"How an I supposed to live without you?!?"

A few years back, I began the slow and steady process of selling my 
comic book collection. Calling it a 'collection' seems a cold and unequal
means of labeling something so important to me--shades of being offended 
at one's best friend being referred to as merely a 'pet.'

Nonetheless, my lifetime collection of tens of thousands of comics, graphic
novels (yes, they are two separate things, posers!), paraphernalia (accurately
enough, a drug reference,) posters, fanzines, and so forth was departing. 

The reason for the sale was not that I was tired of my books or any less
emphatic about my love for the medium, despite having inconveniently
become an adult and being jaded with many parts of the industry's direction.
No, it was pure financial need that drove the 'decision' to part with my 
paper-babies. That pesky 'sacrifice' part of growing up.

Despite my monetary desperation, I chose to piece-meal sell my books over 
the period of a few years, rather than all at once. Those who know the  
market might assume that's because I would likely get a better deal through 
this method over selling bulk. That's not wrong, but it wasn't the true rationale
behind my inability to depart with my possessions. No, I was having trouble
saying 'goodbye.'

For a non-fan/non-collector, that's likely an absurd statement. To put
it in perspective, I don't understand getting up at 2 a.m. and standing 
in freezing weather to get a deal on retail, nor do I comprehend the 
indulgence in putting war paint on and sitting on lousy stadium seats
surrounded by screaming drunks to attend a ball game. We all have our
'thing.'

Comics always have been and always will be far more than fictional
characters and colorful paper. Growing up, I knew early on that I was
unlike other kids/people. I gravitated to comics--I'm not ashamed to
admit--because it was an outlet and a support for loneliness and not
fitting in anywhere. It was a welcoming landscape of unusual, wild,
creative, fun, and familiar, and they were a lifeline for me.

I became deeply interested in the recurring characters and their complex
histories, their exploits, their personalities. I was intrigued by the creators
who provided the tales. I took interest in other fans' opinions regarding 
our shared interest, whether similar or not. This was an entire universe
unto itself, a community made up of the real and the unreal, and it was 
a 'something' I was part of automatically.

I relished the connection the heroes had with one another. The beauty 
of Curt Swan art made me tingly. The intensity of Dick Dillin's work
took my breath away. Reading Steve Englehart scripts enlivened me.

I woke up when I saw Ernie Chau's or Rich Buckler's covers. My blood
raced as I saw new covers with familiar logos on the spinner rack. My
comics were excitement and catharsis for a thirty-five cent investment
each. They were far more than mere 'entertainment' or outlet; they were
an integral part of my childhood and young adulthood.

I could not merely load up these boxes and depart with them in one fell swoop.
Time was needed to pour over each cover, taking in the flood of memory
and feeling that was attached to each one, almost as if a diary entry. I could
recall the enjoyment of first reading the issue, my favorite moments on the 
page, who my friends were at the time, and later on whom I was dating, what
job I was at, and more.

Memories of the landscape of the comics universe and the industry at those
times were revived. All those years of being attached to something regular,
something real... it creates a bond. And yes, comics had been my medication 
for my depressive moods, my buoy during frightening times. They were my 
go-to assistance, substituting for friends. 

One of the reasons I don't understand the appeal of digital comics or reading
novels on a tablet is the loss of tactile and other sensory stimulation. Comic
books were the whole experience! The lively art and colors for your eyes, that
feel of the paper under your finger as you followed along--or the book held
firmly in hand as you gripped the entirety of it tight! That tell-tale, almost 
addictive scent of newsprint. It all helped to serve up a unique experience,
an experience that could be relived by placing that same comic in your hands
and having scent and sight trigger the imprinted memory.

By shipping off my paper-babies a little at a time, ceremonially departing 
with them on a smaller scale, it was more manageable for me to let go.
It wasn't the idea of them, the money invested, the market value, or the
heroes I had trouble letting go of in the venture. My difficulty was saying 
goodbye to friends, therapists, memories, a support system, a journal of
all my years--and connections to characters, fans, and creators.

As is all the rage now in cleansing one's surroundings, I had to pick up
my beloveds, remember and honor the service provided, thank them for 
their contribution, and then--now unburdened--let them go.

*******************************************************************

'FORGIVENESS' sucks big green monkey cock

FORGIVENESS SUCKS............

(And not in a 'good' way.)

Well, that's certainly the sentiment that's likely to curry more favor.

We just don't respond as well to the notion that forgiveness is a worthy spiritual pursuit. We recall vividly what happened to all those peaceful sorts; Gandhi, Jesus, Dr. King, Jr. and so on.

It's not a compelling motivation.

No, "Forgiveness is a blessed tool of a loving Universe" just doesn't have the same draw.

We humans have a physiological and psychological aversion to forgiveness. It's part of our defense mechanism, I suppose; our natural defenses against any form of hurt. Hurt wounds us, makes us aware of our ability to be hurt...and that's frightening. We don't like being vulnerable.

For men, it's doubly difficult. We have a hard enough time being vulnerable or open enough to another person or concept in the first place, so betrayal is a real ball-buster. Then, as men, we aren't supposed to get bruised or be fragile, so our hurt is yet another source of shame and vulnerability and frustration.

Typically, the people who 'hurt' us are those we let in close. Those we have taken efforts to trust. To allow. To accept. We have 'played a part' in what ended up hurting us, and we can beat ourselves up for our perceived 'stupidity' to boot.

For many years, I not only bristled at the mere mention of the word 'Forgiveness,' I got physically angry as a result of the intimation that I needed to do something about the affronts made against me. My suffering was real, and by Golly it would not be diminished by some fairy tale happy-ass bullshit of 'turning the other cheek.' It took a good long while to see what was really going on with the hurt and resentment.

Resentments (reliving of past pains) means we are stuck in the past. We are mired in the bad feeling; shackled and chained. We are inextricably attached to something we say we don't like, unable to move forward. We give another person (or even a place or event) the power to control us. It's like declaring them a winner. Because I guarantee that a person without a conscience is not sitting up at night fretting about what they did to you. So who is your distress ultimately hurting?

The selfishness of forgiveness was a realization to me. The question of whether of not my hurt was real or imagined, significant or simple, was irrelevant. What was important was that I was staying a prisoner of negativity and bitterness while the other person(s) was unconcerned, dead, or never even aware that there was a problem. And yet their presence in my mind has dominion over me. I have given permission (directly or indirectly) for something outside my control to be in charge of me.

This is more easily said than done, as most important shit often is. It is a process to leave behind the vendettas and wounds of past hurts. For some reason, "The Darkness has a hunger that's insatiable and the lightness has a call that's hard to hear." as the Indigo Girls so aptly stated. Hurt seems to resonate with us more than joys. Perhaps that protective streak I mentioned earlier; we want to be prepped against future assaults. But we end up with tension, stress, stomach aches, and misguided defenses that dilute our enjoyment of daily life.

We have to take an active stand against our mind and emotions running away with our happiness. This world is all about the drama. People will feed on your discontent. Our paranoia and revenge will fuel us heartily. We dwell on hurts, rather than working to release them. "Being the bigger person" has never been a popular notion. It takes time and hard work to erase anger and resentment; we just have to remind ourselves of the importance of the repercussions of not letting go.

This isn't about becoming a doormat. As a wise friend pointed out, you take the lesson from a hurt and know what not to do in the future; you make more informed choices about when to let people in. But you don't stop letting people in all together. (That's another example of allowing yourself to suffer.)

The lower level emotions of distrust, hurt, anger, etc. cause illness and distraction and other dark manifestations that continue the original pain. It snowballs. The other person might not even give us a second thought. And there's nothing we can do about that.

Yeah, I know, trust me. Helplessness is a royal bitch of a feeling.

But you cannot shame a person when they have no conscience.
You cannot force morality on someone.
You cannot "Go all Rambo" and enforce your version of right and wrong.

You cannot alter someone else's morality, integrity, or anything.

And if you spend your time dwelling on the fact that they are 'deficient' in these areas, it's just a big waste of time.

As Will Rogers said, "You can't legislate intelligence and common sense into people."

Forgiveness isn't mandatory. We have the capacity to stay as miserable as we wish. It's a visceral, powerful emotion that stirs up a lot of physical response. The idea of 'letting go' seems so weak, and makes us feel vulnerable once again just considering it.

There was a recent great documentary about forgiveness I found very moving. Here's some more info on it.
http://www.journeyfilms.com/content.asp?contentid=754

The film brought up some interesting points;

Can you forgive someone who doesn't ask for it? Should you?

Can you forgive someone who doesn't express remorse or acknowledge a need to make amends?

Eric Butterworth has some remarkable insights in his work on

http://store.ericbutterworth.com/index.php?cPath=21

Forgiveness for me is two-fold.

1) It's a spiritual and intellectual way of thinking and living; Things are the way they are, and my wishing otherwise doesn't change them. It is what it is. It is a waste of time and energy and emotion to beat a dead horse. That's science.

2) Not forgiving continues someone else's actions for me to relive and further hurt by keeping it alive. I am not a panicked animal, and I must be smart about keeping my emotions in check. I want to remain open and loving and focused on the good that I have in my life. Not be hindered and heartbroken.

Depending on the deepness of the cut, forgiveness isn't some Pollyannaish 'clean sweep' that is done in a grand easy gesture. And forgiveness isn't assured just because the guilty party issues an apology, heartfelt or not.

Forgiveness doesn't mean continuing to be a battered spouse, and accepting unacceptable behavior. It's not a call to allow people to take advantage of you. You must support, protect, and defend yourself through all available means. But when out of a violent situation, you must eventually come to some kinds of terms with the abuse in order to move on with your life. This is about letting go.

"I can't seem to say good-bye

Though I've tried a million times

The more I learn, the less I know

About The Art Of Letting Go"
(Pat Benatar)

Teacher and writer Louise Hay has talked for years about the power to heal being based directly on our willingness to change our thinking patterns and focus. She offers some insights as to how to make that a reality. (see link)

http://www.louisehay.com/about/index.php

If we are striving--ever striving--for our inner peace and enlightenment, then the outside world will matter less and less. The actions and feelings of another have no importance in our life. Whether it's as simple as a disrespectful eye roll, as serious as theft, or as invasive as physical violence; if we perpetuate hurt and anger in our minds and hearts, we only create an endless cycle of the misery we detest.

Intentions create our universe. We have to be careful what our mind is focused on at all times.

Blessings,

your always struggling brother, Robert