This post, a different version of which first appeared in 2006, was initially inspired by this poem by Lady Ki No Washika:
No
It’s not because I’m now too old,
More wizened than you guess..
If I say no, it’s only
Because I fear that yes
Would bring me nothing, in the end,
But a fiercer loneliness.
I found it in the Los Angeles Times Book Review back in the late summer of 1998. This was a time in my life where, after a very turbulent couple of years, I had taken a temporary vow of celibacy. Keeping the commitment to that vow was proving difficult. This poem comforted me instantly, because those last four lines ran so unbelievably true — they summed up in 22 words what had been up to then my entire sexual history.
When writing about my past, I choose my words carefully. So many people I know and love read this blog, as do folks from my spiritual community, my youth group, and my college classes. Much of my private life is thus obscured, and rightly so. Yet I think I can share a little bit that may prove useful, or if nothing else, may explain why this poem means so much to me.
As I’ve talked about before, in late June of 1998, I had hit a kind of emotional, physical, and spiritual bottom. I attempted suicide after a prolonged struggle with drugs, alcohol, and compulsive sexual behavior. My family was frantically worried about me, my friends had largely pulled away from me, I had spent time in handcuffs — and extended time in hospitals. While in the last of these hospitals, someone asked me "Hugo, do you have any idea how to be alone? I don’t mean single — can you really be alone with yourself?" I admitted that no, I really didn’t know how to do that. I had already burned through a couple of marriages, and was, for lack of a better time, compulsively dating. I was a walking, talking, incarnation of toxic neediness! In the year or two leading up to that watershed summer, I had been going out several nights a week with lots of different people, addictively hungry for connection. The whole process had left me alienated, lonely, and miserable; it had also made me a bit of a pariah.
In that long hot summer of 1998 — the summer of Bill and Monica, the summer of the World Cup in France — I came home to God. It’s an easy phrase to write, and it doesn’t come close to capturing the extraordinary turbulence and excitement of that time of conversion and transformation. I can only say that I prayed as I had never prayed before, to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in, and I was given peace beyond any expectation. It was an amazing time, one I hope I will never forget. "Born again" is such a trite, overused expression — and yet truly, that’s what it felt like.
One of my earliest spiritual directors/Twelve Step sponsors told me that in addition to a variety of spiritual activities, I needed to be celibate. He defined celibacy as not only no sexual activity, but also no dating, flirting, masturbating, or what he liked to call "intriguing" (I love that verb) with women. I asked how long this period was supposed to last, and he gave me the typical spiritual director answer: "You’ll know. For now, just do this a day at a time."
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