WHAT FRIENDS DO

robert mangold

Coming down from a week of mental agitation, emotional spinning, stress throughout the entire body. Yesterday I came down with a case of intense weariness. Went to bed early, got up late. I was glad to feel the weariness yesterday; it told me the emotional intensity of the last several days is waning. It tells me the wired feeling is subsiding gradually, is on its way out. My neuroses flew to the surface and made a mess of me, reviewing childhood rage, the only recourse I had to keep balance as an individual. My mother's reaction to daddy's madness was to stay in the kitchen and sing hymns to herself while he was berating her from another room, which was so ongoing. By the time I was out of college and visiting parents for a few days, I was ready to confront him, kick his ass and tell him to shut his damn mouth. But by then, I was seeing it was her solution to his bullying personality. She buried herself in church to "make our marriage work," the same as I buried myself in a bonfire of rage to survive. There was nothing I wanted to do to make anything work with him. Their example of marriage was such that I never wanted to go there. Made a mistake and tried it. It didn't work, and I set out to go it alone, against the way of society, but I didn't care. I knew he was in me and I would do what he did. Didn't want to do that, didn't want to subject anybody I cared about to a bullying personality.

robert mangold

 

I have spent my life coming to terms with daddy in myself, avoiding situations where his training would rise to the surface. I have dealt with it until who I am does not have access to that bullying nature anymore. Still, when somebody with perceived authority pisses me off, the rage within overtakes mind and body. I don't like it, primarily for the memories that surface. I tell myself, I can't change the past, but I can be somewhat self-aware and not put my worst thoughts into action. I've not wanted to reproduce and pass that bullying spirit on. I've not wanted to subject anybody to it. I have used the adult part of my life to heal the child within. It has worked well, in my own estimation. The learning and the practicing what I have learned has made a difference. I have no impulse to bully anybody. Though when I see somebody being bullied (a woman by her husband) that rage within pops to the surface instantly. I remember it in the man and never have more to do with him. He's not the kind of people I want in my life. Another blessing of this neurosis I carry is that it keeps people of a berating personality out of my life. It keeps authoritarians out of my life. That's a redundant sentence. Authoritarians tend to be berating personalities, or anyway, in my experience. I've known several women who lived with a berating man. Some were bent by it and some seemed to like it on some level, like it makes them feel secure somehow. It's too particular to the individual to look at in general.
 

robert mangold

 

On the driver's license test, I was asked if I had any psychological problems. The answer was to be yes or no, true or false. I started to say what I would say to anybody, realizing at the same time the way to get through this experience is say and do as little as possible. My impulse was to say, "That's so subjective it's not even a question." I rolled my eyes uncontrollably, which I knew at the moment was not going to go in my favor. It was not my place to question authority. This was not a discussion group. Yes or no. I said no. If I'd said yes, it would have required long explaining that we both need to define what we mean by psychological problems. I realized what he meant was have I ever been institutionalized. He probably doubted me when I said no, but went on with the next question. My entire life has been a psychological problem. I mean everyday life. Every day is a psychological problem for anyone self-aware. It's swirling around in my head right now that a bully authoritarian was the kick-off of my own self-awareness. What can I feel but gratitude? This is where it becomes a psychological problem, being grateful for what I hated by way of understanding. Phew. That's a tough one.

 

robert mangold

 

The clearest example of the subjective good this neurosis has done for me is in my friend Justin. I've known Justin since he was a baby. His mother and dad were my friends. Justin's dad treated Justin the same as I was treated, but worse. I'd have killed my daddy if he'd done to me some of the shit Justin's daddy did to him. I mean it. I was on the verge of killing him anyway. All that stopped me was knowing I would not get away with it and he was not worth however many years I'd be in prison. I'd ride out my time, let him feed me, let him give me a shelter as payment for his mental, emotional and physical mayhem. From that point on it made me laugh inside that he was feeding the enemy. In Justin's childhood I acted as his witness, an adult in his life who saw and knew what he was going through, was sympathetic, empathetic and understood. We couldn't talk about it and I couldn't intervene on his behalf. If I did, we couldn't be friends anymore. Justin and I were bonded by the time he started school. I couldn't change any of his circumstances, but we could talk in code enough that he understood I was pulling for him the way you pull for a NASCAR driver to win the race. I realized early the only thing I could do for Justin's benefit, knowing where his dad's behavior was pushing him, would be to assist him finding his own self-awareness.

 

robert mangold

 

His daddy's behavior was such that the guys who were his dad's friends in Justin's childhood are now Justin's friends and have nothing to do with his dad. Every one of us is grateful Justin is not in prison. Each one of us did our part in whatever ways we saw could help. In my case, I prayed him up. His mother and dad fed and sheltered him and I prayed for him, from the heart, the kind of prayer that is heard. I claim that part of his parenting, which is every bit as necessary as the other. His grandmother and mother prayed him up too. In Justin the man I see our prayers were heard. A few weeks ago, a neighbor who openly hated Justin's dad, and was wary of Justin as just like his dad, said to Justin in my hearing, "Justin, you have become a good man." I had to turn and walk into myself for a moment of solitude. When someone tells him he is by surprise a good daddy with his kids, he answers, "I learned by negative example." A year or more ago a neighbor in Whitehead started bad-mouthing Justin, telling me what was wrong with him and how he's just like his daddy. I was heating up inside and had to stop him. I said, "Before you go too far, I need to tell you Justin is the same as my own." It stopped him. He took back every word he said and I said, "Thank you." I knew when I said it that it would be all over Whitehead next day. That was how I wanted it. I don't know how he took what I said, but my meaning was that in my heart Justin is blood. We're the same as brothers.

 

robert mangold

 

Now Justin's baby is my friend. His fabulous wife Crystal is my friend. His two kids by different mamas are my friends. These are people I value deeply in my heart. I feel like Vada is my grandbaby. A child I would die for without thinking. She makes me aware of the beauty in little kids. Most I love it that I see so much of what Justin was like in that time of his life. At thirty, he is still the very same Justin I have known since early childhood. He has retained himself throughout his ordeal. He's giving his own babies a happy childhood. He doesn't spoil them. He lets them know he means business when it's necessary. He explains to them why they get in trouble. He gives their questions straight answers. Vada clings to her "Dadu," for loving him so much. Justin and I have talked many times over the years about the absurdity of our daddies. When I grew up, mine automatically expected me to be his friend. All I could think was, What? Justin's dad kept at him after he turned 18. Finally, his daddy provoked Justin in front of about thirty witnesses to fight. Justin pleaded with him not to start, saying, "I will hurt you." He had too many years of rage in his fists to hit lightly. Daddy swung and missed, Justin drilled him and gave him a punishing ass-kicking without being hit one time. When the police came, daddy said Justin started it. In chorus, the crowd of witnesses said, "No he didn't." That moment gave Justin healing like ten years of psychotherapy. In his teens when he could drive he would drop in at my house for "the calm down place." Now I go to his house for the calm down place.  

robert mangold

 

 

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DON'T HIT THE LITTLE CHILDREN

Today has been a teary-eyed day, joy mixed with sorrow, from getting up this morning unto now and will go on probably the rest of the day. My friends Justin and Crystal have been saving money toward a court battle to get Justin's 5 year old girl away from her mother, who has already alienated her child. The little girl showed up for weekend visitation with week-old serious bruises on her rear end and the outsides of both legs. She was hit with something the thickness of a broom handle. The girl said it was a "switch," but the size of the bruises was more like a club. I went to the house yesterday to see the Talladega race. They'd called earlier to say they were taking the girl to Protective Services. Somebody was on-call on Sunday. I was watching the race when they drove up. The girl ran to me when she opened the door, threw her arms around my neck and said, "I don't have to go back!" In her eyes, it was the best day of her life. Turns out biker-mom has taken in a new man to live with her. A month or so ago I rode with Crystal to take the girl back on a Sunday afternoon. Child cried all the way. Boyfriend was there to pick up little girl, a guy closing in on 40. A look at him and all my alarms went off. He glared at little girl like she was going to get it when they return to the house. I told Crystal I don't like the way he looked at her. I suddenly became afraid for her. One of those situations that I can't do anything to help the child I've learned to love, but prayer from the heart. It was a cry from the heart.

 

Crystal telling about the bruises on the phone, that they were on their way to Protective Services to report the incident, came to me as answer to prayer. I thought: that was fast! I didn't realize I was so important to her, which I found when she was sitting on my knee almost the whole time I was there, sitting like she was in a safe zone where she was protected. She was happy like I'd never seen her before. I'd seen her laugh and play, but not yet had I seen her joy. I wanted to say something to her like I was sorry she had to be hurt so bad, but it never felt appropriate. I'd told her I was happy for her and glad she didn't have to go back. That felt like good enough to express my true feeling with her. I was more happy for her than I was sorry about the incident. Without the incident, getting her away from mama would be an expensive court case people who work for a living can't afford. Now they don't need court. Justin said it's a "slam dunk." I've seen the child break into tears on a Sunday afternoon when it was time to go back to mama. I knew her situation there was not a good one for a little kid at all, I hoped they could get her, but I also do not know other people's karma, other people's needs. I don't know anything concerning a child whose mother I have only seen. I knew from her treatment of her child that she was indifferent to her baby and probably still thought of her as an unwanted pregnancy. The mother, herself, is a damaged child.

 

Justin told me it was the maddest he'd ever been in his life, and he's had plenty of his own bruises nobody could save him from. He has a fairly short fuse. And one thing I know, a man goes putting bruises on Justin's baby, that man will have a day of suffering in the near future. From the one time I saw him, I could see he could not take Justin out in a fight, but believes he can. The believing he can is what's going to bite him in the ass. The only thing I can say for certain, that guy's in trouble. I guarantee if they ever meet face to face, Justin will want somebody to pull him off the guy before he kills him. He's afraid he might not have the self-control to stop himself. The guy hit the wrong man's little girl. He will have his day and will be awhile recovering from it. I applaud Justin. I look forward to hearing about it. This is something a man has to take care of, himself. If I didn't have full confidence Justin can do what needs to be done, I'd be calculating my own move. I am someone who likes living in peace, likes to let karma take care of justice. I also believe in honoring our humanity. I understand crimes of passion. The American legal system does not, but it's so slipshod at justice, court being a poker game between lawyers, sometimes a man has to make his own justice. It is possible Justin may let it go and give it to karma to settle with the man that hits children to hurt them. Justin has the potential of releasing a lifetime of frustration on a child-abusing son of a bitch that hurt his baby.

Last Tuesday I dreamed before waking I saw Justin standing in the window glowing red from rage, frustration, helplessness. I told him about the dream. He said he had stopped by Tuesday morning and looked in the window, saw I wasn't up yet and went on. By the time I brought up the dream we'd been all the way through the telling of the incident. That glowing red rage is what he felt when he learned about the bruises. That image of him glowing red was the maddest I'd ever seen him. I wondered during the week if something had happened, thought about calling, but decided not to be thinking I'm having premonition dreams. I'm something of an anti-alarmist. I don't like to make conclusions over a dream's possible meaning. I just find it curious that next time I saw him, five days later, he was feeling that rage I saw in the dream. Little girl's joy was so profound, a lightness was about her. Her movements were spontaneous dance. The pupils of her eyes showed joy. She really had been rescued. Now she has a home, instead of a place where she was always in the way. Today I've been feeling fullness in the heart, my cup runneth over as tears from time to time, remembering everybody's air of celebration Sunday, happy for my baby-doll that she now has a life of openly being loved, or that she simply has a life.

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FLOW

standing rock



This evening after dark I sold the Toyota van and got it hauled off at the same time. Odd feeling. I loved that van. It was a good ride, drove like a go-cart, immediately responsive to the steering wheel. Good power with a good 4 cylinder Toyota motor. Only problem was an electrical short that could not be found. It was a curious feeling sitting on top of the front wheel where the turning occurs. It feels like riding out in front of the turning point like riding in a boat when it's turning. The same sensation. I'd wanted to sell it for a few years, but never made the effort. A guy came to the door wanting it for scrap metal. Go for it. All the parts on it are good. Only the electrical short makes it too much of a bother to keep up with, having to take the ground cable off the battery when I park at home.



I hope the buyer makes a bundle of money with it. He's a good guy, works hard to make an honest living. The van was a bother to me parked all the time, in the way. He can take it apart and sell an awful lot of parts. As he's in the buying and selling business, he'll be able to place the parts, and when he's done with the parts he can sell the shell for scrap metal. I'd have been happy to give it to him, but there needs to be the energy exchange and I felt like we met a fair price that was satisfactory to both of us. It won't run anymore with all the parts connected, but it will continue to run with all the parts scattered hither and yon, replacement parts on different machines. A heart here, a kidney there. Like somebody who wills their body to a medical school. That's something I like the idea of, but can't bear the thought of. I know it's not me, but it's a very personal outfit I wore for a long time and I don't like to think of it cut up with scalpels and my face lifted off the skull and medical students pulling eyeballs out of the sockets and snipping the cord with scissors. I prefer to think of it burning up in intense heat to "ash."



Having thoughts and feelings in this time that I've never entertained before. It's a withdrawal from involvement in other people's wranglings or being in other people's way. I'm not involved in commerce any more and have a very different pace from the people with cell phones clipped to their ears. After the winding down of the store to a halt, then the time with Jr winding down to a halt, seeing a cycle come to an end and the beginnings of a new cycle flowing from the one passing, all is looking good. I've found by this time in the life that I feel the best with other lovers of God. Doesn't have to be in a particular way or religion or anything. Lovers of God are all over the place and not necessarily where you'd expect to find them. I feel enveloped in love in a Primitive Baptist church, the place full of lovers of God. I don't mean it's all there is. It's just where I like to go when I go. There is a very great deal to be said for lovers of God getting together to sing and worship together. It's a powerful feeling when that's what is really going on.



I have found from experience that when a prayer is sent in need of some assistance in this world of one sort or another, millions of possibilities, when the answer comes, it is a lover of God bearing whatever the answer may be. When I'm feeling down and out, someone I know comes along by chance and turns out to be the key I needed to rise up out of the blues. It's a lover of God. When I was younger, I didn't even know things worked like this. A lifetime of hearing preachers and nothing like this is addressed that is actually preferential, even privileged treatment available to lovers of God. I believe it happens all the time and we don't notice. We pray for something. When it's needed it appears and we are happy because the prayer was answered, but don't take a moment to reflect on how it came about, who it came through. When I started paying attention, it turned into something so clear and obvious I wondered how I never saw it before.



I don't try to talk to people who are convinced God is a figment of the human mind and there is no such nonentity. I already know it means nothing to talk of matters of the spirit, because they don't believe there is spirit. I wonder what they think their own consciousness is. But it doesn't matter. People convinced there is no God look down on believers as less than gifted mentally. No point talking. Casting pearls before swine is how it was put in plain language by the one who knew what he was talking about. It's part of living on planet Earth in human form. I think it's really neat we have this mystical servant on call at all times for whatever we need. All we have to do is ask, meaning it from the heart, and there it is, whatever it is, when it's filtered through the all-knowing mind what will work just right.



I love the story of the guy that fell over the side of a boat. He's calling to God to help him. Somebody on the boat throws him a floating ring and he refuses it because God is going to help him. He's a devout believer. He drowns. In heaven he asks God why he let him drown. God said, I threw you a life ring. I feel deep down inside in a way I can't grasp with words that I can open within by allowing God's guiding hand to shape every minute of every day. It feels like this is actually on a near horizon. It feels like moments that are gifts from God happen more frequently because I'm noticing them; whereas before, I'd pay it no mind. It took a long time to come to realize things work that way. With an empirical education based in the scientific method, it takes some liberation from such thinking to be able to see the movings of the spirit, how to tell what it is when I see it. The more I see, the more I allow, and I do feel like I'm coming into a zone in myself where what I can only call "the flow" is a very real entity in my life, if it can be called an entity.


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