It's strange to find Ton's story in this blog. I must have forgotten it in the many that were posted at the time. After reading it, so much more of Ton and my interaction makes sense. So sorry that "the tears and the suffering" were treated with the same oblivion that the child in our play. The expression of remorse does not seem to have been taken to practice. Why? When so much pain had already been experienced?
But one doesn’t forget the past…what to do with these memories? Share them? Where do they go? If there is a moral here, I guess it’s about moving on, recognizing the importance of memory, reflection, individuation and community.
http://robertearlburton.blogspot.com
"ton's" Story
"ton" posted the following on the Fellowship of Friends Discussion blog:
Being new to this, I hope it’s not coming too much from ‘left field’ and as for protocol I’m not sure why this is mostly anonymous/pseudonymous but I’ll follow those examples for now. I’ve looked at some of the postings here and have to wonder about the aim of this…everyone is unique, different. But we share experience. I’ve spent some time looking at the faces and names in the members section and many of you I remember but there are more that I don’t know. I have some time before returning to work, it’s an unusual day for August in Phila(delphia), overcast, cool, raining, a good day for nostalgia and memories.
It seems that Robert Burton to some degree still has an affect/effect on those who write here and this is partly a way of processing.
The word ‘processing’ implies progression or at least some movement…where does ‘the work’ (in this case the conversation) get stuck and how to MOVE ON positively is a question. (On the other hand, there are those who claim to live on hate alone).
I moved to Renaissance [ed. - Mt. Carmel, Isis, Apollo] with ‘M’ my high school sweetheart in 1977. We ate, showered and slept at the Lincoln Lodge, then lived for a while in a tent in the woods next to a stream. I was asked to move to the Blake Cottage [ed. - Robert Burton's residence] and followed the course laid out in many of the previous posts, I won’t go into the sordid details. (the ‘Academy’ was under construction at the time although I might still be considered a “cadamite” – or catamite – is the beneficiary/victim of an older, powerful, homosexual predator-pederast who is constantly recruiting a succession of adolescents, and showering affection, preferences, professional opportunities and material goods in return for sexual favors. my question is whether conscious bob was aware of the rich pun involved in naming his house the ‘academy’ and the definition of a ‘cadamite’ ? Probably not.)
After I woke up to what was going on, M and I got back together, we were married at Renaissance, she became pregnant, RB [Robert Burton] asked that the fetus be aborted, his rationale was that the child would not be born onto ‘the ark.’ My gut feeling was that this was revenge for moving out of the Blake Cottage. I asked Miles Barth for counsel, in so-many-words he said ‘teacher knows best.’ M had to be persuaded by the heavyweights surrounding RB at the time, despite her tears and protests she had the abortion. I still feel guilt and complicity over this, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about it.
I left the FOF [Fellowship of Friends] in ’83, a year before one of the predicted cataclysms. M stayed, remarried and I think still remains. (Does anyone know?) I lived in SF [San Francisco] after leaving, it was difficult, I lived for a time on the street, I bumped into and shared a bottle with Kimo Beech [ed. - another Fellowship outcast] who had apparently suffered similar circumstances, he’d been ‘down-and-out’ for some time. I slept and ate in church shelters, and later managed to rent an apartment in The Tenderloin, right next door to the Glide Memorial on Ellis Street. There is much I am leaving out here.
A minion for Samuel Sanders, his name was Robert I believe, a Venusian from Vancouver(?) he said he had worked with counseling prisoners after certain experiences…whatever, he wanted to get me involved in the lawsuit – I declined, never did hear about the outcome. Where to go from here in my story? To ‘move on’ was the idea then, that’s why I didn’t want to get involved in the lawsuit, I was trying to put the past behind. But one doesn’t forget the past…what to do with these memories? Share them? Where do they go? If there is a moral here, I guess it’s about moving on, recognizing the importance of memory, reflection, individuation and community.
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