Foreword: I’m publishing this a few days after writing it because I had a “Mary’s Believe It or Not” moment that I had to add as a postscript — one of those crazy synchronicities that make you realize you’re never doing anything alone.
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I’ve taken a break from writing because I’m in Montana right now, retreating. And retreating always brings reflection. And reflection asks for review. And review often summons reminiscence.
As I sit here in the Beartooth Mountains on the West Rosebud River — which, to me, is heaven on Earth — I think back to my first encounter with this place at age 18, and who I was with when I encountered it: the artist formerly known as Steve Holmes, now Steve Garnaas-Holmes, and still presently an artist. We were Wild Things way back then, and today I recall how this wilderness unleashed Steve into a wondrous, rambunctious Maurice Sendak glory. “Let the wild rumpus start…” could have been our tagline. Witnessing Steve come of age was usually hair-raising for me, because it was death-defying for him — he stretched life to its edge to find its poetry and music and meaning. We were in search of ourselves, wondering what it meant to be alive, to be artists, to be adults.
There was a certain cinematic nature to the “parting shot” that literally sent us in different directions:
Steve’s road led him on to raise a beautiful family with his wife Beth, and also to serve another larger family as a United Methodist minister. I’m glad he survived his own youthful exuberance, and I continue to appreciate that it was in Steve’s presence that I found this place I now call home. My own life turned technicolor in his company, and fantastic new worlds opened up because we shared a life lens back then.
I write this on June 14, Steve’s birthday, and he has gifted this planet with much wisdom. I recently wrote a post about how the show Bewitched helped me examine what it meant to be a woman, with “powers.” Steve was kind enough to write his own reflection on how another “vintage” television show, Bonanza, influenced his sense of the masculine — in those days when all of those notions were in flux. Hmmm. It seems to me that “those days” are still with us in these days.
Please check out Steve’s beautiful site called “Unfolding Light” and his newly published book of poetry. https://unfoldinglight.net/books/
From Cowboys to Men
by Steve Garnaas-Holmes
It seems humanity would be sunk without a sword fight, right? I mean, look at all those stories we tell each other on TV and in movies. The hero always saves the world. And the climax, the big save is always a fight. They might use fists, swords, guns, light sabers, airplanes, spacecraft, or superpowers, but they always win by fighting. And it’s always solo. Even if it’s the entire planet that’s in danger, salvation is in the hands of one single man. There’s never a team, unless the Hero is the clear leader and the others play merely supporting roles. And whether the enemy is a dragon, a bully, an evil dictator, or Satan himself, it’s always a fight that saves the world.
I’m so tired of that. The world has never been saved by a fight. But we’ve always hoped it might be true. In ancient myths, in Biblical stories, in classic literature, in action movies, it’s always the same. I know, you’re hitting the brakes saying, “Wait—biblical stories?” Yep, there are more scenes than we realize of God’s people, or even God, believing they will conquer by the sword.
Fire and brimstone is more noble than a lightsaber, but does the same thing.
That’s not how it works, but we wish it were. Our definition of a hero is someone who, through physical prowess, saves somebody or something from grave danger. Not someone who loves with integrity against great odds, or overcomes great resistance to achieve something humble but kind. Nope. Gotta have that sword fight. Now, I get it, that these stories aren’t really about fisticuffs, they’re about character and courage and tenacity and commitment, and all that. But we do seem to be unable to tell (or at least sell) stories about heroic character that aren’t action flicks. Say, stories that are about teamwork, or the actual long, slow work of doing justice. After all, in real life the hero is almost always a team, a community, a movement.
And, yes, I get it, that people watch action movies for the entertainment, not the moral lessons. But they’re getting moral lessons. One lesson is to expect a hero to solve our problems.
Another is that what it means to be a hero—especially a man—has to do with physical strength and domination. Sheesh. I long for more stories about heroism, especially male heroism, that’s about something other than fighting. I think they’d be better stories. I remember as a kid watching Bonanza. It was different from the other westerns. It was about nobility, honesty, and fair play. In all the other westerns, no matter what the conflict was, the good guys would end up shooting the bad guys, and you knew it would go down that way. But on Bonanza, you knew it wouldn’t end in a shootout—so you never knew how they were going to solve the problem till they got there. I think that’s way better storytelling. And better problem-solving. And also way better moral teaching. Domination isn’t the solution; it’s the problem.
As I’ve lived out my own not-so-heroic struggle to be a good person I’ve had to face my unconscious belief that good character was the result of a struggle—a fight— and that my masculinity was somehow a matter of domination. I was never a bully, never got into a fight, wasn’t domineering, none of that stuff. But it wasn’t till I was an adult that I realized that my secret version of a sword fight was… teasing. I would feign superiority, or pretend to threaten someone with something frightening or embarrassing, then of course not do it because I was only teasing. Late in life I came to realize that when I teased people I wasn’t just having fun. I was demonstrating that I had power that I wasn’t using. It was like pulling my jacket back to reveal the gun on my hip. Of course I wouldn’t use it. I was only convincing myself of my power.
Who are your heroes? I bet they failed as much as they succeeded, and the fruit of their work was borne by a community, not just themselves. And I bet they weren’t all men. Real men save the world with gentleness and humility and cooperation. How do we tell those stories? Where do we seek them? No hero will come in and change the narrative. It’s up to us, each of us in our own little, humble, heroic way to tell a different story.
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Mary’s afterword: My Montana retreat is over and it’s a gentle agony to again put Montana in my rearview mirror. I put the finishing touches on this piece in the hotel room, and took my bags down to catch the airport shuttle. A large family got there before me, and was loading up the very small van with their bags and bodies. The driver couldn’t fit me. Since I had more time before my flight, said he’d return to get me. That gave me time to peruse the hotel breakfast bar. I walked in and as usual, paid no attention to the TV screen because hotels like this tend to tune to a channel I find vile. But something nudged me to look up. What did I see? The final scenes of a Bonanza episode, with Ben Cartwright looking like he’d been through hell, sitting with another man who looks like he’s been through hell (does anyone know this actor? He looks so familiar!). I’m so mindblown to be seeing this that I grab for my camera and don’t catch much of the conversation. I snapped a couple photos then listened: the last words I heard word: “Can you give me a hand?” I’m kind of crying.
Maybe the thought that it takes a village is easier for women to understand than men. I love that he noticed how the Bonanza writers were so different than most of the other westerns. The kind of man he was describing made me think of Martin Luther King. Also, thanks to the wonders of Facebook, I joined a Bonanza fan page and asked about your photos. A lady recognized it as season 1 episode 24 with Lloyd Nolan.
Beautiful! Community, sangha, one of the three jewels considered by some the most important, including myself.