Do What You Love

How can we survive another day?

I recently read Uncle Tungsten: Memories of a Chemical Boyhood, which is an affectionate and detailed memoir by Oliver Sacks. And now—I must acquire a wall size periodic table of the elements so I can memorize the noble gases. The idea of reading a book and learning something new lifts me from the gravity of stagnation.

I wasn’t a doomsayer at birth, but I was born reluctant.

Everything has always been slightly fuzzy to me. I am constantly practicing the ninja warrior feigning sleep pose, which embraces the power of sublime ignorance.

Today is fresh produce. If I bought it yesterday it would be unripe. If I bought it tomorrow it would be decadent.

I love the scene in Silver Linings Playbook where the Bradley Cooper character throws the Hemingway book out of the window because he wasn't satisfied with the ending.

"The world's hard enough as it is guys. It's fucking hard enough as it is. Can't somebody say, hey let's be positive, let's have a good ending to the story." — Pat Solitano

Ok Pat, let me be that somebody. Here’s my enchanted finale.

My bedridden grandma was an avid reader. When I visited her in the convalescent home I would always bring her two things: a pint of bourbon and a mystery novel. I would sit in a chair next to her and we'd both read our books and I'd leave after she fell asleep. On a Friday when the sun was setting low, I watched granny take a nip, then turn a page. Nip, then turn. Nip. Then turn. It was a soothing visual for me, seeing her under the blanket with those rosy cheeks. At the time I was reading The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath, which trained me to focus and read slowly. I was immersed in the poem "Channel Crossing" which read:

"On storm-struck deck, wind sirens caterwaul. With each tilt, shock and shudder, our blunt ship cleaves forward into fury. Dark as anger, waves wallop, assaulting the stubborn hull. Flayed by spray, we take the challenge up, grip the rail, squint ahead, and wonder how much longer such force can last."

When I finished the verse I noticed a peaceful silence. I lifted my eyes and looked at Grandma's gentle face. Was she? … Oh no. The mystery slid out of her hand, bounced off the comforter, and thudded against the dusty wooden floorboard. Her bookmark, freed from the deckled pages, fluttered beneath the hissing radiator, disappearing amidst the fur balls and the dust bunnies.

I stared at her glassy eyes: absent of desire or suffering.

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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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The Year in Review

I am grateful for sight.

When I first learned how to meditate I was instructed to keep my eyes open. But this was because I was trained by a kung fu master. In case of an attack. Master wanted me to be ready at all times, even in repose. So I kept my eyes open. But just barely. These little slits of light caffeinated my awareness and protected me from danger allowing the other part of me to rest. The part behind the eyes. My hope, my soul, my love. This part needed care. I was not trained to fight. I was trained to be compassionate. I was taught to protect compassion. As Master would say, "Concentrate your mind. Relax all of your body." Each awakened step is a mixture of perception and detachment.

I walk through the world knowingly.

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