First Meeting: Part II (continued from last post)
We ended up at Ed's home after his Tao Te Ching performance piece in the Tallahassee woods. It was a townhouse/duplex set far back from the main road that led straight to FSU. Borderline rural.
It should have been Ed's senior year, but he'd dropped out and was living like a retired hermit artist with his lithographs and paintings, a collection of classical albums and no TV. I was living in an all-girls dorm where they'd given me 3-day-house-detention the year before because I was up all night hanging lights for a play and had returned past curfew. I was sharing a small room and carrying a bucket to the showers.
He had no job. No car. His parents in Jacksonville must have been footing the bill. There he was with all the time in the world to pursue whatever he wished. There must have been more to the story. Later on, he had to see a psychiatrist to get a military deferment on the grounds of "depression.".
On the way there, Diane told me about Ed's art which she'd seen when they picked him up.: "He's got one that's all vaginas."
"Well, that's half of it," Ed smiled.
Soon we were standing in his dining room studying the litho in question (entitled "Doors"):
(Sorry it's not a great shot of it. I'll correct that soon.)
The Dude said, "I see a couple of penises..." And I said, "Or mushrooms...like Huxley's Doors to Perception?" Ed chuckled.
Diane flirted with him in her caustic way.
Diane: What sign are you?
Ed: Sagittarius.
Diane: Oh no! Not Sagittarius. I can't handle Sagittariuses.
Ed: What sign are you?
Diane: Scorpio.
Ed: Scorpio's are my nemesis!
He pointed to a black and white photograph of a beautiful young woman with long straight hair sitting in front of an antique Underwood typewriter, intensely staring into the camera. "Barbara's a Scorpio. Barbara is my nemesis."
When they got on the topic of Women's Liberation, things took a turn. Ed said, "Women need to get their own heads together first before they can make social change as a group." Diane ran to the kitchen, grabbed a broom and knife, and came back to demonstrate what she'd like to do to him for that remark.
I was laughing, but his words had sunk into me. He was right. I'd been looking outside myself for the answers. I needed to look within. Get my own head together.
The Dude took an apple from a bowl, but Ed stayed his hand. "Wait. Stop. Sniff. Really take in the fragrance. Now bite into it slowly. Stay aware of the taste...the texture." He waxed eloquent about the need for awareness as the pathway to "higher consciousness."
We only use a fraction of our brains but our potential for personal power is so much greater, he said.
"Meditation is the key."
I wanted this. I wanted what he was talking about. When I woke up that morning, I didn't. But now I did. And I would seek it for the rest of my life.
In the months to come, I pursued Ed's company as if he and his home were life preservers floating at the edge of the disorienting sea that I called "college."
Not only did I find him almost unbearably sexy, but he was a Seeker. Just like me. I didn't know I was a Seeker until that moment in the Fall woods when Ed gave me my first taste of Eastern mysticism.
In the months and years to come, I would read what he read. Books like Handbook to Higher Consciousness, Doors to Perception, The Master Game, Damien, and philosophers like Nietzsche and Descartes.
Neither my childhood nor my stumbling adolescence nor my "theater years" included the concept of "Seeker." But Ed opened this door for me. And I walked right through it.
In the beginning, as I mentioned, it was all about refuge. And yes, attraction. Attraction so overwhelming that I could hardly stand it. But I'll cover that in the next post.
We ended up at Ed's home after his Tao Te Ching performance piece in the Tallahassee woods. It was a townhouse/duplex set far back from the main road that led straight to FSU. Borderline rural.
It should have been Ed's senior year, but he'd dropped out and was living like a retired hermit artist with his lithographs and paintings, a collection of classical albums and no TV. I was living in an all-girls dorm where they'd given me 3-day-house-detention the year before because I was up all night hanging lights for a play and had returned past curfew. I was sharing a small room and carrying a bucket to the showers.
He had no job. No car. His parents in Jacksonville must have been footing the bill. There he was with all the time in the world to pursue whatever he wished. There must have been more to the story. Later on, he had to see a psychiatrist to get a military deferment on the grounds of "depression.".
On the way there, Diane told me about Ed's art which she'd seen when they picked him up.: "He's got one that's all vaginas."
"Well, that's half of it," Ed smiled.
Soon we were standing in his dining room studying the litho in question (entitled "Doors"):
(Sorry it's not a great shot of it. I'll correct that soon.)
The Dude said, "I see a couple of penises..." And I said, "Or mushrooms...like Huxley's Doors to Perception?" Ed chuckled.
Diane flirted with him in her caustic way.
Diane: What sign are you?
Ed: Sagittarius.
Diane: Oh no! Not Sagittarius. I can't handle Sagittariuses.
Ed: What sign are you?
Diane: Scorpio.
Ed: Scorpio's are my nemesis!
He pointed to a black and white photograph of a beautiful young woman with long straight hair sitting in front of an antique Underwood typewriter, intensely staring into the camera. "Barbara's a Scorpio. Barbara is my nemesis."
When they got on the topic of Women's Liberation, things took a turn. Ed said, "Women need to get their own heads together first before they can make social change as a group." Diane ran to the kitchen, grabbed a broom and knife, and came back to demonstrate what she'd like to do to him for that remark.
I was laughing, but his words had sunk into me. He was right. I'd been looking outside myself for the answers. I needed to look within. Get my own head together.
The Dude took an apple from a bowl, but Ed stayed his hand. "Wait. Stop. Sniff. Really take in the fragrance. Now bite into it slowly. Stay aware of the taste...the texture." He waxed eloquent about the need for awareness as the pathway to "higher consciousness."
We only use a fraction of our brains but our potential for personal power is so much greater, he said.
"Meditation is the key."
I wanted this. I wanted what he was talking about. When I woke up that morning, I didn't. But now I did. And I would seek it for the rest of my life.
In the months to come, I pursued Ed's company as if he and his home were life preservers floating at the edge of the disorienting sea that I called "college."
Not only did I find him almost unbearably sexy, but he was a Seeker. Just like me. I didn't know I was a Seeker until that moment in the Fall woods when Ed gave me my first taste of Eastern mysticism.
In the months and years to come, I would read what he read. Books like Handbook to Higher Consciousness, Doors to Perception, The Master Game, Damien, and philosophers like Nietzsche and Descartes.
Neither my childhood nor my stumbling adolescence nor my "theater years" included the concept of "Seeker." But Ed opened this door for me. And I walked right through it.
In the beginning, as I mentioned, it was all about refuge. And yes, attraction. Attraction so overwhelming that I could hardly stand it. But I'll cover that in the next post.
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