Week 01 - Introduction — creekside oracle

I started this Coursera workshop led by Stanford University on the topic of LOVE AS A FORCE FOR SOCIAL CHANGE as it’s something that intrigued me as representing not only part of my worldview but my very way of being. To this end, this blog will serve as a repository of my notes and weekly written reflections that the course asks learners to complete.

Week 1 - Key Reading

Neel, Burton. These are the 7 Types of Love. Psychology Today, 25 Jun 2016.

Week 1 - Activity

Practice performing or appreciating an act of kindness or agape love: carry out an act of love as a force for social justice (ie. as an act of compassion or as an act of loving kindness) or notice such an act by someone else. Explain in two or three paragraphs why you think this is an expression of agape love.

This activity will be assigned each week, by design. We believe that repeated practice or observation of compassion or kindness increases our own capacity for love.

This recollection is from December 4, 2022. Today was particularly difficult as my anxiety and depression had been through the roof, but I remember my eyes welling up as I walked along Johnson Road, my body mindlessly cutting through winter’s air. I was heading to Prospera Credit Union to take some cash out for my Mum who was getting her hair styled at Definition in the City Of White Rock. I had my iPhone out as I entered, ready to snap a shot of the bank’s vestibule for my check-in on the Four Square Swarm app, but stopped when I saw an older woman at the ATM. I was also hit with a strong odour that made me want to retch, coming from a disheveled couple huddled close together, trying to escape the harsh cold, in the corner of the small lobby. I hated my gut reaction begging me to leave & walk to another nearby bank, & I felt an intensity slip from behind my eyes down my throat & into my stomach where my empathy quietly sat with their sad frustration. So I stayed, glued to the corner opposite the couple, head against the glass, biting my lip, and concentrating on not falling to pieces.

As I waited for the woman at the ATM to leave, my beleaguered eyes rested on the entrance to the Saltaire, an apartment complex across the street. My eyes followed its polished wood frames, burgundy & dark grey trims in no particular direction. My eyes also flowed over the Bin 101 building, a tap-house I’ve never been to in a building I did know. I’d been there over 20 years ago when it was some kinda furniture, mattress, & fine art framing store. My 1st painting teacher, Vee Hansen, worked their framing for several years in the late 1990s and early 2000s. It was there I learned that our mentor, Dale Gehrman, had passed away. Eventually, my watery eyes became lost in the valley of the alleyway that sits between the Bin & Saltaire. And by the time the ATM woman left, I knew I’d take out $440: the $400 my Mum asked me to get & $40 for the wildflowers sitting to my right.

While I was waiting, staring across the street, they were arguing in hushed tones & when I approached the ATM and got my cash, he left. She turned away from the world, ending up in a fetal position trying to melt into the corner walls. I remember leaning toward her, mumbling “hey” in a hushed town even though we were the only ones there. She turned as I said “hey” again & handed her the money whispering, “why don’t you use this to get a nice hot meal for you & your friend?” She started sobbing with thank you’s dripping from her mouth. Her hair was matted in front of her face in a way that we couldn’t make meaningful eye contact, & I knew if I stayed any longer I’d start sobbing too.

My decision to do this was definitely rooted in agape love, or an unconditional reverence for all life. A reverence I enjoy showing for others but seldom show to myself. And honestly I didn’t even remember making the decision, the idea just became clear as the thing to do as I stood there in my own gloom. I don’t know what the woman ended up doing with the money, I don’t even know where they ended up, the vestibule when I’ve visited since that December day has been eerily empty. But honestly, I’ve been so down that I didn’t feel the helper’s high as described by the Psychology Today article. I felt pain and anger that people had to live that way, that society allows people to sleep in the most uncomfortable places, without proper shelter, or access to a warm meal. Ultimately, if society was better organized, I wouldn’t have needed to try and help this couple, as they wouldn’t have been there to begin with.

Peer Review Results…

Week 1 - Reflection

Discuss what love means to you at this point in the course: what do you think is the meaning of love? What do you think is the opposite of love? You are expected to provide a thoughtful response of at least 2 paragraphs.

SELF LOVE IS THE HARDEST LOVE TO GIVE

I was eighteen when my first girlfriend broke up with me in a handwritten letter she had composed. Anxious to read it, I had pulled into a small Chevron gas station nestled on the corner of Highway 10 and 128 Street in Surrey, British Columbia, Canada. I still remember the grove of deciduous trees and shrubs with a few tall Douglas Firs that lined the perimeter of the gas station lot, making it feel as though I was somewhere more rural than I really was. I had been on my way to university for a class when I decided to park, I sensed what the letter would be about but I was terrified to face it’s reality. I say a long while in my parent’s maroon red Chevrolet Lumina, and when I finally worked up the courage I can still remember the tightness in my chest and how my hands trembled as I opened her letter. It was several pages long but in it, she explained to me how I “didn’t know what love is,” and that while she “loved me,” she wasn’t “in love with me.” I still remember the warmth of a single tear slipping down across my cheek as I started to sob. “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.” Those words are still etched on my mind, and truth be told I’m not sure I’ve ever really learned what love is, or what love is supposed to be.

In looking back now, I guess what I thought was my first romantic love was ultimately an unrequited love. Wikipedia defines Unrequited love or one-sided love as “…love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the beloved. The beloved may not be aware of the admirer's deep and pure affection, or may consciously reject it. The Merriam Webster Online Dictionary defines unrequited as "not reciprocated or returned in kind".” We first met in high school, sharing several classes together. I had been horribly bullied in high school and she was one of the few peers that never did pick on me. I remember her sitting behind me in one class, during which we chatted and laughed a lot. She was in grade 11 and I was in grade 12. Somehow, I ended up with her number and we talked on the phone a lot, often for hours at a time.

During my first semester at university I had a few evening classes and I’d call her from a pay phone on campus to talk to her during my breaks. We weren’t dating yet, but developed a love that could be defined as philia - described as friendship, while often crossing into ludus - a playful or uncommitted love, with flirting, teasing, and playful banter being a common occurrence. We did things together: saw movies, went downtown, and ate out together. For her birthday I dropped off a cake with balloons at her favourite restaurant before picking her up. And after we ate, the wait staff brought the cake out lit with candles and we all sang her happy birthday. At one point she exclaimed she loved seeing me because I was the first guy who didn’t want to just make out all the time.

We also saw each other every Friday night, and usually she’d come to my parent’s place and we’d either watch a movie in my room or downstairs with my parents (I remember one time we watched THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY and I got teased by her and my Mum for tearing up during the film). She also watched episodes of STAR TREK with me, but often it was near the end of one of the films or shows that we watched that things ventured into Eros. When we first started seeing each other a lot she did lay down some ground rules, and I was understanding of that. She didn’t specifically go into details, but from what she did share I knew that her previous boyfriend had been abusive and controlling, being primarily interested in just making out.

The rules were simple: I wasn’t to touch her breasts, bum, or anything in the front. There was to be no PDA either, no public displays of affection such as kissing in public. She often held my hand though when we were out and about. And I let her take the lead with whatever she was comfortable doing. She did seem to love hugging, and would often hold me closely when I’d drop her off at her place, walking her to her front door. But then, on those Friday nights, we’d be laying in my bed, having inched close together, our arms wrapped round each other, just laying there, closely. I remember how our breathing would grow deeper as we lay there. Our hands would caress each other slowly, and our legs would slowly and ever so gently slide against one another’s. But it never moved beyond that. In hindsight, what we experienced each week was a tantric form of love, it was an all body emotional and physical experience that didn’t involve each other’s genitals. It’s something I will never forget.

Sadly, our relationship didn’t last. She was rebelling at home, and I didn’t agree with how she was treating her parents. We stopped hanging out and for a time she moved out, living on the couches of her friends until she wore out her welcome. I don’t remember exactly when she gave me the letter but it cut deep. I loved her, and wanted to provide her with the space to have agency and control in what we did, but sometimes it was at the sake of neglecting my own needs. We never kissed, and I never tried. Nor did I ever work up the courage to ask her for one during our steamy embraces in the darkness of my room.

Just before I started seeing her, I had read Gary Zukav’s SEAT OF THE SOUL, and it’s from this book that I was introduced to the concept of cultivating an unconditional reverence for all life. I’m far from successful at it, but I try hard to cultivate unconditional compassion, curiosity, empathy, forgiveness, gratitude, love, and reverence for all life, starting with my own. And this is something that extends out to all life, human and non-human, as well as the life of our planet and the entire universe that our little blue ball glides across everyday in its singular orbit around our sun.

I mention trying to cultivate unconditional compassion and reverence for myself, which was described as philautia, or self love. But my own struggles with anxiety and depression have often meant I’ve been terrible at maintaining a health self esteem for as long as I can remember. In fact what I often feel for myself could be described as the opposite of love, as a self loathing, or a self hatred. My monkey mind is very good at beating myself down mentally in ways that would have made my high school bullies very proud. But I’m reminded by Zukav of the importance of finding a genuine love of self, when he so thoughtfully describes how:

“Only by feeling compassion for yourself can you feel compassion for others.
If you cannot love yourself, you cannot love others and you cannot stand to see others loved. If you cannot treat your own self kindly you will resent that treatment when you see it in anyone else. If you cannot love yourself, loving others becomes a very painful endeavor with only occasional moments of comfort. In other words, loving others, or how you treat yourself, is your own dose of your own medicine that you really give to others at the same time.
Individuals who experience what might be thought of as a martyr attitude see themselves as giving all that they have to others. They see this as a form of loving, but in truth the love that they give is contaminated because it is so filled with sorrow for themselves. A sense of guilt and powerlessness clouds the energy from their hearts and so when their affection is felt by another it does not feel good, actually. It feels somehow thick with need, yet the need is never articulated, so their love feels like cement pulling you.
When you can do kindly things to yourself then you know what it is to be able to love yourself. Then you can look at others who desperately need kindness and love and feel good about their getting it, not patronizing, but truly good. This is the energy of the soul. This is the perception of the soul. When there is no compassion, when there is guilt, remorse, anger, or sorrow, there is opportunity to heal the soul” (Zukav 184).

So maybe because of my doubts and anxieties about whether I look good enough, whether I’m smart enough, funny enough… about whether I’m worthy enough, maybe that’s why I’ve gone through life with so many unrequited loves. Maybe my first girlfriend was right, I don’t know what love is, because I’ve usually failed so spectacularly at showing myself the love I yearn to receive from others as well. And that’s something I so desperately want to change.