Last night the proverbial fog lifted. I saw a concert on a beautiful summer night in Central Park. This British band Keane was playing, and they were really fantastic. Great songwriting, great voice, great energy. There is nothing like being at a good live music show with a sold out, positive audience. It was like a wave of joy and aliveness moved through the crowd and moved right through me. I didn't even know any of the songs of the group, but I found myself singing along and being swept along on the wave.
Later on in the night, I was hanging with a couple of new friends of my girlfriend. I made a conscientious decision yesterday to start saying alot more of what I mean with people. Not worrying about how it's received. For too long, I have kept the better parts of me hidden to myself, trapped in my interior. Instead of relying on witticisms, clever jokes, and throwaway one-liners which I always know will be received well, and for me, come off low-risk, I made a decision yesterday that the quality of the relationships that I want to develop is directly dependent on my ability to speak my truth in an undiluted way.
Last night, while walking through the streets of the Lower East Side, the gauntlet I had thrown down upon myself was put to the test. I ended up walking with this young woman (my girlfriend's coworker's friend) who was depressed because she had just lost her virginity a couple of weeks ago to a guy who ended up treating her like shit. Now he wants nothing to do with her, and this just makes her more clingy, desperate, and of course, unattractive in his eyes. She was really down. What we ended up talking about was not really about relationships or any of that. We talked about how we perceive the world. I brought in some of what I had learned about consciousness, presence, and the thinking process. We talked for about a half an hour, about topics ranging from being in the moment, to noticing synchronicities, to the immensely improbable architecture of the Universe. She is a naturally curious person. In fact, I was really charmed that she keeps a little book in her pocket where she writes down interesting things she overhears during the day. Her curiosity will end up serving her very well in life.
Anyhow, my girlfriend and her other couple of friends were walking about a half-block ahead of us this whole time. When we finally caught up to them, this young woman, call her "M," said that she wanted to leave the group and walk home along. And it was a long walk for her, but she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and process all of what we talked about. She wasn't sad. It was just like her mind was cracked open and she was inspired. And she wanted to go home and write down all that had transpired. Her close friend thanked me for cheering M. up and told me that M. never walks around alone. Before she left, she smiled at me with enthusiasm and innocence and said, "Wow, can we meet like every week and you can tutor me on life?!:" She was half-joking, but clearly enjoyed hearing what I had to say. And I was content that I had that kind of effect on her. By just telling her my true thoughts, what I had learned, and what was on my mind. Not diluting myself for public consumption.
I feel the fog has lifted that has been on me for the last couple of weeks. It's all a matter of not repressing the truth of who I am. Creatively, socially, not in any way. Otherwise I feel like a tiger in a cage, pacing back and forth, wanting to claw at anything that goes by. And that's no way to live.
When my eyes are open, life is such a JOY!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Planting Flags
We planted an American flag on the moon the day we landed there back in 1969. What a weird thing to do. "One small step for man...one giant leap for mankind...and this all now is OURS."
I think I'm going to create a flag of my own and start planting it in things. When I'm online at the bakery, and I see the last chocolate croissant...Doink. I plant the flag of the Blessed Cap'n. When I see a barstool become vacant at the end of the crowded bar...Doink. I plant the flag, admire it for about a minute, and then I'll sit down an order myself a pint of something good on draft. I have a girlfriend now, but oh how glorious it would have been to have had these little flags when I was a single guy in the game. After hooking up at the end of the night, I could have placed the flag right behind the ear of my new sleeping companion. Like a rose, only a gleeful statement of conquest. Doink.
What would my flag look like? It would be Purple with a Yellow Boomerang on it. I will leave its significance to all the aspiring and accomplished symbologists.
I think I'm going to create a flag of my own and start planting it in things. When I'm online at the bakery, and I see the last chocolate croissant...Doink. I plant the flag of the Blessed Cap'n. When I see a barstool become vacant at the end of the crowded bar...Doink. I plant the flag, admire it for about a minute, and then I'll sit down an order myself a pint of something good on draft. I have a girlfriend now, but oh how glorious it would have been to have had these little flags when I was a single guy in the game. After hooking up at the end of the night, I could have placed the flag right behind the ear of my new sleeping companion. Like a rose, only a gleeful statement of conquest. Doink.
What would my flag look like? It would be Purple with a Yellow Boomerang on it. I will leave its significance to all the aspiring and accomplished symbologists.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Vacant Community Blues
One friend found an actor's community. Another friend of mine found an artists' community. I have a softball community and it is wearing thin on me. It seems to bring out my lower order instincts. I find myself back on the high school ballfield being confronted with those old teenaged boogiemen. Except now the wits are a little quicker and the jokes are a little staler.
I came back from a barbecue in Brooklyn tonight and there I was back in Neverland. But not the kind of Neverland where everything feels fresh and colourful and playful. Rather this was a Neverland of cigarettes, Budweiser beer cans, and everyone hiding behind a common face that just ends up looking like every other face. I'm too much of an individual for that. I've come too far to get rid of my own mask to get dragged back down there for any reason. For love, for lust, to forget or to remember, I don't want to go back living on those kinds of connections.
I am thinking about taking a trip this summer. I want to get out of the city. I tell myself that maybe that will help me kick these blues. Take a little vacation, maybe to some exotic place in Asia, maybe to some romantic place in Europe. But I know that without a community to commune with that all these experiences won't end up being more than intoxicating vapors.
It certainly is easy to blame others for why I don't have the kind of community I want. The truth is that I have a hard time sharing the most real parts of me with others, so how could I expect others to relate to and trust me in the way that I want them to? Today at the barbecue, I didn't let myself out. I could say that I don't trust others to respond with respect, and maybe that is so, but it's also true that I don't trust myself enough to carry that particular gravitas that won't relapse back into talking nonsense in a numbing zone of comfort. I tell myself, "Time to bring it," again and again.
I've come to think that most anger comes from a place of repression. When there's something inside screaming to come out, it finally shakes up the nerves and causes the hairs to stand on end. It comes from a repressed spirit, from an unradiating soul. Maybe I will take a trip this summer. I'm open to suggestions
I came back from a barbecue in Brooklyn tonight and there I was back in Neverland. But not the kind of Neverland where everything feels fresh and colourful and playful. Rather this was a Neverland of cigarettes, Budweiser beer cans, and everyone hiding behind a common face that just ends up looking like every other face. I'm too much of an individual for that. I've come too far to get rid of my own mask to get dragged back down there for any reason. For love, for lust, to forget or to remember, I don't want to go back living on those kinds of connections.
I am thinking about taking a trip this summer. I want to get out of the city. I tell myself that maybe that will help me kick these blues. Take a little vacation, maybe to some exotic place in Asia, maybe to some romantic place in Europe. But I know that without a community to commune with that all these experiences won't end up being more than intoxicating vapors.
It certainly is easy to blame others for why I don't have the kind of community I want. The truth is that I have a hard time sharing the most real parts of me with others, so how could I expect others to relate to and trust me in the way that I want them to? Today at the barbecue, I didn't let myself out. I could say that I don't trust others to respond with respect, and maybe that is so, but it's also true that I don't trust myself enough to carry that particular gravitas that won't relapse back into talking nonsense in a numbing zone of comfort. I tell myself, "Time to bring it," again and again.
I've come to think that most anger comes from a place of repression. When there's something inside screaming to come out, it finally shakes up the nerves and causes the hairs to stand on end. It comes from a repressed spirit, from an unradiating soul. Maybe I will take a trip this summer. I'm open to suggestions
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Memorial Day Exodus
It's Memorial Day weekend. The city is deserted and it's kind of a lonely feeling. I am here with my girlfriend, my dog, and the television set. I am feeling understimulated and am thinking that maybe I should have taken that offer from my friend G to go up with a group of people to his parents' place by the beach in Maine. As much as I remind myself to take chances, ones that make me uncomfortable, I find myself at home with the girlfriend and the dog. I want to travel this summer. Does this feeling ever go away?
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Synchronizing
Life is good today. Just last night, I was talking with a friend about God. Does God care about our struggles as individuals? Or is God just the Dungeon Master of the Universe, creating the rules, and letting the game play out?
For the last 24 hours, the synchronicties have been jumping out at me relentlessly. A teacher once said that you can gauge spiritual growth by how many synchronicities you start to notice. They've been popping out of the woodwork everywhere: in a song from last night's Dan Bern show, on an old Playboy Magazine cover that some guy was selling at 2:00 in the morning on 6th Avenue, on the bench outside a coffeeshop where a beautiful French-Canadian woman with a cigarette in hand gave me the kindest words of encouragement.
It seems that the Universe is flirting with me. Dropping hints with the promise of something greater, more peaceful, more vital. Only expecting courage and faith on my part.
For the last 24 hours, the synchronicties have been jumping out at me relentlessly. A teacher once said that you can gauge spiritual growth by how many synchronicities you start to notice. They've been popping out of the woodwork everywhere: in a song from last night's Dan Bern show, on an old Playboy Magazine cover that some guy was selling at 2:00 in the morning on 6th Avenue, on the bench outside a coffeeshop where a beautiful French-Canadian woman with a cigarette in hand gave me the kindest words of encouragement.
It seems that the Universe is flirting with me. Dropping hints with the promise of something greater, more peaceful, more vital. Only expecting courage and faith on my part.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Names
I wonder how my destiny would have been different at all if I was given a different name at birth. Does a David turn out different than a Jeffrey? Does a Raul have better luck with women than a Jim? Does a Fred have to dig himself out of a hole from the very start? Is a Leonardo brilliantly creative, while a Frank, reliably sincere?
I think there is a freedom in changing one's name. My greatgrandfather did it with his last name when he came here to the US from Lithuania. My grandfather did it while living here in the US to something a little less Jewish sounding. I, like my father, have stuck with the name I was given. But I have to honest in saying that I do get tired of the surname and the karmic weight that the bearer is expected to carry. Is there a fresh karmic start with changing one's name? I don't think so. I think the experiences, suffering, successes, creations, and struggles of our forebearers are indelibably inscribed into our DNA, both on a collective and an individual level.
Maybe I should marry a woman and take her name. Find someone with a name that bespeaks of nobility or mystery. Maybe I should change everything about the way I look. Maybe I should cut my hair really short and dress impeccably like a young Italian businessman/lothario. That would be fun for a couple of days. But I am not a businessman. I'm an ideaman. And I'm not a lothario. I haven't been one of those guys in a few years now. But the sport is still in my blood, and probably will be until I die. It's one of those things I am learning to accept and to make peace with. Slowly.
I think there is a freedom in changing one's name. My greatgrandfather did it with his last name when he came here to the US from Lithuania. My grandfather did it while living here in the US to something a little less Jewish sounding. I, like my father, have stuck with the name I was given. But I have to honest in saying that I do get tired of the surname and the karmic weight that the bearer is expected to carry. Is there a fresh karmic start with changing one's name? I don't think so. I think the experiences, suffering, successes, creations, and struggles of our forebearers are indelibably inscribed into our DNA, both on a collective and an individual level.
Maybe I should marry a woman and take her name. Find someone with a name that bespeaks of nobility or mystery. Maybe I should change everything about the way I look. Maybe I should cut my hair really short and dress impeccably like a young Italian businessman/lothario. That would be fun for a couple of days. But I am not a businessman. I'm an ideaman. And I'm not a lothario. I haven't been one of those guys in a few years now. But the sport is still in my blood, and probably will be until I die. It's one of those things I am learning to accept and to make peace with. Slowly.
The 5th Force of Perceived Judgment
Risk. Balls. Courage. Sticking your neck out. Conceptually, easy to grasp, but practically speaking, not so easy to do.
I saw Dan Bern last night in Brooklyn. The guy is one of my favorite songwriters and someone who I admire from a point of having "big balls." How many artists are there, in whatever medium, whether writers, musicians, painters, scientific theorists, philosophers, who have great ideas, who have the great raw materials, but never have the chutzpuh to put themselves out on the line? I think 99.98% of all artists that ever lived fail this test. I put myself in that category.
What will it take to take off all my masks, all my inhibitions, and truly not care about how myself, my words, my work, my voice is received? They say there are 4 Fundamental Forces in the Universe: Gravity, Electromagnetism, the Strong Nuclear Force, and the Weak Nuclear Force. I would like to add a 5th Fundamental Force: the Force of Perceived Judgment. This Force influences how hair is cut, how pants are worn, how career paths are forged, how sex stays in pants. It is the Great Communal Arbiter of quality, of rightness, of fairness, and of appropriateness that is our constant companion in life. It is the Grand Filter that keeps some thoughts and expressions in and lets others out. It is a parasite that drains our energy.
My life has been a tiresome struggle with this 5th Fundamental Force. I think it is a universal struggle. Dan Bern, who is one of these people who takes chances artistically, sings that he dreams of a life where "whether people like him or not is unimportant" to him. But nonetheless, he dilutes himself less than most of us. He recognizes it's a struggle and he does it in the face of that 5th Force. And that is what we want out of not only our artists and our avatars, but out of all our relationships. We don't want the moderated, the modified, the diluted, the self-censored. We want the raw, the enlivening, the beautiful, ugly truth, that affirms our solidarity in this self-renewing, self-creating, holy struggle we call life.
I make it a vow today to do my best to fight on the proverbial front line and let the best, most original, and truest parts of myself out to the world. I have made this vow before with fleeting, disappointing results. But I know my life will amount to nothing, my appreciation of life will continue to be diminished, and the sense of community that I have longed for, and not yet found, will not materialize until I am willing to take the risk to let myself be and express itself in the world.
I saw Dan Bern last night in Brooklyn. The guy is one of my favorite songwriters and someone who I admire from a point of having "big balls." How many artists are there, in whatever medium, whether writers, musicians, painters, scientific theorists, philosophers, who have great ideas, who have the great raw materials, but never have the chutzpuh to put themselves out on the line? I think 99.98% of all artists that ever lived fail this test. I put myself in that category.
What will it take to take off all my masks, all my inhibitions, and truly not care about how myself, my words, my work, my voice is received? They say there are 4 Fundamental Forces in the Universe: Gravity, Electromagnetism, the Strong Nuclear Force, and the Weak Nuclear Force. I would like to add a 5th Fundamental Force: the Force of Perceived Judgment. This Force influences how hair is cut, how pants are worn, how career paths are forged, how sex stays in pants. It is the Great Communal Arbiter of quality, of rightness, of fairness, and of appropriateness that is our constant companion in life. It is the Grand Filter that keeps some thoughts and expressions in and lets others out. It is a parasite that drains our energy.
My life has been a tiresome struggle with this 5th Fundamental Force. I think it is a universal struggle. Dan Bern, who is one of these people who takes chances artistically, sings that he dreams of a life where "whether people like him or not is unimportant" to him. But nonetheless, he dilutes himself less than most of us. He recognizes it's a struggle and he does it in the face of that 5th Force. And that is what we want out of not only our artists and our avatars, but out of all our relationships. We don't want the moderated, the modified, the diluted, the self-censored. We want the raw, the enlivening, the beautiful, ugly truth, that affirms our solidarity in this self-renewing, self-creating, holy struggle we call life.
I make it a vow today to do my best to fight on the proverbial front line and let the best, most original, and truest parts of myself out to the world. I have made this vow before with fleeting, disappointing results. But I know my life will amount to nothing, my appreciation of life will continue to be diminished, and the sense of community that I have longed for, and not yet found, will not materialize until I am willing to take the risk to let myself be and express itself in the world.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
From the Cave
Thus begins my confessional. My expurgation, my long-distance hurl, my letting a little air out of the tires. I will not offer any statement of purpose nor outline any rules. This after all, is not for you. It's for me. And if any of you do end up connecting to the drops of thought from my head, well then, this is for us I suppose.
A good friend of mine, U., has a blog. She, like myself, has an active imagination. She is one of the most intense observers I have ever been around. She sits at the end of the table, or on the rug, and watches with piercing blue eyes. Alert eyes, dancing, electric with thoughts. Maybe she keeps quiet because she was warned one too many times as a kid to keep the absurd, the twisted, the grotesque, the outlandish bubbles of thought to herself. I really get a kick out of her. I love the way her mind works. And we both have been fighting to express our creativity in the world. We have both been fighting for our freedom. She has her blog and it seems to be some kind of key she carries around her neck. After meeting with her yesterday, I was inspired to create my own space to air my mental laundry.
I put my fist through a door last night. It felt great. My knuckles are kind of sore today, but it got me in touch with a primeval masculine side. The caveman. The angry man is the one who has banished his caveman. Who doesn't let him growl and grunt and have random erections pointing in different directions. It is springtime and my caveman has been banging at my gate. It felt good to let him have a say last night. The crack of the wood of the door from the force of my fist. I have never gotten in a fist fight, but I saw Fight Club, and the idea every once in a while strikes me as appealing.
But I am a civilized man living in New York City. I am an educated man. And I am a pacifist at heart. It's interesting how the creator and the destroyer often come hand in hand. That's the whole notion behind the Hindu god, Shiva. I always found the idea of Shiva intimidating. That which creates to destroy and destroys to create. And soon, after the cycle goes on long enough, creation and destruction become one and the same process.
I dream of a life where I am compensated and respected for the highest aspects of my self, my soul. I dream of a life where monogamy isn't such a challenge. I dream of having a community that I don't have right now. A bohemian community of thinkers, lovers, sensualists, spiritualists, philosophers, creators. I dream of being okay with myself just one day and see how that feels for one whole day. I imagine that's what freedom is.
A good friend of mine, U., has a blog. She, like myself, has an active imagination. She is one of the most intense observers I have ever been around. She sits at the end of the table, or on the rug, and watches with piercing blue eyes. Alert eyes, dancing, electric with thoughts. Maybe she keeps quiet because she was warned one too many times as a kid to keep the absurd, the twisted, the grotesque, the outlandish bubbles of thought to herself. I really get a kick out of her. I love the way her mind works. And we both have been fighting to express our creativity in the world. We have both been fighting for our freedom. She has her blog and it seems to be some kind of key she carries around her neck. After meeting with her yesterday, I was inspired to create my own space to air my mental laundry.
I put my fist through a door last night. It felt great. My knuckles are kind of sore today, but it got me in touch with a primeval masculine side. The caveman. The angry man is the one who has banished his caveman. Who doesn't let him growl and grunt and have random erections pointing in different directions. It is springtime and my caveman has been banging at my gate. It felt good to let him have a say last night. The crack of the wood of the door from the force of my fist. I have never gotten in a fist fight, but I saw Fight Club, and the idea every once in a while strikes me as appealing.
But I am a civilized man living in New York City. I am an educated man. And I am a pacifist at heart. It's interesting how the creator and the destroyer often come hand in hand. That's the whole notion behind the Hindu god, Shiva. I always found the idea of Shiva intimidating. That which creates to destroy and destroys to create. And soon, after the cycle goes on long enough, creation and destruction become one and the same process.
I dream of a life where I am compensated and respected for the highest aspects of my self, my soul. I dream of a life where monogamy isn't such a challenge. I dream of having a community that I don't have right now. A bohemian community of thinkers, lovers, sensualists, spiritualists, philosophers, creators. I dream of being okay with myself just one day and see how that feels for one whole day. I imagine that's what freedom is.
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