Pico de Orizaba

Pico de Orizaba
Taken from Huatusco, Veracruz, the closest town to Margarita's family's ranch.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

"Where do I begin and how do I go where?"

James commented on "The 3 Messengers" ending the comment with a very interesting question.  I responded at length and then was informed that my response couldn't pass 1,500 words.  So, I decided to "publish" my response. 

James wrote:

Well this caught me up from our couple year lag in conversation. It is a nice story, with a lot of facts. Are you afraid of going a little deeper into your thoughts and feelings or is this just a working copy, getting all the facts and dates straight.?

And I responded:

I was talking with Margarita about this yesterday. We bought an expensive cell phone with a recorder for the freestyle conversations that bloom when I'm driving or during our walks.  However, I don't believe that this was recorded.  I'm most interested in recording her perspective.  In any case, about going deeper into my thoughts and feelings; I believe that I've blocked so many of them in the attempt towards controlling the economic/business situation.  Without friends nearby there is absolutely no use in feeling all that I have felt here over the past 8.5 years, no one with whom to talk about the difficulties.  It's much more constructive repressing those feelings. For more than half our relationship Margarita did not understand my reactions. How many explosions erupted between us because of my pointing out how one person or another related towards me, be it the strangers passing our stands, the landlords, people in the markets or her brothers and sisters.   "Pointing out" carried with it the feelings of sadness, concern, vulnerability, disappointment, frustration and anger I felt with those experiences; a whole complex system of felt experience with whom I couldn't discuss.  Since I didn't leave Margarita and Mexico, I learned that this war was one fought alone.  My family didn't want to understand it, nor accept it. They just made illogical comments about when would we visit them; a way for them to feel that they were being supportive of Margarita and my marriage.  

I'm going to say something I imagine falls within the context of "crass", correct me if I am wrong; if someone believes that this story is worth the time for fully immersing myself and offers the money...  In 2 weeks we're back on the road. And we leave the protection of this idyllic hiding place in the mountains and woods of Veracruz.  We return to the risk of violence; assaults, robberies, extortions and kidnappings.  We return to the concerns of extracting the most we can out of the 24 days of hopefully intense coffee sales, although the local economies are so unpredictable.  I'm running against the clock.  I also suffer recriminations that I am wasting a ton of time writing this when, truthfully, it seems that so few people are interested.  I see the amount of viewings per hour or day and from what countries and see that the only people who place comments are you and Kim (my mother wants to comment also, but is overwhelmed by the technology).  

If I want to risk feeling what I imagine I successfully disconnected myself from, I can do that.  The problem is that it requires a ton of concentration and peace and something of outside moral support.  That's why I sent you those emails I wrote Natalie before I created this blog, because I needed someone with a profound interest to help me keep on track and who was unthusiastic about this horribly difficult, risky and embarrassing endeavor, because this writing is like dropping my pants for the world to see.  The problem is that that is what it is all about; for my father to have lived... Imagine, you and I are those same college friends, but this time you and I are medical students.  You or I or both of us must drop are shorts and open our butt cheeks for the other person to practice a colonoscopy.  Do you want to stick your finger in my anus and then shove a scope up my ass and look into my rectum and colon with my balls hangin there infront?  But this is just the point.  That was my experience from the age of 12 until the age of 32 and the doctors and my mother thought I should accept the experience in the name of my health. No, I wanted to ignore that experience and accept death.  I'm not exaggerating.  I am existentialist partly for this reason.  I am also fatalist.  If God wanted me dead, then why prolong the suffering?  Why embarrass myself more?  The first enemas placed into my ass were administered by my mother. I was well into puberty and I must just close my eyes and accept her birds eye view.  It was sufficient that the kids in Elementary, Middle and the first half of High School made me feel pathetic.  But, throw in my mother giving me an enema... One of the things that repeatedly "destroys" me is this whole drawn out experience that no one would have the guts to air in public let alone share with their friends and lovers...  If a man is impotent, that man ceases being a complete man.  If the man doesn't ejaculate, he is a man who malfunctions.  But we're not only talking about sexual issues, we're talking about genetic weakness or genetic deformation.  It's bad enough that I didn't experience my second growth spurt.  That I didn't reach my father's height of 5'11" or that of my Uncles' or that of my grandfather.  I reached 5'6" and stopped growing in Freshman year.  I waited until I turned 21-years-old before I threw in the flag...  I inhereted my father's illness and my mother's physique and my mother as my only true role model. But she rejected me so as not to create a sick relationship...  Bad decision mom...  As an adult you have the opportunity to make better decisions, to ponder those decisions, to consider the consequences of those decisions.  As a child you must take what you are given.  That aside, how about the aftermath of having the 3rd major surgery and the bathroom issues and all that embarrassing stuff.  If I don't mention this to you, you don't know this about me.  If I hide my relationship with all this stuff, you think that I am so strong, because I seem like a pilar here.  But, when I'm that way, I don't write anyone and I keep everyone at arms length here...even Margarita.  However, the personal reality continues.  By writing about this, all I feel is continuing rejection because no one says anything.  I know that this is a hell of a story.  It's not only a publishable story, it's a story that can be recreated on film...  My life journey stands alone.  However, throw in the drawings and paintings, along with what I have created in the kitchen and a few world views etc...  However, when one person reads the word "rectum" or reads the idea "incontinence" or reads that I don't ejaculate...  Well that ends their interest.  Throw in a suicidal reaction to all of this, and I have just killed myself in their minds and they have absolutely no desire to understand what could be beautiful between the suicide and the success...  And that's just it, success. That's what I have here; success with very little familial support.  Most successful "Americans" are successful because of one form or other of heavy familial support.  Research the upbringing of my step brother Alan and you'll see a wonderful nurturing relationship first and foremost between Alan and Bruce.  But you'll also see a wonderful mother who was a teacher and a semi-wealthy grandmother who thought that her grandson was a prince and a whole lot of very educated and supportive and incredibly enthusiastic relatives, not to mention how many of them were wealthy and mingled in politics or who had been politicians... Most of what I have accomplished here has been without support from my family. 90% of it was accomplished in my Spanish.  Not that I speak 10% English here, but because Chris was monumental in 2007.  However, what must I have learned and accomplished virtually on my own to be able to have created the situation we know as the Chris/Ross interaction in February-March 2007?  I became very ill here James.  The stress level was incredible.  Trial by fire? I used every ounce of my physical, mental and spiritual energy to be able to overcome the obstacles and to be able to continue alongside Margarita who truly didn't understand my battle.  At times she threw gasoline on the fire.  I became horribly resentful towards her for years.  You have no idea.  No, I don't write about this.  My concern is in bringing the events to you without overwhelming you with the personal stuff. First you must develop the interest in my story, believe that it's worth reading the so much that I have written and then I can give you the flesh below the skin.  However, no one has the time nor the desire to even read the clothed skin of the story.  They don't want to believe that this could be worth their time.  After all the wonderful things Natalie said to me before starting the blog, she hasn't written one word. Today I had this feeling that I had accomplished my desire; to show everyone the miracle in process between Michael, Margarita and I with Chris and a few other people and drop the writing.  Truthfully, for a moment there, I thought that I had concluded the endeavor, although I haven't written about Mónica, Vicki, Anya, nor Joey.  I haven't written about Sheri and Leslie and my high school relationship with Francesca.  

It's so clear that this is way beyond coincidence and proves that there is something magical in life much beyond our control and our planning.  As I've said before, I don't invent a word of it.  If I did invent, I would be a successful fiction writer not suffering with the real difficulties.  I wouldn't be here in Mexico living with super under educated people who don't have conversations beyond what they saw on the news...  Towards the end of the walk with Margarita yesterday, we talked about that.  And she agreed that she would like friends who actually enjoyed life and enjoyed exploring it and enjoyed creativity and enjoyed talking about whatever came to mind, although whatever came to mind is so much more than you find on the Mexican daily news...Yes, it's a complaint.  It's a hell of a complaint.  Writing about New York City I realized just how much I left behind; I could find an interesting person and a good conversation and another possibility every half hour.  If you want it, just look for it. However, here in Mexico, especially at the working-class/rancher class level, which is over 70% of the population, there is absolutely nothing to find and those who consider themselves intellectuals and artists wear those titles on their sleeves and defend their status jealously overwhelming you with their egoism and their need to feel superior, especially if you are foreign....  I just want a natural conversation, enthusiasm for sharing and for learning...  The situation is very complex and the readers or friends or the friends and readers don't near understanding that.  But the only person at risk here soy yo...  So, my question always was "Where do I begin and how do I go where?" Can you understand this?

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