Feeling Dry (A Pain From Long Ago)

27 January 2026

https://poems.culturing.net/2026/01/feeling-dry-a-pain-from-long-ago/

I'm reminded of another pain from long ago,
one not yet put into words. She was too young too,
but all I wanted was to encourage. She sat apart from the others,
reading Shakespeare, and I could understand how a mind like hers
would crave solitude and find her world depressing.
It was my role to encourage, like Jesus would,
and it almost ruined my life. Her mother misunderstood
and accused me to my face of vulgar intentions.
No father was in the picture, and I can assume
the mother had reasons to mistrust men on sight. Even so,
false accusations could have haunted me, followed me,
if the story had reached the news. So what could I do
but walk away, and leave this poor girl more discouraged
than before. I could have helped her, and no, not with sex,
but with words and kindness, the kind she was lacking,
the kind that her mother kept hidden from her. By my own life
imperiled, I fled, and I do not regret it, though I am ashamed
that I did not defend my honor. But there was no use.
Even false accusations destroy. And what man can stand
against pain, plain and simple, when put on display?

This was my final break with Christianity.
I tried to love my neighbor and it cost me dearly.
Never again. Does my neighbor want to be loved, and by a stranger?
These teachings of love I now find vile.
Greet one another with a holy kiss? No thank you.
The teachings of Jesus, if put into practice, would overturn
everything, bad and good. But they never were put into practice,
and if they were, it would ruin the family, it would be like a shooting star
burning out as soon as it started, because the foundation is shaky,
rooted in weakness instead of strength. No, all Christian churches
require an admixture of Greek and Roman ideals
to have any staying power. That is my final answer.

I turn now to you, muse of many poems, mercurial
sprite of the night of the pigtails, and ask: does my violent reaction
make sense now? You are older than this friend was long ago,
but you are younger than she is now. Does that feel gross? I do not know.
Perhaps the span of years matters less than absolute maturity,
and if you are ready, then you are ready, but I will be very careful,
more careful than needed, because this friend may have thought
she was ready for something beyond her years, inspiring her mother's worry.
I do not know what role I played in her life, if any,
but despite my own confusion and immaturity, my conscience is clear.
I intended to help her. But I would do more than help you.

Can you swallow this, digest it, then live with it?
I have no choice, but you could walk away
and plant your flag in other soil, in even
the soil that I have rejected. Make your choice, but take your time.
I could convince you that the ground I have found is fertile.
I could show you how things grow and why.
But I know that the cost is high.
So look to the sky, and answer.
Are you feeling dry?

Am I to be crucified for caring about the soul of another?
Whence comes this hysteria, the fear that all caring means sex
and that sex is expressly forbidden, until a certain age?
Shall adolescence be loveless? Who could defend such absurdity?
Of course they must try and err, that is the whole purpose
of growing up, and of course it gets messy, confusing,
with even a hint of danger. But are we so weak
that this danger must cause us to panic, or are we men and women
intent on raising the next generation to maturity? There is
no easy path, free from danger, there is only this one path
or standing still, and still-standing turns into despair every time.
I have no wish to sanction abusers or give them aid or comfort,
but there are other kinds of abuse perpetuated in the name
of abolishing abuse, and I will not sanction these either. Some risks
must be taken, as young people know all too well. But feeling,
after all, is not action, and sometimes the risk of allowing a feeling
is enough, to let it pass through the body and fade into vapor.
Self-discipline is not some myth, unreachable and naive, it is
the only path to a fulfilling life, and too much external discipline
prevents its development, inhibits the growth of executive functioning
in those who have this potential. The line remains blurry,
for try as we might, who can say when experience crosses over
from good into bad? Is it not always both? But sometimes
it's more one than the other...

There was no sex, and there would not have been any sex.
But there were erotic feelings, on her part at least. Perhaps I was foolish
to not see the danger, though I maintain the danger
was overstated, perhaps even necessary for her. She was trying
to develop, and surely we all would be better off
if more people grew up. But can I be trusted to maintain
a safe distance? If I erred, it was hubris, not lust.

Strange to remember these long-dead memories
on the cusp of my own maturity. Perhaps I see now
what I sensed then as mere potential, the end of the growth
that begins when a suitable partner appears. She was trying,
and I cannot fault her for that, any more than I fault myself
for wishing her well. But the pain of the tyranny of undeveloped people,
who assume no development is possible, that questions are fruitless,
that growth and adulthood are myths enforced by power and violence
rather than real achievements...such people will ruin us, if we let them.

But part of the problem lies deep in the Christian idea of love,
of a love so pure and chaste that no danger can overcome it.
What evils await those who attempt to embody such love!
Whether the universe loves in this way, we do not, and we must not
attempt it. Our love is contingent, reciprocal, full of expectations
and mutual recriminations. So was this my folly, to attempt
unidirectional love, like the so-called love of God, a love free
from human needs and confusions, a love built on lies? And this love,
as we know well by now, is despotic, mere tyranny in disguise.

But absent such love, what remains of the church?
Some hard fragments of Roman law and a flowering of Greek philosophy,
maybe the playful wink of Plotinus or the warm-hearted empathy of Jesus,
but not the doctrines, no theologies, because the central pillar is rotten, the very idea
of God's one-sided love is repugnant upon examination. For who among us
could reciprocate the love of God? Does this teaching not teach us
to deny our volition in the face of irresistible love?
No wonder abusers find a home in the church!
Their victims are primed in advance to receive the abuse
of a love that denies their autonomy. I will have none of this love. I will not.
And my heart will be healthier, even if I must go alone.

But must I go alone? I can see now over the horizon
one approaching my lonely encampment, who perhaps has felt these things before.
I would welcome you, but you must count the cost of rejecting
much of what shaped you. Perhaps you reject it already. Perhaps
that's what brings us together. But you know my heart. I reveal it
so you may decide for yourself who you are
and whether you wish to go with me.