Traveling Light

So I'm going to San Antonio to spend a week with my friends Jesse and Julie. I'll be flying on Southwest Airlines courtesy of the Kanner Lubbering Foundation for Peace, Love and Happiness which is hosting an event up in Kerrville, Texas called: The Total Eclipse of the Sun.

I'm excited. I haven't been on a plane since 2016 when Danielle and I flew from NYC to Los Angeles to see M83 at the Greek Theatre. I'm opting for the window seat since I'll be flying during the day which presents the perfect opportunity to playact the role of Helios looking down at all the mortals gazing skyward (on April 8th, the day of the eclipse), which I consider an appropriate prelude to my pilgrimage. I revel in dramatic flights of pretending, especially if they are inspired by the spirit of symmetry.

Pretending is manifest in a variety of fashions: such as the spontaneous improv, or the long contemplated ruse, and the most common pretense of all—the godforsaken habitual. I like to be equitable and taste everything on the appetizer tray, so I might start my 7am coffee ritual with a harmless bit of operatic wailing performed for a family of mice bickering in the laundry room, and naturally, I'm accompanied by Yo-Yo Ma who is all smiles as he encourages a skosh more soprano even though he knows, damn well, I'm a tenor. But honestly, I'm grateful for his nudging. And after lunch (grilled cheeses with a side of kosher dills), I'll lace up my sneakers with the intention of walking my requisite 2.5 miles yet inevitably I end up in bed reading another chapter of The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich and just as I contemplate a nap I bust out the iPad and start writing a new blog and debate whether I should sit by the window or the aisle because they both have their pros and cons but I end up convincing myself the window is better because I can be Helios, and it's settled. Then night rolls around and I think about weed and how I haven't had any gummies or hit the pipe since the start of the year and I say, good for you, and wonder where I ended up hiding the stash even though I know it's in the bin I tucked deep inside a dead closet so I wouldn't think about it—the "it" being whether or not I'll convince myself that weed helps me sleep better and eases my chronic-itis—but instead I'll get on the yoga mat and do my three sets because I'm reborn and I've put my hurts in the same bin with the weed and then tomorrow night I'll turn on the purple light and I'll think about how there is no way just one puff will make a difference. And these are the ways I pretend.

As my friend Doug would say, "We all got to be something."

I think I'll be a good listener when I get to San Antonio and I'll bring my camera even though I have a tendency to use the viewfinder as a doppelganger. But I know that somewhere between me and my pretense is the spiritual balance that I speak of and trust.

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Awakened by a Dream

January started out with a gut punch. It hurt, and so far it has taken me 11 days to recover. Although I had a job as a bodyguard for a three year old kid back in 1987 when I lived in Los Angeles, and even though I had martial arts training every day of the week in the event I actually had to confront a kidnapper, I wasn't a fighter. I had a hot temper, but that was inherited from my father. And what taekwondo and aikido taught me was, when you are confronting the opposition, a hot head is precisely what you do not need. I was punched by love, and I staggered, sleepless, for 11 days.

In those 11 days I accomplished a few things. I got rid of some unnecessary, like a 17" aluminum pizza pan which I knew I would never use again. Back in NYC I had a moment where I got into making the perfect pizza dough, but that was a dozen years ago. I got rid of a tabletop easel which was also from the NYC epoch when my friend Doug taught me how to paint with oils. I completed one painting, which my friend Yvette ended up buying, but I haven’t painted since. I really loved the oils and I would happily do it again, but I only have so much time to dedicate to art making, and for the last several years photography has been my main creative effort. I also started cleaning the apartment, patiently, not all frenetic or anything, just a small corner here and there. I still have a lot to degrease and scrub, but I'm seriously not sweating it. It may take me the entire month of January to get through it all. I'm in no rush.

Today is day 12. (It's also my brother's birthday. John is two years older than me and he lives in Las Vegas with his wife and two kids). But honestly, my insomnia hasn't been that tragic. I've watched a ton of movies, in bed, on the iPad, and I have also started reading a book I purchased eight years ago called H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald. This morning, in the wee hours, I watched the Korean film Burning which is two and a half hours long and thusly perfect for the sleepless, and, I was immediately hooked from the first frame. Lee Chang-dong just might be my new favorite director. A perfect movie. And Helen Macdonald is writing about melancholy, which is one of my favorite subjects. Helen is bereaved and she is eloquently telling me all about it.

After a few chapters of Hawk I turned off my Hindu night light, which I've had for at least 25 years, and shut my eyes. I kept the iPad nearby and listened to my current go-to playlist: "Meditation Moments" by Apple Music Classical. I started to get drowsy, which was a good sign, and at some point I was at a groovy rave where everyone was laidback and chilling to "Dream 3 (in the midst of my life)" by Ben Russell, Yuki Numata Resnick & Max Richter. I was big time relaxing on a poolside chaise lounge, dancing with my eyes closed, using just my right hand to emote my deepest feels when I realized someone else was touching my hand. I tried to see who it was but I couldn’t recognize their face. Our hands danced together and it was tender, and loving, and peaceful. When I eventually opened my eyes (for real this time, I wasn't dreaming anymore) my right arm was outstretched as though I was still dancing with my partner. I bolted upright and smiled hoping to never forget this feeling. Then I heard some music so I immediately grabbed the iPad to see what was playing; it was “Dream 3" coming to a close.

I finally slept on day 12, holding hands with love.

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Life Is But a Dream

I was in a funk the other night. So I made some popcorn and crawled into bed with the iPad. I wanted to get lost in a movie. I needed some counseling of sorts, which reminded me of my friend, Doug. He was my consigliere. I wanted to talk to him. Every movie seemed ridiculous. Nah. Nah. Nope. I just kept munching on my corn and said, let the movie find you. And it did. I settled on a mini doc from 2017 called Ram Dass, Going Home. I watched it, and I paused, and I cried. This is what I learned, and transcribed, while eating popcorn:

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We are souls. As souls, we are not under time or space. We are, infinite. 

Just try following your breath. And anytime a thought arises, notice it, and then go back to the breath. Each time your awareness is drawn away from the breath, bring it back. 

No more plans. Going nowhere.

Nature is my friend.

Truth, love, consciousness. That's what God is to me. Just consciousness.

My life has been a dance between power and love. First part, power. I thought power was the end all, be all, because I was a little individual. After drugs (psychedelics) it was love, love, love, love, love. My life went from roles to soul. 

The great way is not difficult for those that have no preferences. 

Before the stroke, I had written a book that was called "How can I help?" After the stroke, I would have titled the book "How can you help me?" In this culture, dependency is a no-no. The stroke showed me dependency. And I have people that are dependable. My stroke makes it hard to play the cello. It's difficult to play golf. Those things are out there, and I'm in here (pointing to his heart). The stroke pushed me inside, even more, and it's so wonderful. I don't wish you the stroke, but I wish you the grace from the stroke. My guru told me the stroke would be grace. When I met the Maharaj-ji, it was unconditional love. It was wonderful to be loved that way. And I said, I'm home, I'm home. A guru is the doorway to God, to consciousness, to the One Love. With psychedelics, the Maharaj-ji said you can go into the room in which Christ and Buddha exist, but you only stay a few minutes, a few minutes. Everytime I would sit with Maharaj-ji, time would stop, it was like a moment expanded. He lived in eternity. 

Most of what we encounter are thoughts. I project not only the names but values, which is about judging everything. Without those projections, I can see everything. 

Life is but a dream. The incarnation is a dream. This incarnation suggests there are other incarnations. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. People who don't seem to know that they are a soul, that their consciousness goes way farther than the incarnation. We pinch ourselves to know we are alive in this life. The soul is in the heart. The mantra is, "I am loving awareness." Identify with loving awareness and go through the veil, the consciousness veil. Going through that veil is part of spiritual practice. And the main part of dying. 

Make friends with change. There is change in the body: it's strength, memory. Death is change, just another change. If you identify with your soul, death is a snap. Your soul recognizes birth, death, birth, death. Death is another step towards home. 

Something has happened to me as a result of my meanderings through the realms of consciousness over the past 30 years that has changed my attitude towards death. A lot of the fear that death generated that led to denial has gone from me. Death does not have to be treated as an enemy for you to delight in life. Keeping death present in your consciousness, as one of the greatest mysteries and as the moment of incredible transformation, which imbues this moment with added richness and energy that is otherwise used up in denial. Death is not an error, it is not a failure, it is taking off a tight shoe. I delight and enjoy being with people when they are dying because I know I'm going to have the opportunity to be in the presence of truth. So when I sit with somebody, the first thing I have to do is open myself up to all my reactions to their predicament. All of it. All the pain of it. Grieve for the other person's loss. And when they feel heard in the grief, then we can start to meet behind the grief. And I'm faced with the paradox that I, as a human, with a human emotional heart, want to take away your suffering, but at the same moment there is another part of me that understands that suffering is grace. That suffering is the sandpaper from the spiritual point of view that is awakening people. And once you start to spiritually awaken, you reperceive your own suffering and start to work with it as a vehicle for awakening. My guru says, "God comes to the hungry in the form of food."

I said to Hanuman, what are you monkey? And Hanuman answered, "When I don't know who I am, I serve you. When I know who I am, I am you."

We've lived longer than we think. We are traveling through lives. What did you learn in this life? Considerable joy. Considerable joy.

So you love something and you become one with it. All of us, one. All of us, one. Yeah. One consciousness. One consciousness. And that's the way in which the world could right itself, starting with your peace, your love, your compassion, and go from there. And then, love everything. Everything. 

Let's all walk each other home. 

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Thank you, Ram Dass.
Thank you, Doug.

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