Sylvia's Journal

Outlook reminds me this morning that we will see Alison in North Truro. I did not need to be reminded, we are there, surrounded by animals, Abby the peppy Corgi and Elan the cat, a creature that came from another place I believe, with its huge and mysterious eyes that seem to reflect a disdain for people other than Alison.

Alison had prepared an all inclusive for us: a traditional Ellis ‘picking lunch,’ followed by an unguided tour of Commercial Street in P’town. It was good she did not accompany us on that tour and took a nap instead because with her we would never have made it very far up Commercial Street – she knows too many people, each requiring a little chat.

All the while it rained dogs and cats. Axel’s old raincoat did not protect him anymore and left him soaked underneath. Over rooibos tea at the Karoo Kafe we discussed what to do about that and returned to the Marine Supply store to buy a 15 dollar yellow rains slicker. Next on Alison’s agenda for us was a dinner at a most elegant restaurant; I felt a little under dressed in my jeans but hey, this is P’town and everything goes. From there we followed her to the Art House to hear  Zoe Lewis (.com) and Alex Pashoian (myspace), two phenomenal musicians.

After Zoe song an ode to Mary Oliver (what are you going to do with your one wild and precious life) Axel found himself in a tender spot and we declined the next planned activity of chasing after music played in bars and headed back to Alison’s house, leaving her twith her gazillion friends, scattered  up, down and off Commerical Street.

The tender space had gone unnoticed to us because so much is happening in our lives that requires the left brain to be on full speed. This has obscured that part of us that is affected in non logical and non linear ways by the momentous transition that is about to happen. We are entering the last week that we can prepare together for this but we have been too busy each in our own little orbit of must-dos, worries and wishes.

Last week has also been an emotional roller coaster ride for Axel as he tries to bring to closure his reign as chairman of Manchester’s Community Preservation Committee. Town politics mixed in with bruised egos, and a multitude of hidden agendas and god-knows what else are colliding like a roiling sea around and with him.

On the way to Cape Cod we talked about the difficult conversation he has had with one of the principal actors in this drama. There is a lot of hurt. I recognize the dynamics; they are the same that play out in a million families, organizations, cities and countries around the world. Our inability to reign in the enraged egos in these dramas has, I believe, a lot to do with the violence that messes up the dreams of these same families, organizations, cities and countries.

It occurred to me that some of the elements of Axel’s micro drama are also present in Afghanistan’s macro drama. The essence, according to Martin Buber is this: all my problems with my fellow men stem from two things: I don’t say what I mean and I don’t mean what I say.