kermit
He said: Firm orderly discourse, we
accept a fellow, but is he the real thing, or is it just
gravity?
The local online community fairly
early began a tradition of holding gatherings in real life, less
than a year after global internet access became commonplace in Hawai'i.
Among the people I know, the earliest such events were held at the Gordon
Biersch brewpub in Honolulu, inspired by the never-ceasing efforts of Jay
Stevens to make "A" of himself and thus creating the alt.culture.hawaii
"Lynch Mob" who met to share a few beers, perhaps a bit of beef, and to
enjoy each other's company offline as well as on. This led to the
institution of the Annual Picnic, held each summer in Kapiolani Park and
organized by the inimitable Helen Rapozo. I did not attend the first such
picnic, but at the second event, I met for the first time, a locally-born
young man of Japanese heritage we'll call Kermit.
Kermit is
well-born, an old soul, and one of the men I feel most honored to have
met, but he's a very young man and none of that yet means anything to him.
In my ever-adolescent fashion ("we can fly, we can fly, we can fly"), I
fell in love with him. Instantly.
After the picnic, I went to
Duke's, got very drunk, and told myself to never think of Kermit again. A
few days later, I got an email asking if I'd like to meet him at Duke's
for a drink. Yes, of course, never mind what I had so strenuously told
myself.
There followed a strange and wonderful friendship. Kermit
entered my life at a moment when much of my mental energy was devoted to
consideration of the best way to end it. An unusually long period of
employment in a stupid enterprise known as insurance had ended, I was
supported as a "consultant" by well-meaning folks who had little idea what
they wanted me to give them in return, I had reached a dead-end in my
inner explorations. In short, I was almost convinced I had given this
ill-chosen life all it deserved and was ready to take my chances with the
next one, even with the possible penalties of early withdrawal.
Kermit was my babysitter through that dark night of the soul, and it must
be written about, at least a little, if this catharsis called The
Panther's Tale is to fulfill its mission.
He is utterly
heterosexual, said he had no experience otherwise, and there was no chance
my being "in love" would have any physical counterpart. I don't think I
ever really wanted that. I did want it, but knew it was
inappropriate, would solve none of my inner struggles (indeed, would have
aggravated them), and had no real value to our friendship. I have no idea
why he invested so much of his time in me, but certainly sexual
gratification was not the reason, however much I was willing to give it my
best shot.
So we became drinking buddies, hanging out in Korean
bars (his milieu) and talking for hours of all and everything. It was a
special, treasured interlude. Outside his world, storms were generated.
I remember especially one evening at the Aloha Tower when I finally
decided the moment had come, I was ready to go. I asked my two companions
to leave me, but Kermit wouldn't go. I have to be grateful for that.
Attempting suicide by jumping in Honolulu Harbor probably wouldn't have
worked, as I realized in a more sober state of mind.
There are
happier memories of those hours of conversation, of evenings spent
listening together and with friends to local musicians; an image of Kermit
laughing at the Regent while Genoa Keawe performed her musical magic;
online times of exploration, sharing technical discoveries, playing
amusing games on Usenet, taunting Jai Maharaj, joking about net celebs and
legends. Not since the Hyde Park Gate time had I found so amusing and
skillful a playmate, a Japanese Coyote born in Hawai'i.
Then the time when I was without funds, as is so often the case: Kermit
asked me to spend the day assisting him on a plumbing job. He is a first
class plumber, had no real need of my assistance. He knew he didn't need
me to do the simple tasks he assigned me, I knew it too, but it was one of
the most delightful days of my life and getting paid for it was absurd but
much appreciated. Another such attempted collaboration went totally awry.
I agreed to assist in the painting of an apartment, a task he did not want
to undertake on his own. I have painted many walls, would have had no
difficulty tackling the job on my own but deferred to him as foreman and
waited to be told what to do, just as at the plumbing gig. It was not
what he expected from a working partner and the misunderstanding that day,
while undoubtedly only a symptom of a deeper crisis, marked the entry to a
path which led to total estrangement.
It was a Magic Theatre
experience of the first order, those months with Kermit. From start to
finish, the parallels to Der Steppenwolf were often in my thoughts.
A door opened mysteriously into another reality, close contact with the
mind of another whose heritage, upbringing, childhood experience and world
outlook were very different from mine or anyone else I have known; the
warmth and companionship of long evenings of discussion, as if two members
of the League of Journeyers to the East had met again for the first time
in this life but with all the forgotten legacy of the distant past; the
Steppenwolf again and again grasping, attempting to freeze and preserve
the magic and thus shattering it.
The intense personal crisis had
passed. At the end of the time in the Magic Theatre with Kermit, the
decision had been made to carry on, take whatever fate had in store, spend
no more time doing things I did not want to do, join the urban nomads and
embark upon this pilgrimage to an unknown destination.
Kermit was
my companion and guide through the darkness that led to this place. And I
thank him.
If we put someone on a pedestal and later discover they have the
proverbial feet of clay, who's fault is that? If the frog turns out to be
just a frog and not a Prince, is it the frog's fault?
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