their job harder, sowed seeds of doubt, challenged their research. But my problem was the approach. Why wasn't this communicated to me during any of the examples you've provided? Why did you wait until now? They wanted to wait until a pattern emerged. You wanted more evidence to have a stronger case for crafting a narrative. The anger workshop didn't interest me and, since it was - like all of the examples you've listed - proposed as an invitation, it was not clear to me that my attendance was mandatory. Are these things compulsory then? If resistance continues they will be made compulsory. This comment didn't make sense to me but we will return to that later. So, kill seems like a very strong word in my opinion. Ok, we can replace it with attacking, or questioning. When you come into a place and start questioning it, it weakens the space. You hide your anger and violence behind passive aggressive lines of questioning. We might have a fundamental disagreement on the purpose of questioning and what is achieved by it. It is my belief that questioning does not make a thing weaker, it makes it stronger. It's a way to help identify faults and inconsistencies, it helps shed light on what areas may need more support and which can be thrown out. It's how we can cut away the excess and focus in on what's important. You don't enter someone's home as a guest and start rearranging their furniture. 

That last line might be one picked up from another of the group's elders, Stephen Jenkinson. It makes sense and is hard to argue with, but it misses the point a bit and exposes a sort of paradox in this whole episode. One can enter another's home as a guest and hold views different than those of their host. The guest may have a preference on what's cooked for dinner due to dietary restraints, for example, or may have input on what movie to watch or which game to play. A good host accommodates their guest and helps to make them feel at home (as best they can). Guest and host can even exchange competing ideas and have healthy discussions about those ideas, so long as the dialogue is respectful and not offensive. This is not the same as rearranging one's furniture. But what struck me as head-spinningly confusing about this thing, was the charge being levied at me. Let me return to it and restate it: you are resisting and what we are trying to do here is create a container where people can push through discomfort and their inner resistances to grow and learn. Okay, this is all fine and good. But isn't it odd that the container being created doesn't seem capable of containing resistance? Why are you talking about sitting with resistance instead of practicing  it? To me it didn't seem like our leader was doing a very good job of working with his resistance to my resistance. A good container should grow more resilient and tenacious in response to resistance. How will it endure the resistance of those who aren't already, like myself, mostly aligned with the vision and values of the culture they're trying to cultivate? It needs to be able to assimilate and contain a diverse set of people with diverse sets of beliefs without excluding others if it is to grow and be a home for those seeking refuge from the consumptive machinations of capitalist modernity. No?

The group discussion went on for some time. It ended with a request for a contract or a set of agreements which would serve to reduce or prevent future confusion on the subject. The hour was late and everyone seemed spent.

After the interrogation ended we went to sleep. Something in me still didn't feel settled. It persisted through to the morning. So at breakfast it was time to voice some of these roaming feelings in order to once again be present with the group. There was a risk in doing so, though. The group could descend into chaos. Having clear intentions - to connect, to empty, to share what was an obstacle for being present - it seemed fine to proceed. Before my tongue could completely shape the sounds the leader interrupted and warned me that despite my explicit declaration not to take us into chaos, that's what might happen. That's not my intention. Wait, he said, is your intention to empty or to give feedback? That's hard to say. They're wrapped together in a way. Primarily it's to empty but via the emptying there may be feedback. It's very simple, he continued, if you're emptying then you're using I-statements, and with feedback you're not. Okay, then it's emptying:

Something about yesterday is still bothering me. It's unclear if we have time to work through these things now or if the day needs to get started, but for me, saying them is important, even if we need to have a meeting later to respond to these issues. Yesterday I felt hurt and sad - and also angry - in response to what happened. It seemed I was put on trial and singled out for violating a code of conduct or set of agreements which were never communicated to me. I felt a lot of judgement and accusation -- 

Are you familiar, he said interrupting, with the 'victim,' 'persecutor,' 'rescuer' low-drama triangle? What you're doing is making yourself a victim. Huh? Yeah, you're the victim and we perpetrated something against you. The existence of a low-drama triangle as a concept doesn't change the fact that victims and perpetrators exist in the world though. People perpetrate harm on others all the time. Yes, so you were unjustly attacked and just can shift the responsibility off of your shoulders onto the persecutor.

Suddenly the pattern became more clear to me: his space could be killed, or attacked without victimhood, but mine could not. My need for safety could be called into question, because the world is unsafe, but his need (hiding behind 'the space's' need) for safety and control could not. He could speak to me with veiled barbs of venom and vitriol but this wouldn't make him passive aggressive. A double standard. What to do about it though? Any attempt to talk or discuss things was met with instant defensiveness or subtle semantic games of psychoanalytical evaluation or judgment and coaching. It seemed obvious he wanted to teach, not be teached (sounds better than taught). Helpless stupefaction rolled over me, a hapless victim. A feeble request was made to hold space to continue this conversation later in the afternoon when there would be more time. Do you want to involve the whole community, he asked. Well, it seemed the preferred way to have these kinds of discussions were in front of the community or else why didn't we have a smaller group present last night? The whole group is needed only if there are useful learnings for the whole group. There might be. How can it be said for certain? Others from the group broke their silence and stated they would prefer to be present since they were present for the start and there seems to be something which could be learned. So it was decided the entire group would attend.

Later that afternoon we assembled our chairs under the hot sun and sat in a wide circle. The conversation went around. A couple of questions which would be great to clear up. First, yesterday when asked if these events were compulsory, it was said that they would be if resistance persisted. Can you explain what that means? A long response was given which softened that stance and clarified it and restated the need for a set of agreements to help explain and set expectations. Great. Second, I'm confused by what seems to be a double standard here. Confusion, the leader said, is an emotional state children and adolescents experience. Confusion can be used as a mask for not taking responsibility for your true feelings. That's not a fair characterization. Adults get confused all the time. You probably do, too. Are you afraid of me, he asked. No, promptly, I'm suspicious of you. It's unclear what your intentions are. I wonder whether you're manipulative or coercive. I find it challenging to trust you. That's because I'm provocative. Most people don't like those who are provocative because it makes them uncomfortable. I find provocation - and being provocative - can be used as masks to conceal cruelty. Not saying that's the case here, but it's happened in the past. Are you angry? I don't trust anyone who doesn't feel comfortable expressing their anger. Yes, right now there's anger. It's in my chest. Sitting in a circle and talking about my issues with you in front of a group of people who are looking at me isn't something enjoyable to me. The attention is unsettling. My anger doesn't have to make me mean or cruel though.  No need to raise my voice or point my anger at you like a knife. I can feel it and let it be there without wielding it. If you're angry at me though, and need to make insinuations, comparing me to a confused child, I'd ask you to be more clear and transparent when you want to insult me. Maybe you weren't trying to insult me. Only you know. 

The conversation went like this for some time. There were moments of vulnerability from myself and the leader, as well as others in the circle. My social anxiety, desire to do no harm, yearning to connect and learn how to live in community were all topics which were covered. All of the details needn't be belabored here. Honestly, many of the specifics have been forgotten and even the ones which have been recalled here are from my perspective and are far from perfect - potentially rife with biases and errors. But eventually it ended with a question from the leader: what can I do to help you? Well, when communicating from a place of anger, if you could also find in yourself compassion, kindness and love and let those things through with the anger, that would be great. Because we're not just these one dimensional angry beings who feel hurt or wronged, we have a rich palette of emotions all co-arising and coexisting within us at any given moment. It's very easy to let anger through. It's a cheap emotion. We have it on tap. We summon it when we stub our toe or when someone cuts us off in traffic. It's much more challenging to hold anger with love and compassion and find a way to express your anger in the presence of those other emotions. 

We ended the circle amicably. Most of the issues felt addressed and resolved. My sense of connection could return now that this emotional obstacle had been removed. But the weight of lifting it, rolling it up the hill, having it roll me over, walking back down to retrieve it and push it up again had me feeling as sapped as Sisyphus. It took a couple of days for my energy to bounce back. It helped me realize something about myself which I hadn't realized before. For most (maybe all) of my life I haven't done a good job at managing my emotional empathy. There's a concept of observing the emotional intensity of another without absorbing the emotional intensity of another. Someone with a poorly defined boundary will just let all the emotional energy of another in with their own and then have to shoulder simultaneously the weight of two human beings. This practice isn't sustainable. Particularly when the emotions involved are anger and sadness, I find it hard to not absorb them. In both cases my pattern is to diffuse the emotion to help relieve the suffering of the other person. But this isn't rational. The emotions of another are theirs, not mine. They need to process them. They need to make sense of them and integrate them. They need to ride the lightning. Doing it along side them helps me feel them, yes. But it leaves me drained and depleted. There will be future posts on this topic, I promise.

But to conclude this long chapter on our first longterm (!) stay at an eco village, there are still a few things left to say. First is that these events represent only a small facet of the experiences we had here. In this essay literary techniques were used to drum up readability via dramatic devices which may distort the reality of events. This is true for anything that has ever been written - especially by me. Attempts were made to remain closer to the facts than normal, but still, this piece reads like a condemnation of the place. It is not. The people there are trying to do a good thing. They have a shared vision and purpose and they are making a difference in their community and in the hearts and minds of those who visit them. No one there - I hope - is truly monstrous or villainous. We participated in rituals and creative spaces and had the chance to play and experiment in a unique social laboratory that is rare in this world. I'm deeply grateful for the opportunity and the people who made it possible. There is no ill will or bad feelings toward anyone there. Perhaps only differing opinions on the approach. Not every community is for everyone. Maybe my needs aren't met by the place. That's fine. It isn't a slight on the village. 

We may have different elders and different beliefs and different expectations, but that's the beauty of life and what makes places diverse and interesting is when people can come together and live in community despite their differences.