"There in Harlem, where life was raw, where brutality and conflict existed on every street corner, there I found people who were so broken down that they could really listen, and because they were so honest, I could really hear them. Half the reason for the trials of life, I believe, is because life itself is trying to break down our resistance to change."
Sandy laughs, "I love the lecture, but the great realization?"
Mort laughs, "I came to understand that it is just me in the mirror. I was not the best, not the worst. Not the fattest, not the thinnest. It's only me, it's only you, but together this is US. And WE are valuable. WE possess this moment and everything in it. We are Kings and Queens with wealth beyond compare because we no longer NEED to compare. Acceptance of self, as we are, is the greatest liberation we can achieve. Acceptance of another, as they are, if the greatest gift we can give."
Feeling the pause, Sandy spoke. "People said you lost your way. No second book ever came out. You just wandered the streets doing neighborhood work. Even I believed you were wasting your talents, and I still believe you are. Look at this training, this is really powerful stuff, core issues addressed that change people's lives. This is the stuff that matters."
Mort smiled, "Sandy, this is the stuff that pays bills. These people are too insulated to get to the bones of contention. They are fat with opinions, bloated by compromise, and caught up in a web of lies that they call their life." Then he paused, a long pause, and he took her by the hands, turning to face directly into her eyes.
"Sandy, do you really think I came all the way to England for some council workers?"
Sandra had only once felt the full effect of that gaze, when she was first attending his classes at Columbia, twenty years ago. He had looked at her, and she was sure it was a look of interest. It was like he stripped her naked and inspected every part of her. She had been excited, but he never followed it up. It was the reason she got so addicted to his classes. Was THIS what this whole trip was about? Was he chatting her up?
Mort let go and just laughed. "People take a long time to get past their fears and conditioning. You do the work, you think you have found clear space, but there it is, buried like an old sweaty sock stinking out of the sock drawer." He held her gaze for a moment, watching her confusion. "The father issues will come to the surface soon. I got an appointment for lunch, so see you for the afternoon session. If I am late, run them through the Shadow and a bit of Jung's cosmic unconscious."
"But, we never covered any brief on this!" Sandy protested.
"You were just there, remembering your first meeting, your first lectures. Yes? (she nods, helpless, like a little girl) It is all in there. Just remember what I said way back then, and rework it. If you can't remember, make shyte up. They won't know."
He strolled out from the converted gym where they were doing the work, leaving her to wonder, "How did he know what I was thinking of when we first met?"
Then she noticed the envelope with her name on it. It was in Mort's handwriting, curious. She opened it, and there was a little piece of paper, with a huge smile on it. On the back, there was one little statement. "Sandy, you are the one who will help these people change, not by what we teach them, but by the fact you got out of Peterlee and made a name for yourself in New York. Your presence will do more than you can imagine, because you SHOW them what is possible. Your presence is what proves that they too can have dreams that become real."
And a little PS at the bottom: "PS: Please remember the obvious. What you ARE is evidenced by what you DO and both are a lot more important than what you SAY."
PHANTOMS and FEARS
Mort looked at the Math Teacher. Two years earlier he had asked for therapy and said he was prepared to travel to New York. Mort had said way back then, "Travelling all that way to talk makes no sense. I will be over your way soon enough, we can catch up then."
Plus, around the same time, he had the most interesting note from this place. An extraordinary man from this town had written him, thanking Mort for his book. It saved his sanity, Harry had said. The universe is never wrong, there was a connection between the two. This formed part of the rationale for the journey, that and poor Sandy. He didn't realize how much this trip was about her till she turned up out the blue with the girl and the beaten mother. But first things first, he had to find some clear space for the teacher lost in all those aspirations he had. So many lofty goals had he worked up to cover the deep fears that ruled him.
Mort starts the conversation. "The problem with life, Terry, may I call you Terry? The problem is largely the fact that most people do not live it."
"I am not sure what you mean Professor Bogden. I am intensely busy, working with charities after school hours, and I am a member of many focus groups. I am very committed to improving life here for everyone." Mort just looked at Terry. He had seen it so often, people running from their shadows by making themselves too busy to notice the elephant in the room.
And such a friendly elephant! Why was he hiding from it? The young man was clearly a repressed Gay. Father issues, mother issues, insecurity, they all added up to a terrible fear of how he would be seen by others. But there was something else, and Mort was pretty sure he knew what it would be. No point holding back, "Terry, do you realize you are gay?"
Terry went deathly pale as the blood drained from his face. Well, that proves it, thought Mort. "But, but I am married. I have two beautiful children." he protested.
But but but, always the but.
"I noticed you didn't say you weren't gay just now, and just threw up evidence you believe proves the contrary. However, this is not the point and not what I care about. In fact, NO ONE cares about it, Terry. THIS is your problem. You are sitting there worrying about what everyone thinks about you instead of living your life. The only real question I need to ask you is this: Are you really prepared to accept yourself?"
Mort then reaches over, and takes him by both hands, and just holds them gently over the coffee table where they sit in the little coffee shop. He looks deeply into the lads' eyes, and asks, "Do you want to have some fun?"
"What, with you? I mean, I am not sure I am gay..."
Mort laughs, breaking the tension. "I asked if you wanted to have fun, yet you automatically thought it was about sex? Do you wonder about this? Terry, the reality is that sex is a SERIOUS business. Sex means commitment, connection, relationship, and a whole lot of shared responsibility.
"I was asking about fun. Fun is what kids have in a sandpit. Do you really think children are wanting sex with each other when they play?"
Terry was out of his depth and floundering. Good, that rattled him enough. As he suspected, childhood sexual experience. He was Catholic, pretty good guess at where the problems lay, especially given the history of the area. He had done his research and had it confirmed by the man he wanted Terry to meet. "OK then, tell me about when you were an altar boy."
"But, but I never told you I was an altar boy," he protested.
Looking into his eyes, deeply, Mort insisted. "What happened Terry? What happened that affected you, and set you up on your journey of fear?"
"I, I can't tell you. It was too horrible!" He starts weeping.
Mort reaches over, no slap this time. He just holds Terry's face in both hands. "This is your safe place, Terry. You are IN MY HANDS, and here you are completely safe. This place is where the hurt and the fear cannot come. Now I already know what happened, but you need to speak up, announce it, and in doing so you will release the demons that have been controlling you."
"I didn't know what was happening. He took me back and asked me to change clothes. I was embarrassed, so he just took them off, and started LICKING me, like a dog. He even made barking sounds. It was so weird. I didn't know what to do."
"But you liked it?" Mort adds.
"Well, not at first, but he kept doing it. And it was kind of nice. I came back the next day, and he did it again. He was the first adult to make me feel good. It was dirty, I knew
I couldn't tell anyone, but he was a man of God. It couldn't be wrong, but it was."
"And you went back quite a few more times, yes?"
"Y-yes," Terry bowed his head in guilt. "He eventually asked me to lick him, down there. I did as I was told. He came all over my face. That was disgusting, it was horrible."
"Yet you didn't tell anyone, and you kept going back, yes?"
"Yes," whispered Terry.
"Terry, you are gay. This is why you liked it, you LIKED a man paying sexual attention to you, personal attention - Intimate attention. It was what you were denied by your mother and father. They had no intimacy between themselves, and you were expected to be a good little soldier - get qualified, and be a cog in the machine like they were. All your life you have been fulfilling other people's expectations." Mort prepared for the ax to fall on the sad, lost child before him.
"But this is not the problem. The problem is you felt guilty because you LIKED it, yes? This dirty little secret has been buried in your subconscious, controlling every action of your life. You thought you could cure it by working hard. Doing things for the community, making decisions and taking actions that were serious. These things were not fun, so in your weird way of punishing yourself you felt these things would in some way counter the guilt. Do you understand what a barrel load of shyte you have been pushing uphill your entire life?"
Terry was too emotional to talk. He had tears in his eyes, and a deep sob was trying to break through his resistance. Mort had chosen the place carefully. Openly gay coffee shops in Peterlee were non-existent, but the letter he had received came from the owner of this place, an opening that had come from out of nowhere was the answer. A remarkable and kind gay man was wanting to help out. A man who listened to and fully understood what Mort wanted for his client.
On a nod, the owner comes up and introduces himself. "Terry is it? My name is Harry, and I run this place. I hope you do not find this an intrusion, but we have a meeting room at the back for people to discuss issues relating to their past."
Terry looks at Mort, and asks, "Was it so obvious? Did you understand this right at the outset?"
"Not the fine details, Terry, but everything you said and did shouted out your truth. Now, this is not to say you have to enact your internal leanings. It does not mean you have to divorce your wife or anything like that. Quite the opposite, by accepting yourself you may discover you will have a better marriage. I don't know - But you are not alone, there are others in a similar situation, and here you can talk without fear of judgment. Harry here is discreet, and suffered more than you, more than anyone you could imagine. Did you want to talk about this, Harry?"
The old man nodded, "It all started with the Catholic priests for me. I was the pet of the local guy, and because I was both pretty and willing, I got passed around. I was only twelve, but I loved the attention. My parents presumed I was being groomed for the priesthood, but the reality was I became a sex toy. Not an unwilling one at first, but after a year or so, it started to get ugly.
"The bishop was the worst. He liked inflicting pain. He wanted to hear me whimper and scream and beg. All I had to do was beg him for sex, and the pain stopped. After that, I got farmed out to businessmen. These were people who paid the Bishop with all sorts of favors, I later found out. But for me, the nightmare was just beginning because when I became old enough to work, they got me jobs with those businessmen. It was a way to hide the fact I was their personal toy.
"I escaped, finally, I ran away to London. But the Bishop found me, and dragged me to the authorities, saying I was a gay man who needed reform. They wanted to chemically castrate me, but it was voluntary. Yet I was in such a confused state, I was about to agree with it. I was in prison, reading about Oscar Wilde, seething with the injustice. That is when I decided I preferred to live out my years in jail.
"But this is not what the Bishop wanted. He wanted me dead and silenced. It had been arranged for me to be stabbed, but I was miraculously saved by one of the inmates. He knew the Cray Brothers, the brother that was the gay one. He came in to see me, said he would get me out and that I would be looked after. They wanted someone to run male prostitution rings for them, and I was their man, or girl and he used to say.
"Say what you will about the Cray's, but they were good to me. We all knew what would happen if you crossed them, but if you were loyal, did what was asked, they never did you wrong. When it was all shut down I came back here to Peterlee and started up this place. I only realized how damaged I was when I was looking after my Mum in her last years. None of them ever knew, and I could not really tell them. Everything had been kept hushed up because in those days saying something against the church made you a pariah. So I said nothing. My Mum passed on and she never knew, but now I had an inheritance. I could now do something to set things to rights. I decided to open this place and do something to help others like myself, so here we are."
Mort looked at Terry. "It is your decision. No one is forcing anything on you, but here is a door you can walk through where you can find happiness and people who will understand. And I promise you, walk through this door, and you will start to find real peace in your life. Stop thinking about consequences, what others will think, and start asking what it is YOU want. It is YOUR life Terry, and it is YOUR choice the way you want to live it."
Terry was openly crying now, weeping. Both men allowed him to be, and finally he said, quietly. "Thank you. I truly mean this sincerely. But how can I tell my wife?"
Harry laughed, "I would be very surprised if she didn't already know. But the simple truth is what works best. She can also come in to talk, and I want to make sure you understand if you decide you truly are a gay man it does NOT mean you need to get divorced. You may be surprised at how incredibly understanding a loving wife can be, Terry. Most mothers just want the family cared for, and to feel loved. I know you love her, and you may well find that being set free from your guilt means you will be able to love her more." Harry paused, and looked at the terrified mouse in front of him. He had been like that once himself.
He continued. "Terry, being gay is not all about sex. It may surprise you, but it is more about connection. You feel a greater sense of connection with a man than a woman, and sex can be part of this, or not. But by accepting your nature the compromise you live every day will stop. It is your call, come and see us, bring the wife if she wishes. If she hates you and wants a divorce, this is the risk you take in your personal quest for happiness. This is about YOU, Terry, it is about YOU finding your feet, being true to yourself, and discovering what it is to be free."
Mort stands up, "OK, well, back to work for me. Great meeting you both. Remember, we live lives of convention only because we are afraid. Not one single person is normal, not one single person is average. We are all unique, and our truest task in life is to find the right way to express it.
"Most hide in fear. They live a lie. We lie to ourselves because we are afraid of whatever it is we are afraid of. But when we stop being a mouse on the wheel, when we stop pretending to be what others want us to be, then the doorway to freedom starts to open. But it is always a choice, you can walk through, or stay. Hold on tight to the bars of your prison, feeling miserable, or walk away free."
Mort then takes Harry's hand, and says, "Thank you."
As he left, Harry said to Terry, "It was his book that set me free, you know. I always thought there was something deeply wrong with me, but I read that book some twenty years ago and started seeing the obvious. We are as free as we choose to be, but we have to choose freedom to begin to know this."
A Vicious Circle
The gathered group had been with Sandy for a couple of hours, going over dealing with the shadow. This is where you start recognizing how most people won't say what they mean or even mean what they say. The reality, what people talk about is often a reflection of the shadow within. You have to listen to what isn't said and find the light in the darkness to understand what they really mean.
; Sandy was in the middle of doing group exercises when Mort walked in. She is asking questions of the class. "Let's pretend that a woman, a twenty-five-year rate-payer, is talking about her neighbor. The man has a dog that barks incessantly. She wants something done about it. You will have all had a complaint like this, yes? Good, well let's ask ourselves what the client is really saying. Why do you think she is really there for?
A hand goes up, "Someone to go out there and tell the owner to get his dog to shut up!" The crowd laughs.
"Are you allowed to do that?" Sandy asks.
"Well," volunteered a clerk, "under certain circumstances, if the dog poses a risk, or it barks after eleven pm for no reason, then council can intervene."
"And what, precisely, can council do? Impound the dog?"
"Well, no. We issue a notice to the offending party."
"I see. Tell me this, can you issue the woman who came in offended by the barking dog a notice?"
"Of course not. We issue it to the fellow who owns the dog."
"Do you see, you have just become part of a vicious circle? The woman has used you to do her bidding. She had bent an authority to go over and bend the man's will to her own. Where is the evidence the dog is a problem? How do you know the woman really just doesn't like dogs? There are innumerable sidebars that could be the real issue. There is only one certainty here: By buying into HER circle of discontent, you all get infected."
"Let me offer a better suggestion, instead of agreeing or disagreeing with the woman, you simply embrace her problem, and say to her that you understand it is a difficult situation. Then we proceed on to establishing a course of action. Ask her what she thinks council should do in this matter. You will soon find out if she is genuinely concerned, or just a vindictive old lady who hates dogs.
"But even if she is, the woman is still a twenty-five-year ratepayer. She does have skin in the game, so it is a matter of creating balance. How do you resolve the situation? You do this by expanding the issue into a larger circle. Ask questions like, 'do any of your children own a dog?' 'have you had a dog yourself?'. What you need is information that expands your understanding of her relationship with dogs.
Witch Hunters and Other Stories (2018-2019) Page 7