Embers of the Spirit

Sometimes I lose my way. I can tell when I am lost in the woods because my thoughts are outwardly critical and not of the spirit.  

I've been working on a personal, archival project for the last few weeks. I hope to present my efforts next month, but it may take longer. On the surface, the project is about music and memories. At the core, the work is about repetition and meditation. 

I have been collecting and listening to music all my life. This musical journey started with vinyl and today it continues digitally. My latest digital acquisition is a collaboration by Jon Hopkins, East Forest and Ram Dass entitled "Sit Around the Fire" which I'd like to share with you.

So yeah, music, memories, repetition and meditation. I've determined that the archival project will require at least 5,000 repetitious actions. With each action, a musician, a lyric, an image or a phrase will evoke a memory which ignites a feeling. One such song for me is the opening track on the Cocteau Twins album Treasure. Not long ago, I couldn't listen to the song, which is titled "Ivo." It hurt too much. I first heard the music in 1986, my last year of college at UCSD. I was instantly in love with the moody, ethereal voice of Elizabeth Fraser. I was a cocky 22 year old full of dreamy, badass attitude. Cigarettes, leather and being stoned. But hearing the song decades later filled me with breathtaking claustrophobia and heartache. As David Byrne would say, “My God! What have I done?” Then I remembered the healing power of meditation.

We are not our thoughts. Quiet the mind, open the heart.

For the last 35 weeks, Dee and I have been playing one vintage album every Saturday night to jump-start our dance parties. We alternate who picks the record each week. After we spin and groove to the vinyl, I make a digital scan of the album and then I give the record back to Dee so she can create illustrations inspired by the cover art. Since we both love rituals, we dug the idea of continuing our Saturday tradition for the next 12 years because that's how long it would take since we have about 600 records. I kinda did the math. But then I thought it would be cool to see all the albums together in one far out, massive collage, which got me thinking. So basically, I’ve decided to accelerate the scanning, the remembering and all the meditative repetitions—for the sake of art! Rest assured, we'll continue to ease into our Saturday nights. No hurries, no worries.

And by the way, last week we listened to the Cocteau Twins album, Treasure. We danced like wild banshee children. I had feelings, for sure, but they were embers of the spirit, y'all. No crushing thoughts of existential dread. Just good vibes.

As Ram Dass said, "Let the judgements and opinions of the mind be judgements and opinions of the mind. And you exist behind that. Ah so. Ah so."

In other words—get down, boogie oogie oogie—music by A Taste of Honey, 1978.

We have it on vinyl.

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1978 | A Taste of Honey | Boogie Oogie Oogie, Disco Single

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Different Color Socks

It's been three months since my last confession. 

I think about him every day. Sometimes it's when I'm dancing with Dee or when Melissa texts me and says she's cooking onions and Mr. Angleton is telling her to "Leave em alone, leave em alone, leave em alone." And she does. Melissa leaves them alone, for a second, and then she forgets. 

Doug never turned down a good meal or an invitation to go dancing. Sometimes we would eat before showing off our latest spins and twirls but most of the time the eating came after the dance. Late nights at the French Roast—open 24 hrs. We would get there around 3 am and sit at our favorite table. We'd order breakfast. I'd get a coffee and a side of swerve. Then we'd shuffle a well worn deck and settle in for a long match of Cho Dai Di, which means "The Big Two" in Cantonese, or in street vernacular—"Crack." Damn. That shit was hard to put down. And we were both fierce competitors. Thankfully we kept the fire contained with thick slices of french toast, eggs any style, a pile a home fries, a side of bacon—plus the links. Have mercy. I haven't played Dai Di since the summer of 2015 which is when Doug moved back to Tucson. But some things you never forget. It might take me a hand or two to get back into tournament shape, but for now, I'm satisfied with the memory—of spanking his candy ass! Just kidding. We were well matched and we would graciously pass the crown back-and-forth. I mean, eventually. We'd mope around a bit at first, and our laughter would feel a bit insincere and forced. And then there was the awkward silence as we sopped up the last drips of maple syrup. "Oh look, the sun is coming up," I'd say. Doug would slowly turn his head towards the window and we would sit quietly while meditating on the passing traffic. And then the words, "Gosh Wig, I really love dancing with you." I would smile and peek underneath the café table. Doug prided himself on never wearing the same two socks. We were born 12 days apart. Sagittarius. So yeah, when I say I'm satisfied with the memory, how does that play out exactly? I'd like to break it down.

"So how are you doing?" which is what I'm asked. It's a fair question and one that I might ask someone else who just lost a friend. I guess I'm doing ok. The first time I grieved was when my mom passed in 1997. I've come to realize that grieving is pretty much forever. And now I have Doug. All our lives we stack feelings. That energy of competition that I felt with Mr. Angleton when we were living the dream in NYC was playful—but it was also full of machismo. I grew up surrounded by the tough guy. That mentality became a part of me. That's what grieving 2.0 is all about. It's a mirror that's pointed directly at my inner compassion and it's whispering, "Be kind now." The new grieving is poetic—if you lose a loved one, it's a sign to reflect and let go of something you no longer need. So today I say goodbye to my inner macho man. There are future generations of tough guys walking the streets, but there is one less today. Me. I'm officially a flower child. And so was Doug. Memories of his camaraderie are not only satisfying, but they are essential to the preservation of spirit. I could have been kinder to Mr. Angleton. The best I can do now is to be kind to his memory. This is a life mantra learned from living—and grieving. Be kind now.

I will start with a gentle meditation.

I tell Dee that I love her very much. I also tell her that I am happy and sincerely grateful for my journey. Lastly, I tell her that I love the life we*** have lived—together. Then I kiss her on the forehead and we prepare our dinner. And if there is enough time, we'll dance. 

So yeah, that's how it plays out.

*** Everybody & everything

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The Oui in We

We divided our 800 square foot apartment into several nooks. Right now I am writing this note to you from a space we call the bow, which is also the home to my desk, piano, camera gear, laptop, printer, storage bins for both Dee and I and her wardrobe. We refer to our apartment as the Love Boat because of the general shape of the two-story building which is long, tall and narrow. We live on the second floor and are fortunate to have eleven generous portholes to take in the scenery. The yacht was built in 1920 and is docked in the neighborhood of Woodberry which used to be an old mill town that produced cotton duck for clipper ships. 

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Desk Lamp (the bow) | Baltimore, MD | 2021

We are two people, separate but equal. Together we make a whole. I guess what I'm saying is—we are both pretty skinny. A slender bateau is the perfect vessel for us. This is the third apartment we've shared and by far the most nautical. The interior of the space was renovated just before we came aboard. Located a few paces behind the bow is the cutest little berth you've ever seen. It measures 9 ½ x 9 ½ and contains a queen bed, a closet for my clothes, a moon viewing window and a pair of bluetooth speakers for cuddle jams.

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Pandee (the berth) | Baltimore, MD | 2021

We are blessed with not one but two dramatic hallways that are reminiscent of a classic San Francisco style railroad apartment. We use these corridors to display art and hang certain articles of clothing for fashion inspirationals. The longest hallway connects the bow and berth to the main deck which is home to our turntable, 10 crates of vintage vinyl, a 40" TV, two wicker bookshelves, Dee's studio and a dual yoga mat dance floor for the boogie downs. The second portal leads from the main deck to the stern which contains a soaking tub, a shower, an efficient flusher, a sink, a shelved linen closet and a diminutive view of Druid Park. 

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Dee at Work (the main deck) | Baltimore, MD | 2021

We cook all our meals in an ergonomically designed galley which is astern of the main deck and is equipped with a four burner gas range, a microwave, a double-door fridge, a deep stainless sink with a disposal, 33 square feet of countertops, 22 cabinets with self closing hinges and a full-size washer and dryer. We have never eaten at a restaurant since living in Baltimore. We prepare our dinners together and enjoy them in front of the TV while sitting on meditation cushions. Dee typically grazes and watches and stitches all at the same time. The last meal we made was pesto with sauteed broccoli and garlic. I put my pesto on De Cecco spaghetti no. 12 and Dee put hers on the veggies. We drank liberal pours of Barefoot cabernet from a box.

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Steamy (the stern) | Baltimore, MD | 2021

We recently decided that we would be friends forever and if I had to tell you one of my favorite things about living in such seafaring luxury it would have to be that while I am concluding this visualization to you about love and togetherness I can hear Dee's youthful laughter on the main deck as she simultaneously works on her latest character illustration while watching a documentary on the iPad described in the liner notes as, "In a world as vast as ours, anything that can happen likely will happen. The only thing that can limit these possibilities is your own imagination."

Oui, to laugh is to love.

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