Levity *because* Gravity, pt. 4
later Army experiences
As mentioned in part 1, this series of posts have been more difficult for me to write.
To recap: My shit hasn’t felt exceptional, and it’s certainly not “more/less” or “better/worse” than anyone else’s. And I love my life. I wouldn’t trade a moment. I am not better than anyone because of my experiences, or because of where I am having experienced them.
My stories of my parents, brothers, and others are just stories. I’m sharing this series because part of me struggles with the light-hearted content of my posts. Given the political climate, the meta-crisis, the cognition crisis, the state of the planet as a living being crawling with living creatures, my posts could come off as tone deaf. Or arrogant. Out of context and context-less. In fact, in a way, they just do, it’s the nature of bites.
But I wanted to share some of how I got here, where I am, why I’m sharing levity, unapologetically; each path matters, each pather matters. Mattering. Gravity.
It’s levity because gravity, not despite it. In the end, may I have contributed to love with love.
I was deployed three times. The only wartime deployment was to Iraq, from January to December 2005. I always had funny nicknames given to me by fellow soldiers. One I thought was a sexual reference (they used to call me “Hoover”) but when I asked about it I was told, “Nah, Budlong, you’re the Quicker Picker Upper – but for moods!” I told them I thought it was Black & Decker, but we were all wrong – it’s Bounty!!
Anyway, I’m obviously inserting humor here. I’m using it to lighten what feels like a heavy series of posts, and to remind all of us of the reason for them. Levity– *because* gravity. Shit matters. It does. And for me, it’s precisely because of that mattering that joyfulness is as exquisite as it is.
My nickname in Iraq was Gidget. We spent a fair amount of time in bunkers, and morbid humor was a thing. I loved joking in the bunkers, eliciting laughter in those tense moments as our base was being mortared or taking small arms fire. We had a calendar of the Suicide Bunnies in our office; the image of the main dude in Team America waving his hands frantically from the back of the vehicle, his hand-and-arm signals for emergency, misinterpreted by the Americans as a greeting, was painted on the inside of the gate of the base. The song “Freedom Isn’t Free” could be heard as an occasional low hum, followed by a quiet chuckle.
One night my co-worker and I laid on top of the box of the humvee we worked out of, star-gazing (we worked night shift) and smoking (that’s another post)... and listening to the whistles of mortars. We were told you can’t hear the whistles of mortars that kill you because… physics. Again. This is not a laughing matter. But that’s literally what we were told. “Because… physics.” We had ongoing jokes among our team members, and celebrated life/living constantly with love and laughter.
Before the deployment we were walking on Bourbon Street in New Orleans and found a little rubber ducky. We picked her up, named her Ducky O’Hara, and took pictures of her/with her everywhere we went, with, of course, and obligatory dust storm photo.
In moments when you don’t know if you’ll make it, life can feel more intense. I think I already had an orientation to that, maybe almost built for it with my childhood (parents, brothers, circumstances). I hear near-death experiences can amplify the intensity and preciousness of life. I haven’t had a near-death experience, not even that car rollover I mentioned in the post titled The Bronze Lining; so far I call them nearer-life experiences. The preciousness of the moment has been emphasized, but not contrasted with a possible lack of it. I’ve never gotten to a point where I thought, “Oh, this is it. This body is a goner…”
I’m not a person who needs answers. The is-ness of life, the experience of it, is enough. (Not that I don’t love speculation; I LOVE metaphysical speculation, as well as mythopoetic self & co-reflection!) One thing I’d attribute my orientation toward life to is a deep gratitude practice. In fact, sometimes I’m almost overwhelmed by gratitude (and for those of you who know me, you know I’m often overwhelmed by gratitude… or am I just perfectly whelmed? I’m going with perfectly whelmed…) and the tears just fall. Gratitude is a priceless and guaranteed path to inscendence for me (inscendence being a mystical experience *through* the body rather than despite it). I feel gratitude like a mitochondrial hum, a fundamental symbiotic vibrational hug, permeating me, my heart waves crashing in on themselves like pulsing implosions.
Gratitude is not an intellectual endeavor for me – it’s wrapped up in awe, entangled in wonder, embraced by the Cosmic Joke, and woven with relationships and the full spectrum of human emotion.
Sometimes people ask me about my worldview, and some words pop out of my mouth, and sometimes they ask, “Well, how did you get to that?” So more words pop out. And sometimes people say something like, “You should write about that. That’s a unique perspective that would bring value to the world.” [You know who you are, I hope, and I honor you. Thank you. I hope you feel seen and loved in my sharing.]
So I am.
All of these grave experiences have deepened the anchor point for my light-heartedness. I feel lucky to have been touched by the Cosmic Joke so many times. My hope is to share that love, that laughter – the invitation to consider your own levity practices, to feel into the preciousness of your own life, to cultivate your own sense of joy in moments. Because your moments are precious. And even the kairotic ones fly by. Anything done with a ‘yes’ to life feels different.
I invite you to share your experiences here, or even DM me if you’d like. If life is feeling less than precious, if you’d like a virtual hug or a little momentum coaching/boost, please reach out.
Mari, I've been on zoom calls when you've been "perfectly whelmed." It's a joy to share in the experience when that happens.