63 Sad

From 1975 until 1985 I often considered moving to The Farm in order to work with my friend John. Each time my wife and I wrestled over money and jobs I revisited the possibility. In my private heart of hearts in 1975 I had taken a vow of poverty and I imagined myself—idealized myself—someday dying as I read Gandhi had, with no possessions other than my two changes of simple clothing, my eyeglasses, my sandals, and my cup and bowl. My wife and I rented an apartment and then a house and for eight years we lived from paycheck to paycheck.

Folly.

But finally in 1985 my wife convinced me—thank god—that if only for the sake of our children and in the interest of common sense we had to buy a house. I agonized over what I considered a breach of my vow, it was indeed a bitter pill for me to swallow, but in the end I had to concede that my wife was right. Given our situation, my principle—or the way I was trying to live it—did not make sense. For two years we had paid almost as much in rent each month as we would eventually pay to buy our own home.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,

But sore annoyed was he without it;

Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,

And thought about it.

I had never felt so low.

So desolate.

My experience of god was ten years old. I had freed no one, saved no one. It seemed that I had caused only pain to those I loved most—to my first two children, to my first wife, and now to my children and to Ruth. As a writer, too, I had been an abject failure. I had published nothing worth mentioning. I had a job—that was about it—and now my new supervisor had made it very clear that she did not and would not ever appreciate in my teaching any of the things I knew I did best. John had given up on the commune in Tennessee and left The Farm.

He was headed back to San Francisco.

"To try to get rich," John said.

I grieved.

I grieved.

I grieved.

My friend Billy and his wife visited me and my family for a few days in early spring. My faith in the dharma was as strong as ever but I had absolutely nothing concrete to show for my commitment to it and I desperately wished I did. Billy had seen through me.

On his way out the door to his car as he and his wife left he handed me a poem he had written about me. I unfolded the paper after he had gone and I trembled when my eyes reached the concluding word of my portrait.

"Struggling."

I cried.

Three months later the spring quarter at the college had mercifully dragged me to its end. I felt as if I had been held hostage and my life and the lives of my wife and children threatened for one full year. Now, finally, at last, I would be off for the summer, and when my friend and colleague Jules invited me and my wife to his home for a party to celebrate the end of the school year I decided to get drunk and I did—raving and ranting and arguing for hours with every person present. The next morning I was mortified. I apologized, I mailed my note, and I promised myself I would never get drunk again. Then I wrote a poem. At first I called it "My Enlightenment" but later, still embarrassed by my earlier naive use of that term, I retitled it.

Ode to Joy—

I wish now that it had never happened

I cant think about anything else

Its all I talk about

Everyone is sick of hearing it

I know its wrong

Im not trying to get out of it

Even my wife is totally disgusted with me

She says I am rude and obnoxious

My conduct at parties embarrasses her

I refuse to listen to anyone else

I wont go home

I antagonize our hosts

Their guests say Im deluded

I think Im having a good time

Im trying to have fun

Enjoy myself

Loosen up a little

Get drunk

Go for it

Shout

Act

Its true

I cant be happy

I drink too much

Im stoned all the time

Im dependent on coffee and cigarettes

I have a bad reputation

People never know exactly what I might do

But I have my limit

Im moralistic

Self righteous

Hypersensitive to criticism

Always denying my own faults

Uncooperative

Deranged

Im dragging everybody down

Im no fun to be with any more

I ought to talk to a psychologist

I dont believe in church

Im so self centered

     Its all I I I I I

Its so hard to control

Weve got to put it behind us

Weve got to look to the future

Its no good talking about it all the time

There I go again

Im so proud of myself

Im a loud know it all

I dont have any practical applications

Im not doing anything about it

Ive got to do something about it

Im going to do something about it

Id rather be by myself

I dont care if they dont like my company

Its teaching thats driven me crazy

Questions

Questions

Questions

I should get out

How

Now what will I say to them

Theyll never want to see me again

If we meet it will be tense and uncomfortable

We wont want to be doing it

Its sad it all had to work out this way

Its my fault

Ive become antisocial

I dont have any friends

I dont like to go out

I dont know how to enjoy life

Im obsessed

Im trying not to exaggerate

At first it was just a curious disbelief

Then a lamp in my dream

Then heaven

Then arguing and arguing and arguing

Im still arguing

Im always arguing

Every conversation is arguing to me

I act like Im insane

Like Im the judge

Irrational

Bizarre

I resent these accusations

They haunt me

I take them to heart

I meditate

Focus upon them

Suffer

Im sorry about it

I want to be kinder

Im tired of it too

Im sorry I keep doing it

I dont want to do it anymore

Im serious about this

I know Im repeating myself

I am ashamed

It hurts to admit

I hate myself when I act so pompous

I feel so sad

I threw up this afternoon

I am unloved

I am unloved

I am unloved

I cant sleep at night

My stomach hurts

I feel like groaning

I want to groan and keep on groaning

Im so fanatical

Ive gone over the edge

They ought to put me away

Someone told my wife that

Im sorry

I cant go to work today

Im sorry I cant go to work today

Inside Im always crying

My heart is always aching

Aching and aching

If I start

Id never be able to stop if I start

I would just

Cry

I read the morning paper

I watch cbstv

I try to see the good side

I like cheerful people

Inside Im always crying

My father is there

Do you want something to cry about

Im terrified

With his belt as hard as he can

I have no one

This happens every single day

This goes on for years

I have no other memory of my father until this stops

I am totally helpless

I am totally at his mercy

I take it out on my brother

I tease him

He begins to hate me

I am left with my guilts and regrets

Last week a student wrote

I know who I am

I dont want to be me

I cant explain why I did it

I dont want it to be

Crying

I cant adjust anymore

I cant get used to it

I cant get used to it

Why would I do something like that

Why did I do it

I dont understand

What is accomplished

Why

I know Im repeating myself

I know Im repeating myself

I dont mean to

I cant understand

I just cant accept it

Its too hard to accept

Im no good for anyone else

Ill lose at this game

I cant survive all of this struggling

It feels like hell to me

It is hell to me

I wish I had never been born

If I could rejoin oblivion by walking out that door

Id be dead

There

Ive said it

The curse they all hear in me

Ive given up

I dont care anymore

I know I shouldnt feel this way

I dont have good mental health

My stomach is tearing

My heart aches

Dont touch me

I dont want any help

I dont want anything

I dont have any goal

My life is mixed up

I cant earn a comfortable living

I dont understand debt

I dont have any money

I cant work any harder

I cant do any more

It wont get any better

My condition wont improve

I refuse medication

Im suspicious of doctors

I dont know how to sing

I cant carry a tune

Im too shy to be dancing

I have no appetite

I dont like to go shopping

I feel guilty at restaurants

Neckties choke me

     Ill always be this way

     Ill always be sad

     Ill always be spoiling it for them

     Ill always be spoiling it for everybody else

     Yes

     Ill always be spoiling it for everybody else