The Realities of Living in a Commune

Let's get this straight. If you ever thought living an alternative life was easy: think again. Imagine living with ten people, each with their problems, striving to live independently from traditional ways of life. Living and working with others: be it a partner; a family; or a group of friends, exposes our darkest nightmares. And we can never escape them.

These nightmares slither into our waking lives. We are forced to contemplate ourselves and how we interact with others. We are driven to explore those parts of ourselves we hid so long, the parts of ourselves we don't like.

For ten years I lived with communities, for seven on a housing co-operative farm, overlooking a small village: overlooking civilisation. Here, I believed I could make my perfect life and join with others who shared a similar path. My ideal life awaited. Or so I thought. You see, my sense of otherness from society could be acted out here. I could collect my own water, become self-sufficient. I dreamed I would feel a sense of completion, yet in reality, a deep sense of longing was provoked. Although the farm had its utopic qualities, the reality was far from harmonious. Here I lived with ten adults, four children, one cat and two dogs. We were tenants and landlords to each other at the same time. Power was dispersed. We each had our ideals of the place. We each fought viciously for them to be actualised. We worked and lived together on the northeastern edge of this hillside. Our moods, our emotions, our inner worlds affected each other. We were a big dis-functional family.

As I stand back now and consider the magic we weaved, I see it was dark. Old circles of friendship bubbled within the cauldron: add a pinch of hatred and a pinch of love, stir it with hurt cured by hedonism, a splash of the scapegoat, and a big measure of altruism and manipulation. Bam. A wonderful concoction of self-denial and lack of responsibility. It's too hard this world. It's an illusion. What is real? I ask myself. It's raining. That rain is real. The rain on my face, the sun on my back, the wind in my hair, the earth beneath my feet. What is the lack? What is the void people are trying to fill as they wonder over the paths of illusion? For me I realise, it was family. Since moving here I was seeking. I was in search mode. My Nana died, we came south. Until then, I was firmly grounded in the Midlands. And now I can see, when we came to the farm, I wanted a family. And we felt it for a short while until unresolved conflict arose, a conflict over safety and bashed egos. I learned a good lesson, although I still find it hard: I don't have to be liked by everyone, and in turn, I don't have to like everyone either! I wonder now, had I really 'liked' most people up until then? I always tried to find the positive. But was this only a mask to my real emotions?

Conflict at the farm with our dysfunctional family, brought conflict into my home, into our home. My ex-wife and I built a small cabin on the farm. Our roots were firmly sunken into the land. Through the conflict, we were united by the scapegoat. I even remember thinking, 'well, as long as we have a common enemy, we won't be fighting each other'. But we were really, for the energy between us was dying. The core values we both shared were departing. Maybe you get a real sense of who a person is when you're in a stressful or traumatic situation together. Or maybe you witness your differences more prominently. We became lonely within our home. We became increasingly isolated, and the presence of a family was sat right within our grasp, but we were unable to touch it, or be touched by it... because it was an illusion. The law of attraction echoed our karma: we were pouring negativity and hatred into the community, and it was perspiring out to us at every opportunity. This is treacherous to the self. Did the positives outweigh the negatives? The barn; a workshop space; the security; the location immensely beautiful; the house, our blood, sweat and tears went into building it. We pushed our roots in and became stuck, trapped. Yet we were not fulfilled, either of us. I craved spiritual conversations, my friends, my family. I felt lost like I'd retired and lost my purpose. And I dabbled here and there, lost, stuck, confused, tired, lonely.

The utopic bubble burst on the farm. We lay in grief, lonely, darkness, stuck, fighting the flow: for YEARS! As I look back now I see not the romantic vision I once had. These utopia's haunt me. They cast a shadow on that which has not yet become. I idealise things: people, places, landscapes, communities. I romanticise my life, my existence. I wish not to see the negativity. I avoid these confrontations within my mind. I see the goodness, I see whatever I want to see. I fit myself into these constructions. Yet they are always distant to me. They serve a function of safety in my mind. My mind which flows with whirling thoughts constructing meaning. As I create this distance I am humbled by the goodness of others, always seeking through judgement. As I watch the shadows creep and cause destruct to my insides. And suddenly I become heavy. I overflow with tiredness. I retreat again, distancing myself from the other. There is a fence surrounding my heart. Deeply trapped in barbed wire. I cannot give it to you, for there, only pain will conquer.