The Split: A Self and Nation Divided

by: Mary Sojourner  |  Psychology Today

In April 2001, I was on a solo road trip researching Nevada light, sage basins, indigo mountains and small town casinos for my novel Going Through Ghosts. I had stopped in a convenience store for coffee and yakked with the young clerk. She had told me there was a warm spring in a nearby cottonwood grove. "Don't tell anybody where it is," she said. "It's for locals only. We take care of it."

On April 21, 2010 I slid back into that silken water. Soft desert sunlight gleamed on the cottonwoods' new leaves. I listened to the whisper of the old trees and the silvery rill of water trickling into a series of pools below me. The locals had continued to take care of the place. They'd reinforced the crumbling cinderblock walls around the spring. They had set up a bright red battered barbecue grill beneath the biggest cottonwood and a sign that read: Please clean up after yourself. Thank you.

I closed my eyes. I was a two day drive from my old home and less than two days from where I now live. My time in the old home had been a patchwork of finding myself in places and with people that felt like home - and aching with the knowledge that the place was no longer home. Home. Not home. Home. Not home. "Perhaps there is home," my friend CG had said, "and then there is Home." I thought of his words as water, sun and the huge old trees held me. I realized that on this eight-day journey I had come Home to myself.

I was close to being who I'd been in April of 2001 - a woman who had believed she was a local wherever she was. But in April 2010, I wasn't a local everywhere. The drive from Flagstaff had taken me through little western towns. That morning I'd eaten eggs and fried potatoes served by a warm-eyed woman in a mom 'n' pop cafe. The wall behind her had been plastered with bumper stickers attacking Socialists, Healthcareists, both Clintons, both Obamas, Harry Reid, Mexicans and god-damned global warming nuts. Hate appeared in each one.

The woman told me about surviving eight months of chemo and how laughter had been her best medicine. I told her of a friend who'd survived the same illness, whose friendship with a wounded eagle had sustained him through chemotherapy. I promised to send her a book. As she hugged me good-bye, I saw over her shoulder a bumper sticker that said: You f---in liberals can't have my country - or my gun. When I unlocked the trunk of my car to put my pack away, I saw the old sticker I'd put there in 2006: My cats hate Bush.

In Flagstaff and Vegas, friends and I had talked about our deep apprehension for America. We were stunned to find that more than anything we might fear from the corporate take-over of our country, it was the lock-step thinking of a growing number of our neighbors that chilled our blood. "It's strange to me," Kathleen said, "how seemingly kind and decent people can spew so much hate."

"They probably wonder the same thing about us," I'd said (in a rare moment of clarity from a woman who often longs for the guillotine and knows better than to ever own a gun.)

I sank deeper into the warm spring. I thought about my own fury with the rich and fatuous, the rage I feel hearing yet another story about the greed of people who believe they are always entitled to more. Then, there in the heart of an uncomplicated beauty, I remembered another part of who I'd been in 2001. I'd been well on my way into the heart of a profoundly complicated malaise. My research trip had included hours of cheerful and oblivious slot machine gambling. I hadn't known that in a few years I would begin to find my home only in a casino and only when I was chasing More. I'd had no idea I would become a woman divided - a woman in exile from her self.

I let my thoughts fade away. For a precious time, there was only my body held by the silken water; the miracle of breath moving easily in and out; and the cry of a hawk diving for a kill. I thanked the water and green cottonwood light and climbed out of the pool. I dressed, picked up a couple beer cans in the parking lot, climbed into the car and headed home.

I arrived home a day later. That night I opened the book that I turn to each morning for guidance. I’d missed nine days while I was on the road. The reading for April 13 said:

Hatred keeps on increasing to a point where both you and I burn ourselves in mutual hatred, and to the Buddha the only way to solve it is that one party must stop...

---Ananda W. P. Guruge in Awakenings: Asian Wisdom for Every Day, editors: Danielle and Olivier Folimi

 

Creative Commons License
This work by Truthout is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 United States License.





     

»



Mary Sojourner is the author of novels, short story and essay collections and memoirs, including her new novel, "Going Through Ghosts," and memoir/self-help book for women gambling addicts, "She Bets Her Life." She lives in Bend, Oregon, where she is face to face with the illusion others hold that It's All Good.


Comments

This forum is moderated by software. Please allow up to 15 minutes for your comments to go live and avoid posting the same comment multiple times.



"Well" (to quote Raygun), To

"Well" (to quote Raygun), To STOP, I select HIS party! Hats OFF, please.



An excellent article. Let

An excellent article. Let there be Peace on Earth and it must begin with me.



Sounds good - believe it or

Sounds good - believe it or not, every faith says nearly the same thing, Yet here we are grilling meats, celebrating war, watching an Ocean reel under a horrific industrial disaster, and remembering all the folks who needed to die, for spurious, hazy reasons. The Pentagon, always a marketer, announces this memorial day that it will eventually become an "equal opportunity employer",



The original of this piece

The original of this piece appeared in Psychology Today blogs, not the print magazine. It included the following p.s.:
***In the late Eighties, Anne Wilson Schaef wrote a book that illuminated America's shift into a consumer culture. When Society Becomes An Addict is more than an analysis of our country at that time. It is an oracle, a prediction of a nation divided as thoroughly as any addict from her self.***
"Well" is a good reminder of the deadly well spewing oil in the Gulf, not so much an "accident" as the consequence of a huge corporation's addiction to profits, fueled, as it were, by our addiction to fossil fuel. Greed is an "equal opportunity employer." Thank you for capitalizing Ocean.



I certainly agree that

I certainly agree that giving up hate,although difficult,holds out the only,faint,hope that humanity will survive. Hatred and violence are the Right's strong suits and they will always prevail in a contest of violence,simply because they have fewer scruples and less human empathy. They may appear kind an dwarm,but only with those they think are like themselves.Their outer limit of fellow feeling is 'tolerance', ie they will tolerate gays, other races,other religions other political opinions,but only on their terms and only provisionally.When they deem it appropriate, this tolerance disappears. Acceptance of difference is impossible, because difference is an affront to their hypertrophied egos, which see threat, danger and menace in all that is Other. While advocating retreat from the world that these creatures have created,and non-involvement in their games of domination and exploitation, I am,of course,being unreasonably optimistic. In reality they will come for us, searching us out as 'Evil Doers', 'enemies of freedom','friends of terrorists'. 'warmists', 'greenies', 'rag-heads'etc,any description you like that will justify our destruction.



The corral fences do seem to

The corral fences do seem to be tightening - all the more reason to preach to the choir and learn that "community" is not a hypothesis, it is action. Thank you.



Mary, thank you. If all of

Mary, thank you.

If all of us would stop 'otherizing', we would understand that the things we can all agree upon outweigh our differences. When we see only in black and white, we are blind to the spectrum--the colour of lives lived--and blind to the humanity of the other.



You're a nice lady, Mary and

You're a nice lady, Mary and a great writer, but I fear that you're too nice for this particular violent country- the USA. Those people who hate the earth, Obama, and folks such as yourself, they aren't pacifists. They're busy destroying the earth, supporting wars, and practicing at the local firearms range. The real situation on this planet is more like the movie Avatar. The murderers, greedheads, corporate shills and planet killers are going to keep on destroying us and the planet. Unless we fight back like the Na'vi and their human allies, we're gonna get exterminated, and the planet with us. Here's a novel to live by: "The Monkey Wrench Gang," by Edward Abbey!



Too funny, David. I've been

Too funny, David. I've been an activist for 52 years, been busted, monkey wrenched (the statute of limitations has run out on that one, so I can tell you that.), there is an FBI file on me. The only reason I don't carry a gun is because I would use it. Google my name, especially an NPR commentary on sending matches to the folks who burned down mega mansions in Arizona and you'll see just how nice I am.
I believe exactly what you know - we are in a holy war. I fight with everything I have, including coded messages and spiritual aikido - I don't want to go to jail. Been there, done that, no thank you ever again - of I have that choice.
I am not an activist for any member or members of my misbegotten species. I fight for the web of natural connections on the earth - which was in perfect balance before we came along.
Now - how about your creds?



While I'm at it, David,

While I'm at it, David, check out Abbey's second monkeywrench novel, Hayduke Lives. I'm that Mary Sojourner -though there would never have been smoking a joint - pot dulls rage. I sure hope you write here again, pal.



That's fantastic to hear,

That's fantastic to hear, Mary! I only knew you from what you wrote in this article. I will read Hayduke Lives. My other favorite book of Abbey's is Desert Solitaire. In your "split" article you sound very nice. I too have seen the good side of bad people. Probably even Sarah Palin is "likable," if you catch her on a good day. Unfortunately, it is true that earth is Pandora. I also notice that most of the progressives/liberals on Truthout are afraid to put their lives on the line to stop the fascists and earth killers. Thank you for what you have done to help defend innocent earth.



Thanks, David. I'm troubled

Thanks, David. I'm troubled not only by the noticeable absence of so many progressives and liberals in the protest lines and actions, but by the fantasies that "being the change you want to see happen" will change anything; praying for change is an effective tool; and Big Mummy or Daddy will come along and fix things. It also troubles me that so few people make the connection between their consumer addiction and the ongoing and escalating destruction of the planetary web. Everyone of us who uses fossil fuels is a culprit in the Gulf oil disaster.



Isn't "one side stopping"

Isn't "one side stopping" the equivalent of allowing the other side to take power? Do we see, here, in this injunction to "just stop" a political weariness, a tiring of struggle, an inability to engage fruitfully in political struggle?
Why not converse with the woman at the diner, explain to her her mistaken beliefs, ideology assumptions? Is it fear of conflict that holds one back?

There is a corollary to the buddhist injunction. The only way out is for one side to defeat the other.



As I wrote to David, I adore

As I wrote to David, I adore conflict. I also have been trained in effective communication - there was no opening with the woman in the diner. We talked about her recent bout with cancer and how her co-workers had watched her back. She had tears in her eyes - I can't imagine at that point bringing up the folly of the Right-inspired opposition to Health Care Reform.
And damn right I'm weary. Google my name and you'll find a 52-year history of intense confrontational activism.
Love to hear how you're fighting the fight. m



You write very beautifully.

You write very beautifully. Craft a novel.



My second novel is out from

My second novel is out from U. of Nevada Press now. It's called Going Through Ghosts. My first novel is Sisters of the Dream. I have also written Delicate, a short story collection from Scribner; Bonelight: ruin and grace in the New Southwest; a memoir, from Scribner/Simon and Schuster, Solace: rituals of loss and desire and a memoir/guide to compulsive gambling, just out, from Seal Press, She Bets Her Life. I'd love it if you bought and read my work. Thank you for your compliment. ms



What we can do...I used to

What we can do...I used to be an activist who got beaten up by loggers and the police while doing non-violent protests in the Headwaters forest. Lately my way of fighting the fight has been: get rid of leaf blower, ride bike, work to ban jet skis and boats on lakes where I live, grow my own organic garden, become vegetarian, not use the air conditioner, boycott BP and drive less then 50 miles per week, give speeches to young people to counter military recruiters, did not have children even though would have loved to be a father, give money to hardcore activists, stay healthy and prepare for the coming war between those of us who love mother earth and those who love petroindustrial society!



David, thank you for what

David, thank you for what could be instructions for all of us. Did you know Roxane and Michael up in the Headwaters - Cove Mallard I think? I'd love to see each of the commentators sign in with what actions they are living.
I realized this morning why I became so defensive in two of my posts: I've been an activist since I was 17 (I'm now seventy.) and witnessed people with time, money and endless analysis not taking action. I've felt the exhaustion all full-time activists eventually feel. I've tried to think of more effective ways to mobilize people who seemed to not grasp that they were perpetuating their own ravaging of the earth - with their consumer addiction. These days I feel as though I'm carrying 45 pounds of wet moldy blankets on my back. I'm not alone in that fatigue. So I thought I was being placed in the category of the "sentimental progressive" or the radical voyeur/voyeuses. Thank you for this conversation.