Competing Gestalten

(This is a little essay I wrote on 10/7/00, after I had been incarcerated for about six months. Except for changing proper names, and making minor spelling and grammatical corrections, I have left it as I wrote it then, as a record of my feelings and thoughts at that time.)

The external facts of my life are at this point moderately difficult to deal with. But what eats at the core of my being, and threatens my ability to cope, is the inner judge who accuses me of having done irreparable damage to Terry. Suppose he is chronically depressed because of me – suppose eventually he even commits suicide. Since I am prevented from having any information on how he is doing, the situation is fertile soil for worst-case scenarios growing and thriving in my fantasy life, and they threaten to crowd out any happy thoughts. One thing I am clear on is that the very limited sexual contact I had with him was not, in and of itself, harmful. It is the reaction of a hysterical society that has transferred a fumbling, gentle, and perhaps ill conceived effort on my part to liberate us both from the oppressive mentality of a puritan culture, into a wrenching and absurd melodrama. I have little inclination to seek forgiveness from, or reconciliation with, this society. I am its enemy. Yet it was my act that created the possibility for Terry being exposed to the confusion, grief and guilt that I think he undoubtedly experienced as a result of turning me in. If, for this reason, I am guilty of causing him profound suffering then I feel that I have no right to self-respect, meaningful activity or happiness. In short, the thought causes me to wish for death as the only escape.

This self-condemning way of seeing things competes in my soul with a second gestalt. In this gestalt I see myself as a very ordinary human being seeking to understand the love I have felt for certain boys, and who sought to liberate both myself and the boys from a society that condemns such love because it includes the sexual dimension --whether or not this is overtly manifest. It is my belief that so long as nothing is done to risk the boys health, and nothing is forced on him, it is up to the boy and the man to decide how their love should be expressed. But to act on such beliefs, and to seek liberation in a society that condemns even the slightest hint of sexual feeling in such relationships, does create a situation full of risks for both the man and the boy.

In short, my self-perception oscillates between two conflicting gestalten: (1) the worthless piece of scum who is desperately trying to evade his responsibility for having perpetrated serious damage on a trusting and innocent child, and (2) an ordinary person, who feels what most men feel, and who is seeking liberation both himself and others from an oppressive, cruel and self-righteous society. Naturally, as my perception oscillates between these gestalten, my mood and my appetite for life follow suit.

Three images of struggles for liberation haunt me. (1) A black man who has been fighting for an end to apartheid in S Africa (back when Mandela was still in prison) is being tortured outside hospital where he has been brought to have his wounds treated. A doctor looks on helplessly. (From an article in Granta.) (2) A woman from England (or from some European country) is in India during the bloodshed between Hindus and Moslem's that followed India's liberation from England. From her car she sees some older boys attacking a dark-skinned boy. She doesn't see the outcome of the altercation right then. But when she returns later she sees the decapitated body of the boy. (Not sure where I read this. In “Thorn Birds”? Whether it was a novel or a piece of journalism, I'm not sure.) (3) A few days ago I watched a twelve year old boy on television (a news clip) screaming in terror because he and his father were caught in a cross-fire between the Israelis and the Palestinians. The father was trying to shield him. Later another news clip showed the two of them again. The father had been wounded by Israeli gun fire and his twelve year old son lay dead beside him.

It would seem that any struggle for liberation elicits opposition and creates suffering. This is true even if the means for seeking liberation are based on a philosophy of non-violence. Does this mean that one should not engage in struggle for liberation? Of course one should do what one can to see that the innocent are spared. But an irreducible messiness characterizes all historical processes. We always do more than we intend and less than we hope for.

The father of the 12 year old boy related that, after they had both been shot, his son said, “don't be afraid.”

*****

A week after writing the above essay I had two dreams that I remembered.

First dream: I am sitting on a wooden platform that is part of a stair-case in an apartment building. A boy shows up on the floor above. He leaps over the railing and does a somersault (like an Olympic dive) across the stair well and lands on the landing in front of me.. I am quite impressed with his agility, but tell him that I was afraid for him when he did this, and that I wished he would be more careful with himself. He comes over to me and sits in my lap. I kiss him on his forehead. I;m afraid that this will offend him. He looks at me with a quizzical expression, but I see that he is not upset. It is almost as though he is unsure whether I really kissed him or just accidentally brushed my lips across his forehead. With some uncertainty about how he will react, I kiss him again on his forehead – and am certain that this time it is clear to him that what I did was intentional. He smiles. He is very pleased to be kissed. His reaction is thrilling to me. He snuggles up against me and I feel very happy.

Second dream: An older man is talking with me. We are in a small bed-room or study. I'm sitting at a desk. He is from a very good seminary. We discuss a book I found quite interesting. I tell him that I had never heard of the author before, but that I liked him. He wants to discuss my beginning a course of study in the seminary where he works.

I don't recall whether I interpreted the second dream at the time, but it seems to me now that it pointed toward the possibility of new and more adequate ways of understanding.

Later in the day I was sitting in the rec room waiting for B to come for a visit. I was reading some Shakespeare sonnets, selecting them randomly. I began reading #XXXIV, about a boy he loved:

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes..."

During my visit with Betsy I told her the dreams. “That's Terry,” she said, referring to the boy who did the somersault over the stair well. I could not have had a better dream or a more helpful interpretation.

On 10/18.00, not long after the above conversation with Boo I had the following dream: