Writing is my love, my work. My mind devours ideas and words then forces them onto the page, virtual and tangible. To still my restlessness, there is literature. Nourishment of the soul, particularly as I found myself turning 40 last month, grows more important.
An avid reader since my days as a toddler, my nightstand always holds at least four books. Herodotus is my constant companion, Ovidian my love. Ben Coes’ The Last Refuge quenched my thirst for intense, action filled thrillers. It is without question my favorite fiction in a decade. To satisfy my appetite for literature, I turned to DH Lawrence and was utterly satisfied.
For many years, I have much preferred DH Lawrence’s poetry to any of his short stories or novels. Honestly, his poetry holds a richness, a lushness in the language. His other writings are deeply inferior, and absurd in their obvious and eager pursuit of climax.
His poetry though, embodied in Self Pity or Liaison, or Pomegranate communicates. There is an awareness, a presence. It enchants, ignites. The compartmentalized nature of private life, the secrets we keep, the discretion with which we act provides a safety net. Like trapeze artists, we trust the net will hold. In Aware, quoted below, there is the private acknowledgement to self. There is little so exciting as the prospect of a new lover, or a lover’s passion rekindled, and our decision to surrender in the moment. Consequences be damned, at least we are aware.
Slowly the moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,
Divesting herself of her golden shift, and so
Emerging white and exquisite; and I in amaze
See in the sky before me, a woman
I did not know I loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart;
I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.
“For hundreds, even thousands of years, beautiful women have been held to impossible standards. Average women have too. But alone in the dark, in the comfort of our beds…next to our beloved, or alone in the quiet – real beauty can not be seen. In the darkness we are all the same. Beauty emanates from within.”
I penned those words in May 2009. The sentiment stands today. Beauty of the human soul, particularly when it shines through someone’s features creating an aesthetic beauty, must sustain itself. The ‘beautiful’ must learn to self-comfort, be the wellspring of love and light for themselves and those they love, respect. Unfair perhaps, but true. To some degree this is true for all of us. Why?
Beauty does emanate from within. Unfortunately, so does cruelty. Jealousy. Hate. Ugliness. And extreme vanity. Human history is littered with the discarded carcasses of those who lived their lives through vice. Sloth, gluttony, greed, lust… the seven deadly sins have long accommodated mankind’s penchant for self-loathing. For some, the vice is wrath, envy and pride – expressed as hate or jealousy. They craft an entire personae or career based on vitriol and tearing others down – sometimes disingenuously saying they only want to ‘extract the truth’ from whatever entity they view as an oppressor. Men. A beautiful woman. Corporations. Pick a poison.
Much like my column Beautiful, Successful and Hated, this one comes with a warning right at the outset. The impolitic discussion of character and aesthetics will certainly draw ire. To the ladies and gentlemen who read further, if you reflexively defend the Left or Right, expect to be angry. This is about culture, more than politics. This is a love letter and a Dear John letter, take away what you will. Stand for what you believe.
The most beautiful soul is one steeped in truth, fairness, forgiveness and humility. We see it in the faces of a wanted child, of parents welcoming this new soul they created in love – together. In the faces of those same children as they grow towards adulthood unafraid because love has been their constant companion. We see it in elderly couples whose lined faces and enlaced fingers reveal a lifetime spent with love,in love. We see a glimpse of it when two people finally discover each other and set aside vanity or expectation to embrace love, and fashion a new life with and through each other. The kindness of a teacher, a firefighter. The placid face of an experienced Marine Sniper, encouraging a new enlistee – giving him strength even though Death is both their companion and enemy.
What is beautiful, while subjective, is also universal. I submit where you find kindness you also find unblemished beauty.
Feminism and feminists aren’t specifically in my crosshairs today. Women like them, and so many others that came before the Sexual Revolution, transformed the professional landscape. For the suffragettes, trailblazers and the men who made the impossible possible, a debt of gratitude will never be repaid. Inspirational figures like Cleopatra or Eleanor of Acquitane are often forgotten to modern feminists. As is Anne Boleyn’s devotion to both ambition and her husband, King Henry VIII, because the “witch” and “homewrecker” stigma fluffs the pillows of those who have an axe to grind. Feminists, like fiction writer Philippa Gregory, continue to excoriate her even though Boleyn’s tenacity brought about England’s break with the Vatican, the Reformation, and a feminine icon – Queen Elizabeth I – who ruled without a man at her side for decades. No serious person, who has read extensively from contemporaneous accounts of those years, honestly believes Martin Luther’s work inspired Henry VIII to spiritual conversion to the exclusion of Anne Boleyn as a factor in the decision.
Boleyn, Helen of Troy, Scheherazade, Nefertiti are but a few names from antiquity that are precursors to modern feminism. In patriarchal societies, they charted success and continue to inspire. The Borgias were famously depraved but some women still found a way to thrive. The Hellenic era is replete with stories of power plays, beautiful versus ugly, ethics, spiritual questions. Persephone and Demeter’s complicated relationship is a prism for every mother and daughter to gaze through, if they are smart.
Some feminists who rose to prominence in the late 1960s and early 1970s, as well as their younger devotees, effect a much less altruistic streak. Reproductive choice, female competition, deriding men, and anti-tradition histrionics dominate. While many claim to want equality with men, they don’t seem to value it among their feminine counterparts.
They also bred vanity to competition, and have spent the last 40 years raising vicious, vacuous and blatant hypocrisy as their children. They embrace hyper-sexualization as ‘liberation.’ They attempt to eviscerate women of real worth, real accomplishment – particularly if they embody more traditional female archetypes – “wife” or “mother” with success. If the target happens to be beautiful, the rhetoric becomes a conflagration of pettiness and envy. I don’t believe such women exist only on the political Left. There are certainly some Right-leaning females who use sexual availability, wrapped in a wink and nod, as a weapon to destroy any other females who challenge their intellect, preparedness or mothering capability. Embracing the Kardashian model as the Left has done, or vaguely more respectable reality-TV shows like Dancing with the Stars, is really demonstrative that there is an alliance among some “feminists” (Left or Right) to hurt other, more morally stable and yes, beautiful, women.
As a woman, a lover, a friend and especially as a mother…the inauthentic, superficial, agenda-driven and wholesale embrace of negative stereotypes disgusts me. There is no need to sacrifice one’s dignity to succeed. Or maybe, that depends on your definition of success.
If success means you have as much fame, money, or as much sex as the least of men – then ding, ding, ding women like Gloria Steinem are a success. If the Hillary, “I paid my dues and now I’ve got The Honorable before my name” model makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, then goodie for you. My take: you’re damn right she paid her dues. But she didn’t have to stay with, or even be with Bill Clinton in the first place to achieve success. Hillary is brilliant and could be Secretary of State, or President, without selling her soul to Bill all those years. I am certain their affection and respect for one another is genuine but, she’s the one who chose to mock women for “standing by their man.” She did just that, and built a career on being the victim of his libido – but not the sexually satisfied wife who was there because she chose to be for the RIGHT reasons.
Consequences are a bitch.
Examples are legion. Lesser knowns are perhaps more indicative of the insidious, pervasive female competition that continues to plague our societal discourse. Someone recently forwarded an article in The Atlantic to me, Why Do Smart Men Date Less Intelligent Women?Predictably, a cursory look at the Twitter feed offered lots of opportunities to see what my fellow females were saying. Journalists were passing it along, dry and without comment. Some others were straight snark in a so what, who cares tone. But a few, none of which I will be linking to – because it’s not my style to offer traffic to someone who clearly hates other women – were spouting vituperations. It was funny, instead of attacking the intellect, most who were incensed by the article went straight for the beauty mark. Pretty women are stupid and therefore have all that extra time to primp and be hot for men. All those pretty girls are taking all the good men. With a healthy helping of “well, I’m thin and I can get all the hot guys too. But I want the smart ones.” That is an argument so insipid and nonsensical even Lewis Carroll’s Mad Hatter could not read the tea leaves.
Here’s a newsflash: if you’re that consumed with hate for other women and are angry at men for not choosing you over someone with better looks, or stronger morals, or just plain more self-confidence, then stupid women aren’t your problem. You are.
It isn’t your waist size, it is all about attitude. And discernment. There are a lot of aesthetically beautiful – and inwardly beautiful – people who find love, happiness and gratification.
Furthermore, being hateful to beautiful women you deem ‘less intelligent’ because they lack your pedigree or skill set is absurd. If a beautiful woman conducts her life in an equally vicious manner, it doesn’t matter how symmetrical her features are or how brilliant, she loses her beauty. The ugliness shines through, manifests itself just as surely as inner beauty does. Ugly is as ugly does.
There is little more beautiful than a woman, ripe with self-confidence. Perhaps only the most feminine, most sacred of tasks and roles makes us more beautiful: motherhood. The female form blooms when pregnant, particularly in a loving and committed relationship. I wrote earlier about the “wanted child.” A baby conceived in love is beautiful. To her mate, what honors him more? Nothing…between a man and woman, unconditional love comes after surviving conditional love and chemistry. It comes with time. With patience.
We cannot “have it all” at the same time. But to have it all is a worthy goal. It is a goal we can accomplish. There are many beautiful moments in our lives but alone in the dark, the most ancient and primal urges still ring in our souls. Trust me, I am not romanticizing the realities of relationships, marriage, pregnancy and child-rearing. Quite the contrary. Recognizing the magnitude of the choices and accepting the blessings is critical. Finding peace with our bodies, as perfect or imperfect, whether Titian or wraith-like, lies within the mirror we hold ourselves. Take the good when it comes, revel in it. Breathe in the warmth it provides and be not afraid. The harsh light and judgment of others awaits.
Nobody expects women to stop competing with each other, not professionally or personally. Certainly not for a mate. It is natural to pursue excellence, to preen, to want a worthy man to share a life with. To bear children by. To age with, gracefully and naturally. To laugh with. To touch and be touched by. To honor. Our wants and needs are universal. We all crave stability and acceptance. Safety.
Freedom from fear. I wonder if the competitiveness between Western women stems from boredom, in addition to a lack of self-esteem. The women of Congo look to us for help, as inspiring, free figures. They hail from a place that is arguably the most violent and dangerous place in the world. If you are a woman, rape will likely be your destiny. Obstetric fistula is something you pray to avoid. Auto-cannibalism is the norm. Grotesque wounds are a weapon. An effective weapon of psychological warfare and a tool of genocide. Atrocities are commonplace. As I read through research, I was reminded of The General’s Daughter, penned in the early 1990s by Nelson Demille. (The movie version starred Leslie Stafanson, Madeleine Stowe and John Travolta.)
An exquisitely beautiful young woman attends West Point, following in her father’s footsteps. She is brilliant, quick witted and outshines her classmates. During her sophomore year, there is a night exercise. She is separated from her squad and finds herself surrounded by a group of classmates who strip her, spread eagle her, tie her to the ground with tent pegs, put her panties around her neck, and brutally gang rape her all night long. Beaten, bruised and left to die. When dawn broke, she was discovered and transported to a hospital where she was treated for disease and pregnancy. Instead of supporting her, her father silenced her. She survived by pursuing a career in PsyOps. Psychological Operations. Before a tragic and untimely death, she tells a Warrant Officer what her profession is: “Mostly, we fuck with people’s minds.”
After her death, a rape investigator, notes the stains on the corpse’s cheeks are tears. This beautiful, promising woman was tormented by her demons. Demons that possessed her without consent. Demons that were content to stand idly by as she suffered. Yes, it’s fiction. But truth is reflected there. As women, we must be strong for ourselves and each other. For the men in our lives, for the sons and daughters – born and unborn. Strength means seeking justice, forgiveness and freedom for others and ourselves with equal fervor.
Beauty emanates from within. The beautiful within us should govern our choices, passions, our hunger for knowledge and our ambitions. The beauty of equality, of forgiveness is the honor is a second chance at life. One does not have to be young, or wealthy to find rebirth. It is a gift we give ourselves and share with those we love.
Only 56 years old, music man Dan Fogelberg passed away earlier today from advanced prostate cancer. The man wrote iconic songs like Leader of the Band and A Love Like This that charted in the early 1980s… he was one of the last romanticists in American pop culture and music.
My personal favorite is Same Old Lang Syne. Only one person knows why but, I guess that’s the beauty of the thing. Writers and musicians like Fogelberg give us a way to remember without revealing our most private, and sacred moments.
Electoral wins and losses have grown increasingly easy to predict… drawing imaginary lines across voters and their seemingly private lives. Woman. Man. Mother. Father. Single. Straight. Gay. Married. Baby Boomer. Small Business Owner. Hunter, er – “Sportsman.” Veteran. They combine characteristics to build little brands. “Soccer Moms.” “Nascar Dads.”
Consultants, more powerful than you may imagine, manipulate enormous amounts of data that include voting habits and consistency, every demographic conceivable. Hard “R” Republicans. Hard “D” Democrats. Graduate degree. No degree. Professional. Service sector.
All of this, and previous election cycle analysis, combines with campaign strategy to produce tiny, virtual countries with predictable populations – responsive to certain language, colors, messages, textures.
Every campaign ad, every ounce of spin provided to the press corps is carefully choreographed to elicit specific response on election night. In my mind, choosing the next president is a bit like seducing a new lover. Especially when it comes to the women’s vote. We want our candidate to want it – and we MUST want him (or her) in return— otherwise, women will just vote “safe.”
It is the electoral equivalent of settling down with the predictable guy. Trading passion for stability. In the wake of 9/11 and the Iraq war – the electorate is hungry for calm. Not peace, because the word infers resolution – something we may never achieve. But a calm, less violent and intrusive time is something many Americans are hungry for.
But which candidate is the “safe” one? Hillary. Hands down. Double entendre, intended. Why Hillary? Because we know how her husband governed. We know what types of folks she will surround herself with. And if the voters are scared, they will vote for the status quo. It is predictable and tangible. Given the historic low approval numbers of President George Walker Bush and the US Congress – women are ready to be reckoned with.
In a nutshell. We are ready for the finale. A word to the powerful consultants, and those who cover this election, this election is about authenticity – but not for the bland reasons you may suspect.
Our society has become increasingly coarse. The pop-tart phenomenon, the heroin-chic rockers, TMZ, reality TV confessional has almost eclipsed our desire for mystery, seduction and courtship. Political punditry is almost grotesque. Folks who have never dropped a piece of literature, worked the phones for a swing precinct, or created questions for a statewide poll, have somehow leaped to the front of the line as “experts.”
Here’s the thing… for those who crave seduction – the last place where we find something elusive and interesting, is election night. For practitioners, it is not the vote counts… it is the personal relationships inside of the political bubble. We map each other… going beyond the Alex Gage Microtargeting Formula… beyond the Jan Van Lohuizencrosstabs… beyond the Swift Boat footage… beyond the issues and responsibilities of governance and… ESCAPE.
Women voters are tired of all the machinations. In 2006, they took scalps on election night. They threw Republicans and all their hypocrites (except for Hastert, who is THANKFULLY stepping down, albeit a year late) out on their collective arse.
2008 will be even more so. We are all voters this cycle. Hillary is definitely beatable. But, whether it is her primary opponents – or a Republican in the General Election – the men running for president have to understand a few things about seduction… Americans need to fall in love again, we are fatigued from the Iraq War… terrorism… and constant sniping. We want inspiring. We want the political equivalent of “The One.”
BarackObama and Fred Thompson were supposed to be love at first sight. Obama drew comparisons to both John and Robert Kennedy. Thompson was supposed to be the second coming of Reagan. Instead, the men were great at the beginning – but the finale failed to produce a satisfying climax. Maybe the length of the election cycle has spoiled us for enjoying the courtship phase. Life is fast paced. We are all busy.
McCain is past his due date. Rudy Giuliani… is well, a one night stand everyone regrets from 2000.
Mitt Romney is promiscuous when it comes to policy. He’s had a one nighter with every microtarget Pro-Gay Marriage then Anti-gay marriage amendment. Pro-choice, pro-life, anti-gun, pro-gun – remember the varmints! – he’s against socialized medicine but brags about passing a governmental mandate for healthcare. He’s against hot the war in Iraq was prosecuted, but supports the surge, sort of. He can’t take us all to bed. He can’t marry six or seven different policies. It’s against the law to be a polygamist. Just ask Warren Jeffs.
Joe Biden is sexy and safe – but not well known enough to survive. Although I have little doubt, given a chance that he would satisfy the female voter’s appetite for authenticity, gravitas, tangible solutions and charm.
Whether behind the closed curtain in the voting booth, or behind closed bedroom doors… women voters want a little dance, a nice flirt, real desire. There is a hunger for more than wham, bam. And if the male candidates can’t deliver that – women won’t vote for a man. They’ll sign up for the sisterhood and vote Hillary. She’s got Billy, and if women want a promiscuous guy – who better than an old boyfriend to satisfy the craving?
Frankly, 2008 is a lot like the Cell Block Tango from Chicago. Use your imagination to cast the roles. This column has a few hints.
The torture… of love, indifference, passion and uncertainty… and possession.
A soul who finds intensity in a budding intimate and political relationship, surrendering just enough to allow life beyond the prying ears of security and staff, behind the velvet ropes and under the glare of journalistic scrutiny to mature… to be disembodied from the pressure — is someone who understands desire.
Real practitioners of political strategy become absorbed… the manipulation of the electorate, the leading of journalistic consensus, the selling of an idea as transcendant – and a candidate as savior… is intoxicating, addicting… it takes a force of nature to elicit love from such souls.
The unbridled passion causes the faint of heart to waver with erotic fatigue. Even the truest of souls escapes to a sanctuary… where no favors are traded, no uncomfortable questions are asked. Where history does not matter. Where judgement is absent, rather than omnipresent.
Sanctuary in the arms of a friend… who soothes and coaxes the hard edges away… giving permission to explore the wicked and pure, and teaches us to accept love willingly – is an act of selflessness.
Sanctuary is a place of absolution and renewal.
And we emerge with our mystery intact, our carnal instincts sharpened, our inclination for experimentation fully engaged. Prepared to seduce and be seduced. Generate delicious tension… appreciate the tenderness in a lover’s words, caress, and kisses. Appreciate the sweetness in a lover’s voice. The humidity of the air under a harvest moon… the smell of fall and winter combined with the warmth from a lover’s hand or breath… remember to appreciate the tango in your own life.
Or consumption… funny how a song we love, or hate, becomes associated with a certain person or a relationship, or a shared moment. I can’t help but wonder… once a song is stamped in our memory as part of some mental package that identifies a relationship, can we ever liberate it – and use it again? Or is music the emotional equivalent of a Polaroid snapshot?
Life requires a soundtrack. Some memories need stamping out, others simply fade… and the music remains. Some music is an emotional destination, wanting nothing more than four minutes of our time. Some music represents the tantalizing anticipation before a memory is made.
In politics, there is an intensity absent many other walks of life. It is not bettor, nor worse. Not more significant or important. But the intensity of friendships and alliances, the stakes – Executive authority over a state or Commonwealth, or the country — or legislative control over the same… does create a unique environment.
Politics is filled with internecine wars and open hostility with opposition. There is tension with the people and the press. But inside this world are men and women, with desire burning just under the surface. For power. For love. For silence. For four minutes where someone else is responsible for the message. Intimate moments cry out for a narrative, an expression of the moment where we find a first touch or first kiss or real love. The kind of love that arrives without expectations , baggage, or judgement – existing only for itself – without a timetable, without attachment, just a moment where the only intensity is in the arms of a lover.
Political debauchery is well known, the Larry Craig and David Vitter’s of the world capturing the attention of the press. But there are many, many stolen and cherished moments in this world. Politics is not for the faint of heart, it is high stakes roulette. But then so is love… so is passion.
Below is my latest column at BlogCritics… complete with the naughty EU Commission’s sexy advertisement. Enjoy!
Republican Senator from Louisiana, David Vitter, is one in a long line of politicians exposed for extramarital misconduct. Before the ink was dry on his political obituary, another was being written. Florida legislator Bob Allen (R) allegedly offered to perform oral sex on an undercover cop for the paltry sum of $20. The last public restroom flap was former New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey, who revealed he frequented rest stops on the New Jersey Turnpike for sex with strangers. That was followed by news of an affair with a longtime male staffer and the declaration McGreevey was a “Gay American.” Presidents Kennedy and Clinton were notorious for their sexual naughtiness. Speaker Gingrich resigned. His replacement, Bob Livingston, never made it to the big chair. Gary Hart lost his bid for the presidency after a little monkey business. Former Senator Bob Packwood had a reputation for chasing the ladies around his desk. Mayors Gavin Newsom and Antonio Villaraigosa issued apologies for their infidelities. They are not unique among their colleagues in the political class.
The most remarkable fact: their wives coolly suggest the men alone are to blame. The countless divorces, the budding careers ending in a plane ticket home, and dumpster diving are now disturbingly commonplace.
Sexual misconduct, infidelity, and deviancy inside the Beltway is almost pedestrian. Democrat offenders are commended, even congratulated for being virile enough to have a sexual exploit. Their pro-abortion, cradle to grave socialist approach leaves great latitude. They are rewarded for cold, emotionless, convenient sex. Republicans are drawn and quartered for their hypocrisy. Their advocacy for abstinence draws the bullseye. Their adamant opposition to gay marriage, while being busted for soliciting gay sex turns on the klieg lights. Porn purveyor Larry Flynt finds pleasure in destroying these men, their marriages, and families.
Our society has evolved past the hushed tones where offers of sex and compromised careers were quietly negotiated away. Now, there are staffers, wives, and consultants attempting to decipher the telephone records of the DC Madam, Deborah Jeane Palfrey. No doubt opposition researchers are masturbating over the gold they will find. I keep thinking there must be more to the story. There must be something driving these men out of the arms of their wives and mistresses. And into the arms of call girls and hookers. Into the parking lots of highway rest stops. The isolation of being a politician, a very high profile consultant, or a religious figure like Ted Haggard seems to breed not just hypocrisy but a need for sexual experiences that equal the “high” of their professional success. It is unsurprising that men so driven and ambitious have a hunger for intense, sexual satisfaction. Prostitution is a business of supply and demand. Call me impolitic, but wives forsaking their marital duties should expect their husbands to seek new lovers. Punishing a man by withholding sexual congress has never won any hearts, minds, or votes. The wives should remember they were once passionate creatures with sexual needs and desires of their own. Those longings for release do not disappear; they are merely masked by pride.
Setting aside an hour or two, a few times a week, would prevent many of these bimbo eruptions. For any red-blooded man, or woman, to go without an orgasm day after day, is a recipe for disaster. Love between husband and wife does not evaporate in an instant, it melts away a little at a time. Scheduling is the bread and butter of public service. As a wife relinquishes her claim on her husband’s body, their sacred connection slips away. Intimacy, and the very body, should be considered territory worth protecting. Campaigns bring distance and demands for fundraising calls. And practicing speeches. Photo opportunities.
Instead of nodding politely, each wife should whisper secrets breathlessly into her husband’s ear, just as he takes the stage. Maintain the connection. Cede no ground to hungry political aides and advisers. Staff always needs just a few more minutes from the candidate. A few minutes turns into hours and passion is left amid the confetti, or in the arms of an eager young woman. Wives have as much responsibility to their political marriage as their husbands. The isolation of political figures begins with gatekeepers, and as gatekeepers take more and more territory, loneliness and paranoia set in.
Our counterparts in the European Union are certainly more liberal when it comes to sex, marriage, and sexuality. The European Union Commission released a 45-second advertisement, provocatively titled “Let’s Come Together” on EUTube. The ad features moments, spliced together from many European films, of sexual climax – where two consenting adults are at their most intimate, most vulnerable. Yes, it is officially sanctioned by the EU27 to promote European filmmaking. I believe they could have left off any mention of cinema and utilized the advertisement for promotion of the troubled EU Constitution. Let’s come together should be a refrain ringing out in every marital bed. I found the openness refreshing, especially as it emanated from an official governmental body.
With David Vitter in the moral cross hairs, I wonder if his wife had spent more time focused on mutual satisfaction than threatening the essence of his masculinity, where they would be. Vitter, like many of us, enjoyed the thrill of not being caught. Sex became his vice. Now that he is caught, there is no time for headaches. Political careers should not be thrust into the trash heap over sex. Whether it is sex or making love or something rough and indescribable, the act itself is natural. It is the most natural, most honest communication between two people.
Reckless sexual behaviors, however common, are not acts against the state. With round the clock news, the Blogosphere, and YouTube, it is time to re-evaluate our environment. We all live in glass houses now.
