Communal Living: As Many Ways As People

I have lived in many communities (communes). Some folks I have lived with were closer, with relationships more defined. Other family groupings were less defined and some had even more loose associations, only sharing a philosophy, food, sex, a house, house parties or our cars, etc.
Being based on a Sicilian patriarch, our family had a communal meal every Sunday. Everyone was expected to help with whatever father (my grandfather) needed. When the garage became inadequate, all the sons fell in and worked togehter to move it and build the structure anew. When the bathroom needed to be modernized, the same thing went on. Everyone pitched in to help one another. Half a dozen men could be called on in a pinch, and their wives would fall in with their cooking cauldrons and rolling pins. Ravioli feeds entailed covering every flat surface in the entire home with little pillows of deliciousness. We ate to overfull and usually each family would receive a Tupperware container that would allow us a second meal at home. Work, food, blood and love bonded us together. Our rituals were established long before and were never questioned or revised.

It did not feel odd to move away into other communes, even when the ties were not familial, but rather social in nature. First we lived in a two family house where two divorced women and their four children lived. Whoever made it home first would be mom to all four kids. Meals were often shared, and we frequently divided the little that each mom could bring in. Even as children we would routinely play games that revolved around caring for our neighbor's children, learning first hand the concept of: mi casa es su casa. Even though we were broke, we never suffered from want.

Eventually spending time with my mother's family I found that mere familial relationships cannot guarantee success when living together. We shared homes, child care and food here as well, but not everyone gave of themselves willingly. I was suddenly aware of the "values" of power and control, but as I was unfamiliar with them, I always questioned the sanity of the whole situation. Even though I was loved in that setting, I could not help but feel like a chained dog. It confused me that people that I loved could be so childish. Sharing, to some of them, seemed to be a dirty word.

The hippy commune was weird but fun. We got a huge Victorian place and shared it by floors. Four families, one in the attic, one on the second level, a third on the ground floor and yet another in the basement. Food sharing went on a bit less, but entertainment sharing was almost constant. A house full of outsiders grows close in a hurry as a matter of self preservation. Luckily we had a mechanic among us, for everyone drove old cars. Several mom-like folks could handle whatever the children could create as far as chaos. Friends of friends and relatives from each of the families would come and go at will, taking or leaving children or groceries as needed. A couple
of arguments were worth mentioning. Once, as two of the residents were arguing loudly, one said, "I'm leaving...Wait a second, I can't leave I don't have any gas, you got gas?" Just as often, a fight would end up as a food fight across the kitchen table, however we were all so hungry, we didn't actually throw edible food, just the hard raisins from an old box of Raisin Bran.

When I got into Middle School and continuing through High School I began to see, and live in ashrams from different kinds of yogic disciplines. They were inevitably organized socially as communes. Shared resources allowed everyone to live a higher standard of living at lower cost and using less resources. One of the best things about larger groups is that everyone has distinct and varied expertise. More things are going on and rather than everyone doing everything there can be some specialization. The advertising guy makes the posters, the chef cooks, the teachers watch the children, etc. Splitting up the responsibilities are only limited by the creativity and commitment of those involved.

One of the coolest organizational things we did was at an ashram with thirty residents. Each day we would have two folks be responsible for our evening meal, and two people responsible for clean up. That required each individual to cook twice per month, once as lead, once as helper. By putting in two days per month on clean up crew, that left each of us free from cooking for three and a half weeks each month. The only problem that I saw was that you had to be willing to eat everyone else's food. One guy always made the same thing, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. His side dish was inevitably Green Beans with Campbell's cheese soup sauce. Some people really couldn't cook at all. We quickly made it a point to pair them with folks who actually could!

Another thing that we often did was to give families a little more privacy, having them share a room or suite. Single men slept in shared rooms with their own bathroom and similarly, the young ladies shared several larger rooms, again with their own bathrooms.

For a few years, our commune was made up of several houses, bound together by a band. Each of the heads of the households was a member of the same band. Economically, we all feasted together and experienced lean times together as well. All was not perfect, but there were carefully delineated rules of conduct and association that were in play. Spelling out details of such things as dating, spending limits and ownership of items purchased by the group saved much animosity when the inevitable end came. We all loved and helped one another, as much as we could. There was never a question that we all wanted one another to achieve success.

Throughout college I was always part of a commune. The art world, like hippies has a vested interest in sharing both liabilities and resources. Sticking together allows outsiders to find a bit of calm and security. I shared ideas, time, rooms, beds, girlfriends, boyfriends, liquor, cars, skills and green energy with many non-blood brothers and sisters as a matter of course. The few folks that I met along the way who decided to take unfair advantage of this openness were few. They confound me to this day. I still do not understand those who would screw over those they say that they care about. More often than not we would find ourselves sharing more intimately and fully than we thought ourselves capable of. It is often surprising how resilient and compassionate the human spirit can be. Sticking together through tough times seems to be part of our DNA.

I urge everyone to at least give living with others a try. Share as much as you feel comfortable sharing at first, then see what happens. I know that it isn't for everyone, but for those who can handle it, the rewards are great and the cost is only that you be willing to redefine your own limitations. We all know that there are people we couldn't stand for a minute. Don't try living with them! Make sure that if you want something out of the experience, let others know right away. No one likes to have things sprung on them after the fact. Be open honest and giving and it will pretty much take care of itself. We are a species that does best in community. Live like you mean it and others will be anxious to help. A long-time friend once said, "Do dishes, care for the kids and bake bread and you will always have a place to stay." As far as I know this rule is still in effect.