“Conflict is the spirit of the relationship asking itself to deepen.”

I read this sentence in the book Healing Resistance, by Kazu Haga, on nonviolence. I’ve never been much of a proponent of nonviolence, but this book, based on the teachings of Martin Luther King, Jr., is changing my mind. It’s nonviolence, as Haga distinguishes, not non-violence (hyphenated), which usually refers to being against overt physical and destructive violence, as in war,. It’s more about the commitment to be as authentic, vulnerable, perceptive, and also skilled and effective enough in any relationship as to dissuade abuse and manipulation of any kind, including with the self.

It’s this last one that pried me open. I never thought I was being violent towards myself. Maybe a little hard, that’s all. But once I started paying attention, I watched abuse take place in so many ways. First, how often I mentally put myself down, especially now as I get older. That was dumb, I say if I slipped a bit while putting on my rain boots. Or: Boy, my mind is really going, as I shake my head when, once again, I left the soup on the burner for way too long. I think I say this to show others that I am well aware of some growing deficiencies, that if I screw up, at least I’m aware of it. But who really cares, other than me?

Or more subtle things, like: Here you go again, or You always do this (You always do too much work on Sunday and then you’re tired). I shake my head at myself and at my day-to-day life as though neither of us are fine, in fact, we’re lacking. Or at times I might tell myself not to go there, there being some mental picture or remembrance from the past I’m not at peace with. But why shouldn’t I go anywhere I want? What am I still afraid of (aside from thunderstorms)? I’ve confronted outside dangers and risks way more blithely than the ones I face inside.

Some of this may be because I’ve internalized the ideas of a culture that looks down at older people. But these are also age-old criticisms I’ve leveled at myself. True, we live in the Land of Imperfections, but what is it about this Judeo-Christian culture that makes evildoers out of so many of us?

The poet Sylvia Plath wrote:

His blood beat the old tattoo

I am I am I am.

My blood beats the same even as I’ve practiced for many years in a tradition that says I’m really not I’m really not I’m really not. Short of ending my life, I can’t stop the blood from its refrain. At the same time, I’m more aware than ever of the multitude of tiny scars and abrasions that come out of all this denial and subterfuge, all stored up in consciousness, in karma.

And then there’s the above quotation from Kazu Haga’s book: “Conflict is the spirit of the relationship asking itself to deepen.” A friend relates that when he and his wife of many years have an argument or conflict, he thinks to himself: Okay, here it is, bring it on. We’re going into it again, we’ll continue going into it in the future. He doesn’t see this resolving very soon; instead, he practically welcomes it, understanding what he’s being asked to do.

Skill is important here. We can have the same conflict again and again without visibly deepening anything. I wish both Bernie and I had had more skills in our own conflicts.

But if I don’t have that skill with a partner, I could at least develop it internally, with my self. Frustration with slowness, disappointment at impatience and indecision (Do I sell and leave the house or don’t I?)—these are unnecessary, leave emotional lesions in my psyche, and affect how I relate to others. This time of my life is perfect for deepening this primary relationship.

The Italian writer Natalia Ginzburg wrote: “But after a certain point in life a person has to dunk her regrets in the morning coffee, just like biscuits.”

As a coffee afficionado, I can tell you: It makes the coffee a lot richer.