let story guide;

My good man Joe and I spoke of the very nature, the inherent nature that we all seem to have, about keeping secrets. We keep them close to ourselves, because they are ourselves, he said. Or, maybe I said? This conversation was well after several beers and now one—no, two?—bottles of red wine. We keep them to ourselves because they are ourselves.

I quoted Buechner on the matter who had suggested that, if said statements are true, then we are only as healthy as our inner-most secrets. I couldn’t remember if this was the exact phrasing or if I were embarrassing that man’s brilliant words, but I think I was living into one of the inner-most, deep-in-our-bones secret of all—that I just wanted Joe to like me. And keep liking me. And think I was terribly smart. So if Buechner was right (who knows?) then how important it was to tell our secrects, if even only to our own selves, so that we not get lost in the edit, edit, edit that we do so much on behalf of the world—kind of like Dr. Robert Bruce Banner, or the incredible Hulk!, keeping that real and powerful monster from destroying downtown and people’s feelings.

Fuck that, we slurred. Fuck the world!

Fuck! Damn! Hell!

We were drunk.

As time progressed, as it has a way of doing, we inevitably probed and shared some of our secrets—some of our selves—with one another as the roaring guns of Halo acted as a security blanket for us both. And then, again, at the piano, where we freestlyed music and lyrics, words and phrases, that still danced in to the air even as I awoke late this morning, desperate for the toilet bowl and Jake to hold back my hair. 

The thing about sharing secrets, is it kind of gets right to it, I suppose. All one could hope for in “the telling” is that through clenched eyes, we could gently open to see our friend or wife or brother or mother still sitting there; sitting there, still, with love to offer, rather than judgment or condemnation, or worse, their own conclusions. And even more profound—the sharing of anothers secret to you, so that you get the magnificent opportunity to stay, and smile. It is in this, that you realize the secrets aren’t so bad at all—for they are your own, as well. 

I feel that.

The holy words of me too.

A gentle laughter because what we had feared all along, didn’t happen. Instead, in fact, now we have had an overcoming! An overcoming of distance, of self alone—we had inadvertently achieved intimacy; friendship; love. And most importantly, we now get to feel a little more belonging to this family, that is our humanity.

We sat on that small, cutish balcony of the Avalon hotel in Portland, Oregon—a town, which one of my very best friends Stephen claims, is still so marvelously stuck in the spirit of the 90’s. As we partook of cigars and scotch and cigarettes, I hid in the presence of light that is this magnificent couple named Ben and Alida. There’s something truly divine, something holy, as one gets to be in the center of their company. The divinity being, that they are hopelessly themselves. Not a hopelessness that means they can be no other, yet—yes (yes!); they can truly be none other than who they marvelously are. Ben and Alida, Alida and Ben.

Their stories, their passions, their experiments, their activity: all Alida, all Ben. 

They are a couple unique and specifically themselves.

Heather and I remarked of each other’s similar experience of them as we quit the balcony and slipped into our robes, that there is something so invitational about us getting to share that overhang with those two persons—something enveloping us in love and kindness and sweet, sweet permission to be ourselves; something, that I can only imagine to be the invitation of God herself. 

Why are we so ashamed of our inherent need to need? We need love; we need truth; we need relationship—friendship, brothers, sisters; we need honesty and hard conversations in the dark or on piers. We need another self to come up against our own. 

With that—

I need you.

You need me.

Amen.

Let’s get something to eat. 

I am a grower in search of a self to grow into. My search, this day, takes me to Portland.

He who would lead a Christlike life is he who is perfectly and absolutely himself, Oscar Wilde says. That might just be wild enough to be true. 

Let’s go for it.

I‘ll care. 

I’ll be my very best friend, hand in hand for the rest of my life. I’ll be my mother on mother’s day, my father on the fourth of july, my aunts and uncles at christmas; I’ll be my family.

I’ll be that one to climb into bed with at the end of a very long day; I’ll be the lover. I’ve been the one all along, you know, while you’ve been holding auditions and looking for anyone else to fill the position. It’s okay. I’ll also be the one who forgives.

Let it be him; Let it be her. Let it be me. 

I’ll respect and honor and be oh so kind to. I’ll stay. I’ll love the growth and theory talk, the joys and the sorrows. I’ll spoil with movies and shows and long baths, secret cokes and bananas foster. I’ll also discipline with good boundaries and responsibility, a few more trips to Trader Joes—I know, we hate it—rather than Walmart. I’ll make love well, with candles and lotions and soft instrumentals, looming in the air. 

Oh, I will be the ever-lasting constant in this life, as I have been all along. I’m freed now, free from that rusted cage of acid shame; I’m free now, to play and love and cry and be. You’ve let me out, so now I’m also free to let it go. I’ll be the one who transcends to whatever He or She would have me to call Him or Her. I’ll meet you in the field, Oh busted Lord, with my arms abandoned and my head held high. A busted God, for a busted man. Who limps and crawls to meet you, wounded from this world, but finally, fully, himself. 

I spoke of how, more than anything else in this moment of my life, I just wanted a brother. Someone who I could be a little shit to, get mad at, wrestle and fight, be a colossal failure and be myself to, adventure, talk theory, explore unknown lands with, love. Yet in all of this—which is the beauty of brothers—they have to stay; they have to stick around and be loyal and help me move my stuff.

After a bit of time, he wondered aloud, But, do they? I know of a lot of brothers who would rather just not have anything to do with another, let alone the commitment you’re speaking of. What are you really wanting? And at the same time, what are you really afraid of?

I just want to be myself, I say, and have a family; and I’m so afraid of people walking away.