Please, thank you, and no hooks

I flashed on what it would be like to frame all of one's decisions and interactions with the "world" in terms of two simple principles: consent, and gratitude. Consent being basically asking, seeking permission, saying "please." And gratitude, of course, being the thank you in response, whether the answer is affirmative or not. 

There was a tiny fire ring at the campsite in the Sheephole Valley Wilderness and I was going to build a fire in there. But there was a whole community of little green plants and ants and so on living in that protected circle, and there clearly hadn't been a fire in there for months, maybe years. So I asked, do I have permission to build a fire in here? And I swear to gawd, call me crazy (wouldn't be the first time), the answer was a resounding "NO." Turned out it was a wildly windy and dangerous night to have a fire anyway. And at the next campsite over (the second of two, altogether), there was a larger fire ring with ash, and nothing growing in it. The next night, that's where I built my fire. "Thanks, it's nice to have a fire."

Imagine if all of human history had been conditioned by saying "please" and "thank you," rather than the usual sense of total entitlement and temporary, acrid satisfaction with which humankind has fucked over the planet and each other. Imagine if the European expansion into the "New World" had included the humility of asking permission, and the gratitude of finding a way to navigate what is a "yes" and what is a "no." The holiday of Thanksgiving would make a shit ton more sense from this perspective, definitely. 

As it unfolded, taking without regard to permission and feeling smugly entitled or deserving, and becoming violent in the face of clear NO's, seems a lot more the basic framework of how we confront the world. This, I'd argue, without any actual evidence, is the paradigm of the patriarchy. It's what makes rape not an exception, but the rule. It's not as if we have never had permission, but we have never even stopped to ask if we did, in just about every interaction with the indigenous Earth. It reminds me of that ignorant Christian missionary, John Chau, who pulled the stunt of "witnessing" to the Sentinelese, and was promptly killed by them, and justly, rightly so.  Except that, throughout much of our history, the consequences were not so immediate, and the lines not quite so clearly drawn. 

There's a reverent and devotional way of life that includes, at its core, please, thank you, and attempts to enlarge awareness. A difficult part of this reverence is also in letting go, when the answer is "no." It is a silly rationalization to say "please" and then proceed without listening to the answer. "I asked for consent!" is obviously not a good enough reason to take. The universe does, frequently and loudly, say NO. 

Sometimes, even with regard to our most ardent hopes and wishes, much to the sorrow and sadness of our broken hearts. 

I've been thinking about the image of hooks. It might be because the clade of cacti I am writing my dissertation on has hooked spines, but it might also be due to language used by both Melody Beattie and Pema Chödrön, regarding something capturing us, holding our attention, getting us tangled, which they refer to as "getting hooked."

I've been experimenting with letting go of getting hooked in response to the big NO's that the universe has delivered. Think of a kid in the checkout line at the grocery store, fascinated by all the impulse-buy candy on the racks, maybe asking Mom "can I have this? can I have that?" and knowing of course the answer is NO, the answer is *always NO* and has been *NO* for years. But we tend to still have that energy directed to the objects of desire, no matter the precedence, no matter the inevitability. 

So I'm working with just saying "no hooks" and letting something go. Invasive thoughts that would spur hot jealousy, despairing bewilderment, lonely self pity, or some other extreme discomfort, can be met with the simple phrase, "no hooks." Let it go. You got your answer. No hooks. 

It's a necessary tool in the face of a life of reverence, asking consent, when the answer will often be NO. If I want to emerge out of the tendency to manipulate, use wounding or darker magic to capture something I want, push, whine, rage, or all those other states of being where we have gotten a clear NO yet just cannot move off the goddamned dime, I am going to need a way to let go. When I'm hooked, I feel it. The hook sinks in deeper the more I try to shake it. The tangles get more complex. If I can just gently and in a focused and disciplined way, remove the hook, step away, and let go a bit more, there's a feeling of safety and sanity that at least partly settles down.

There's also a lot more energy in wait for when the universe hollers a great big HELL YES into my face, which, if I am hooked and wounded by the last NO, I could easily miss, and have. This goes to the deepest definition of consent, way past "not saying no," to the *enthusiastic yes*, which men in particular need to learn is what consent is, and can be withdrawn at any time, and is fully within whatever boundary, no matter how enthusiastic.  

All of this process goes to spending so much time alone. The past several days, I was free camping on BLM land in silent, beautiful Sonoran Upland. Just me and my grief and anger. In these circumstances, it becomes essential to find a way to welcome one's own thoughts with "basic friendliness" as Pema puts it. My "no hooks" is similar to her gentle word, "thinking," the way to reduce the spinning out of the mind. It has been especially helpful in finding my true feelings, not those that are made more incendiary by attachment to outcome, by stubborn and bitter adherence to story, by the pride and brittleness of my sense of self, my sense of *deserving* and being *denied*. 

No hooks.