Long ago and far away in a kingdom by the sea, I was a pirate in the service of Captain James Hook. It was glorious. I had many tattoos, a harpoon, and a sense of magic coursing through my veins. This was in a land called The Western Stage, more of a dimension than anything else. A world where we all could fly, cast spells, and dance between the raindrops. I had gotten lost on my travels, and sent out a distress signal to an old friend. He answered, gave me a position on the Jolly Roger, and my fate was set.
For those who don't speak theatre, or Kelly, that means I once was in the musical Peter Pan at a theatre called the Western Stage after my first attempt at being a starving artist in NYC. It was a show that in many ways set the tone, the style, the theme of my life. We leaned into the story. We gave it our all. We came up with idea after idea. Some worked, some didn't. But we all knew we wanted to do something special. And we all had each other's back. We all trusted each other implicitly and completely. We were all part of it. There were over sixty people in the show, and another twenty or so in the crew, and then there was the orchestra, the front of house, the costume shop, the scene shop, and the administration. And we were a family. We were one. We all lived in Neverland.
This is something to strive for. Always. Sometimes I think we should make congress, the Senate, and the White House do a show together. The world would be much better for it.
Here is a video about that show. It's long. It's magic. It's worth it.
Long ago and far away in a kingdom by the sea, I played hooky from my job slinging hash at Bryant Park Grill and went to see the movie Conspiracy Theory, an action thriller starring Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts. The movie was ok, sort of your typical late nineties movie, lots of quips, exciting chases, turn arounds, betrayals, and so on. I really remember it for what happened after the film was over. It was one of those humid, hot, early summer days in NYC. I had gone to the flick with my buddy Myles over at the Paris movie theater, which is near 59th Street and Fifth. At the time, I lived on the Upper East Side, and took the 6 train home. As I got on train, I noticed a seat in the middle of the subway car. I made my way there and took a seat. Before the car moved, another man got on the train. He was in a nice green business suit, and looked like he had a good bit of money by his clothes, watch, and so on. He also looked strung out, high, or otherwise altered by his expression, glazed over eyes, and bits of drool hanging off his lips. He ambled towards the empty space to my right, and as he turned to sit next to me, I noticed that the back of his green pants had a large, wet, brown stain. Like he had pooped his pants. As he sat, I shot up, and made my way to the door, hoping to find a seat in the next car. But the door between cars was locked, which happens sometimes in the NYC subway system. By then, the train had left the station, so I couldnn't leave. Nobody could. I looked back to where he was sitting. Everyone near him had their hands over their noses. It was clear why. The unmistakable stench of human waste wafted its way through the car. More and more people tried to open the door between cars, but to no avail. And worse still, the car was moving ultra slow, another feature of the mighty underground transport system of Gotham. I looked his way again, and everyone was standing, moving quickly away from him. This was because he was in the midst of becoming a human poop fountain. It was flowing over the back of his pants, spilling onto the seats, spreading out in both directions. The car was in panic mode, but there was nothing to be done. And the dude just sat there, smiling, seemingly oblivious to the situation. Finally, after an eternity, we made it to the next station. Before the doors opened, he stood, and walked towards my side of the car. We all froze, terrified. As he strode, little brown poop prints followed him. He ambled to the doors, and when they opened, off he went, to a destiny I shall never know of. Carefully avoiding the poop prints, we all headed out of the car, and ran for it. After the initial shock and horror, I began to laugh. It was that moment, I thought, when I knew I was a true New Yorker.
And that is basically what I think of all the conspiracy theorists out there today, the people who tell you it's all George Soros' doing. Or China's. Or some secret government facility. You've heard some variation on one of these, I'm sure. To me, those folks are all out of their minds, full of shit, and forcing their fellow citizens to smell their fetid refuse.
I think it is official. We all live in Crazy Town. I keep seeing more and more people without masks, crammed in tight places, in large groups, indoors. I hear people talk like it's all over, that the virus has been vanquished, that happy days are here again. And while I would love that to be so, I am fairly certain it is not the case. According to most papers, websites, news shows, and even some politicians (who always want things to be going great when they are in office) the numbers are going up of both infections, and deaths. Worldwide, it looks awful. Nationwide, also awful. Locally, I just found out yesterday a kid I teach has it. A kid. Like not even in high school yet kid. How scary is that? I am hoping she will recover, and based on her health, I think she will. But weren't young people supposed to be immune? Wasn't it only the elderly or immuno-compromised that we were sacrificing on the altar of the virsus? What happened? If only there was some large, worldwide organization of doctors and scientists who could help us understand what is happening, what we should do moving forward, and how we can be safe about re-opening. Or at least, if only we have national center of some type that dealt with diseases that could give us daily, or at bare minimum weekly updates and press conferences on the situation. Hell, I'd be happy with just a monthly one. If only.
I would love to not have to wear a mask. I would love to go to a movie theatre, sit in a sold out house, and watch some silly summer movie with lots of explosions, cheesy music, and bad puns. I'd really love to be able to do some theatre and have more than twenty-five percent audiences. I'd love to be able to teach my playwriting class at the DCPA. To fly out to California or Wisconsin or New York and give my peeps big hugs. I really would. But I can't and won't at the expense of someone else's health. To me, that seems wrong. Sadly, more and more, I feel like this is not the universal attitude. It's more than a feeling. It's a certainty. I see older folks, some who I know have recently had heart surgery, playing golf with no masks, riding in golf carts with their grand children who have been out partying the night before. I walk by the local park, and see tons of people out, in huge groups, sweating away, thinking that being outdoors is a cure all. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. What could be the worse case scenario? And why worry about that?
Well, I'll tell you. I think that worst thing would be a lot more people dead and dying. So many that any attempt to compare the number of people dead from the virus to the number of people dead from the flu would seem laughably stupid, an archaic joke from that simpler time known as March, 2020. That would suck. A lot. And on top of that, if the rates continue on their current trends, I imagine that soon we will have another shut down. One that makes the first seem like a picnic.
I get it. I love magical thinking. I do it all the time. When my mom was dying of cancer, I tried to will the cancer away every day. I'd try and make deals with the moon. I'd face the west, raise my hands to the sky, and try to cast a spell that would heal her. It is a natural thing to do. A human one. But one thing I never did was offer her a cigarette. Or tell her to eat more processed food. Or expose herself to hazardous material. Because I am fairly certain that would have made a terrible situation somehow more terrible.
And that is what I think some of us are doing. Gleefully. Full of smarm and condescension. And a semi-menacing glare at those of us still wearing masks. It's a confusing, scary time. A time of change and worry. And I don't want to get on a rant against my fellow human beings who see things differently. I just want a little more caution. A little more consideration of the facts. And of getting facts from more reliable sources than our own wishes that this be over.
And if wishes were horses, we'd all ride.
I've a feeling we are all in Crazy Town.
Here's a song. It's Boston, doing More than a Feeling.
It's been one hundred days since I started writing this blog. I get up and write in this damn thing everyday. For me, this is not only a writing exercise, but also a way to exorcise my demons, rant about the world, document my dreams before they exit my brain completely, and in general let me mind go wherever it likes as I wake up, before all my own censors and editors jump on board and tell me to stop. And I love it. I love having this little time to myself, to my thoughts, to reflect and refract. There have been a few days where I almost missed it, where it would dawn at me close to midnight that I hadn't written an entry yet, but so far, I've made it in each day. I don't know if that is something to be proud of or embarrassed about. It's not about the consistency of doing it every day in some rigid rule based way of thinking. But I think there is something to be said for some rituals.
I wonder how much longer this phase of change, of Covid chaos and calamity and other words that begin with "c" will last? It seems like a long time, doesn't it? Sometimes, it seems like this is all that has ever been, this feeling of drifting through the universe, eyes wide open, unsure of what will happen at any given moment. And realizing that all our moments are indeed given. Something not to be taken for granted. Maybe this is all there is and all there will be and we are just waking up to a reality that has been patiently waiting for us.
In any event, the times have a-changed, I'm not sleepy, and there ain't no place I'm going to. I have found peace, fulfillment, life, love, and wonder as I've wandered this strange new world. I've also become better acquainted with hardship and worry. But in all, I feel like I am living life more fully, more in the moment, than ever before.
I fear, given the rising numbers, the lack of masks and social distancing, the crazed look some get when they step out, happily mask-less, sweaty, and full of the idea that this is somehow over, that this blog's duration will be longer that originally anticipated. So be it. I shall continue to write, to seek, to strive. I shall explore my inner sanctum, my outer banks, and everywhere in between. I hope I don't have more friends and family get sick. I hope we kick this thing in the ass sooner rather than later. I hope we get our act together in how we treat each other. How we approach science. How we tend to Mother Earth.
Until then, I remain yours.
Here's a song. It's Fly Like an Eagle by The Steve Miller Band.
Monday. Remember when that was such a drag of a day? The start of the work week, back to the grindstone, the beginning of the routine of commute, work, commute, watch tv and eat, sleep, repeat? or some variation on that? Rituals can help you get through time, but they also can erase time, make you shut off the brain, the world, and kind of sleep walk your way to the finish line. And of course, avoid thinking about said finish line, the big exit, the good bye. Death. The great and only equalizer. The final destination, the big sleep, the grim reaper.
I personally don't believe in it or understand it, really. I can't fathom how someone can exist one moment, and not exist the next. I think there is only existence. Maybe we go Elsewhere. But not existing at all seems like a bunch of malarky, an idea made up by scared children who can't comprehend what lurks in the dark.
And what really sucks is there is only one way to find out about this. And I have no intention of doing that for a long time. Ever, really. I like life too much. I love it. I love writing this blog. I love music. I love seeing an old friend I haven't heard from in ages click "like" on a post about something. I love my wife. My dog. My home. My planet. I love it all. And as such, I ain't going anywhere.
Still, I find myself contemplating it all a bit more. I think we all have. And I think that's a big driver of whatever gigantic world wave of consciousness changing action is happening. We all kind of took a teeny tiny step towards, if not accepting death, considering it a possible thing that can happen. We all like to pretend we are immortal. Everything we do indicates this. And not only do we pretend we are immortal, we pretend everyone and everything else is, too. How else can you possibly explain how we treat ourselves, each other, and the planet? We think it is all some weird TV show, where each week, whatever happened before can be fixed, magically, no problemo.
So, now, no more false rituals of denial. No more wasting time to the extent we once did. No more ignoring the climate, police brutality, economic inequality- on and on. It's along list.
So now, for this precious moment, we are alive. Let's get busy. And Now, a song. A bittersweet love song to life and the universe, originally done by the Grateful Dead, covered by a ton of awesome artists. It's the song Ripple. Enjoy, life, get up, get out, and make a difference.
Feeling calm this morning. Been wandering through the desert, tossed about on the high seas, and lost in space of late. So many things going on, at every level. Home, family, community, nation, and world all are in a state of chaos, it seems. Like someone gave over the reins to Heath Ledger's version of the Joker, but in this scenario, Batman is nowhere to be found. The madness seems to come in waves, where there are good days and bad days. But regardless of any personal triumphs or moments of hope, there has been an underlying feeling of everything being out of whack. And with that, a tiny speck of panic, a mote in the eye that annoys and distorts the vision. A slight tinge in the knees that doesn't stop me from walking, just adds a few extra aches. And then, yesterday, sitting in a theatre I work at up in Superior, watching a small, socially distanced twenty five percent capacity crowd of families and friends watch a young people's production of the musical Little Women, I felt a peace take over. A realization that all will be, if not well, what it will be, and that fretting and gnashing my teeth and losing sleep thinking things over and over is not the way to go. It's that common sense thought of do what you can, and deal with what you can not idea that most of us, certainly me, manage to forget all too often.
There is a song by Stephen Sondheim called "Anyone Can Whistle". It starts with the line "anyone can whistle, that's what they say, easy. It's all so simple. Relax, let go, let fly. So, Someone tell me, why can't I?" That's pretty much me. All the strange, complex things in this world are a piece of cake. But remembering the basics, like life can be tough and that's okay, are difficult. "What's hard is simple. What's natural comes hard." And even though I know that, I always manage to forget it. I forget that life is a constant lesson, ever moving forward. Nothing is set in stone, and to borrow from another song, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.
I am sure this moment of calm will pass too. But it's nice to remember, if only for an instant, that this too shall pass. I hope you all have moments like this as well. That you take a second, and think of your friends who love you, the family that raised you, the people who helped you along the way. There are, of course, people who made things hard, sad, awful, and so on. We all have them, to various degrees. And we have to deal with them, either directly, if it's a situation currently taking place, or indirectly, which I think is far more difficult, if they live in the past, and wreaked havoc on our childhood. The trick, I think, is to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, to use a tired phrase that still happens to be true.
Life is so very short, and so sweet. We can't waste our precious time mired in feelings of rage or sorrow or spite. I mean, we can, and often do, but we shouldn't. I don't see what good it does. If something seems wrong, try to fix it. If someone upsets you, work it out. If you had a rough childhood, make peace with it as best you can. And I know that's not easy. Sometimes it's impossible. I try to keep in mind that there are plenty of people who can't reconcile their present with their past, or their present with their present, and sympathize. I don't do this to be some holier than thou person. I do it because I find it helps me deal with this world. It makes me happy. And I am selfish that way.
I encourage you, if you don't already, to give it a shot. If it's hard, or impossible, give yourself a break and realize that's okay too. To drop one last platitude, whenever I have a student get upset with herself, I tell her "don't beat yourself up. The world does that enough as it is."
Okay. Here's a song that catches the vibe a little. It's Closer to Fine by Indigo Girls.
Long ago, before this era of COVID, protest, change, and more change, I wrote a post on this blog about the dwarves in the Chronicles of Narnia series, particularly about them in the last book. (you can find that post HERE) The post was about how, at the end of the story, the dwarves refuse to accept reality, and can only see themselves in a burning building, about to die horribly, when in actuality they had been saved by Aslan, the lion who is pretty much a metaphor for Jesus. Basically, they are blind to being in paradise, and can only see sorrow and anger and strife. And all their friends can't convince them otherwise. It's a sad, strange scene, and it resonated with me deeply when I first read it as a boy.
I think of it now, in these strange times, and it resonates even deeper. I think this moment is testing all of us, rich and poor, in every corner of the world, forcing us to make some decisions about who we are and what we stand for. Are we all connected? Do we value commerce over community? Is it finally time to let justice, true justice, prevail? It really seems to me like we all have to make our stand, to borrow from Stephen King's novel about another virus that leads to a changed world. We are all figuring out what is important, what we believe in, who we wish to follow, or if we want to follow anyone at all. I see so much good in this world. But I also see sorrow, and turmoil, and greed, and either an inability or refusal to accept the universal love that is, as the song went, all around us.
I have seen this on levels large and small. On the street, on the news, online, and even among friends and family. I think fear is the main driver of this. Fear of financial ruin, fear of death, fear of admitting you were wrong on something. It's a strong motivator. But I find that fear pales next to love. Don't get me wrong. Fear can and often does drive people to do tremendous things. It is very powerful, and wired into our brains. But I believe that wired into our souls is love. It's harder to access, in some ways. And requires faith. Not going to church faith, or reading the teachings of past masters. I mean faith as in resolve, as in walking through the storm with your head held high, as in facing impossible odds because you know, deep in your heart, that you are right.
Love leads me to the following: Black Live Matter. COVID is real, and out of love for our fellow human beings, not to mention ourselves, we must take it seriously. Money is a cancer that kills the soul. Science is a boon to us all, a miracle that can create wonders, take us into space, and cure disease. The Earth is precious, bountiful, and wondrous. You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you really do get what you need. And all you need is love.
Here's a song. It's being used on a commercial right now, which is kind of gross, but I like the song a lot. It's Wilco performing Love Is Everywhere.
Bilbo has gone over the sea, to be with the elves. I shall miss him. There is always a bit of sadness when someone who gave you joy, who made your journey a little more bearable, passes. And I feel that now. But with the sadness there is also wonder and gratitude. Ian Holm, the great British actor who played Bilbo in the Lord of the Ring movies, and Ash in Alien, and the coach in Chariots of Fire, and about a million other things, died last week. I shall miss him. I shall miss that feeling whenever he would show up in a film I was watching for the first time, and I'd think "this movie just got better!" I loved so many of the flicks he was in. Most, though, has to be LOTR. I have loved Middle Earth since first reading The Hobbit in fourth grade. I read the trilogy twice by the end of seventh grade. I even once sat down and read The Two Towers, cover to cover, in one outing when I was all of thirteen. I watched the TV version of The Hobbit every time it came on. And when the Ralph Bashki animated version of The Lord of the Rings came out, I saw it many times in the theatre, and many more on TV. The Bashki version was mainly the first two books, and I waited forever for the final installment. It never came, although there was a rather odd animated version of Return of the King made for TV. I recall it had singing orcs. It did not go over well with me at the time. For years after, pretty much my teens, twenties, and early thirties, I wished and hope for a good version of either The Hobbit of Lord of the Rings to come out. And then I read that Peter Jackson, a film maker from down under known mostly for quirky horror films, was making a trilogy based on LOTR. And I hoped. Finally, the first trailer came out. I was at the movies with my friends Myles and Chris. When the trailer finished, which was amazing and perfect and looked like what I always hoped a film about Middle Earth would look like, Chris turned to us and said "I wish I could hit myself in the head, go into a coma, and not wake up until this film is out". He didn't follow through with his plan, but the film did come out.
And it was all we had hoped and more.
And Ian Holm, as Bilbo, was perfect. He made me cry, right from the start. There is this moment, early on in Fellowship of the Ring, where Bilbo's old friend Gandlaf, with whom he had gone on the greatest adventure of his life, shows up at Bilbo's house after many years. Gandalf knocks on the door, Bilbo opens it, and is overcome with joy. The way Ian Holm played that moment made me cry. I had lived long enough by then to know what it meant to miss those you love. To have great people in your life, people you have shared time and tests with, who you grew up with, who helped you become you are; to have friends that own part of your soul who you don't see all that often. It is just part of the deal, I think. We make great friends, and then we have the audacity to have lives that separate us. So Bilbo opens the door, and his face is filled with both joy at seeing his old friend, and sorrow at the knowledge of time passed without him. The bittersweet feeling of love and friendship in the face of the insistent march of time.
I knew how that felt, but had not articulated it as such just yet. And that scene, that moment, that look on Holm's face, sealed it for me. I sat in the theatre, and for the briefest of moments, I was with Brian and Jay and Greg and Jack, with my friends at Strawberry Park Elementary, my cast mates from East of Eden, my Scout Troop, my family, my mom, my dad. And I was also in NYC, far from all of them, as far as can be, for there is no greater distance between to things than time.
And I am with them still, but the hall of memory grows daily. And now Myles, and Chris, Vinnie and Shannon, Dutch, my brother and sister, they all are there too, along with the good times and bad, the discoveries, the triumphs, the defeats, the brief moments when we realized we were alive together, and reveled in that miracle.
So thanks, Sir Ian. You helped me be me. You own part of my soul too. I hope you have a gentle crossing, that the elves sing songs that delight. And while I know it is the right and proper road we all must take, I can't help but feel a little sad.
Here's a song. It's The Shire, by Howard Shore, from the soundtrack to The Fellowship of the Ring.
Not sure what is going on in the world. I suppose I never was, but I sometimes manage to pretend better than others. It is funny, in both a ha ha and strange sort of way. On one hand, I feel completely connected to my life more than ever before. On the other, I turn on the news and I feel like I am watching a portal to another dimension. First off, not a single commercial makes sense to me. Are they comedies? Dramas? Telenovelas? And the POTUS? Watching him speak, which is difficult to do for any extended amount of time, it a drag of epic proportions. I just can't. The time, as our pal Hamlet would say, is out of joint.
And I think it is out of joint everywhere. Not that this is necessarily a completely bad thing. I dig being clear on what I find important. But the universe seems determined I am sure about it. I feel like I am being tested. And I forgot to bring my number two pencil. Do they even have tests with pencil anymore?
One of the strangest things I've noticed is the way the young folks are reacting to all this. Some seem to dive deeper and deeper into video games, but no matter how many hours they log, the thrill is gone. Some lean into partying. And that seems to come up short too. Not for all of them. Some are so chill I want to be more like them and less like me. Some seem out of their damn minds. Some seem lost, some sad. None of them, not a single one, seems just the same. Of course, I could be projecting my views onto them. But my perception of the world is all I have.
I know. The past few blog entries as a mish-mash of platitudes, lame analogies, and whining. What can I say. I feel like pontificating. I mean, isn't that was a blog is for? Telling the world your thoughts, in the hope that they at least hear them. Expressing. That is worthy in and of itself. Not that it's always good to read. No. I wouldn't say that. But it feels healthy. Everytime I write, I feel better. Like I've tended to my soul. Just a bit.
OK. Enough sobbing and bemoaning the confusion of this world. There is a lot of magic out there, in here, above us and below us. For one thing, I think we all have enjoyed the clear skies and return of wild life and less traffic. And will fight to make that stay. We all really like being in the same room with our friends. That will stay. And I know, when I say "we", it isn't really all of us. There's every reaction out there possible. Even so.
Here's a song. It's The Police, doing When the World Is Running Down.
We are all in a cauldron, whirling with newt eyes and bat tongues, twisting the night away and insisting there has got to be a morning after as our melted souls ooze out of our skin pores, singing songs about the southland. The cocoon is so large, it holds each of us, spun to perfection of gossamer and glittering stars. Or is it a net created by Loki to catch salmon and salvation? We are not so much through the looking glass as over the river and through the woods and over the rainbow and through the past darkly. We are the plots of bad movies we once thought good. We are in denial. We attained oneness with nothingness. Worst of times and freedom chimes. We are bad poetry. We are beautiful. We are terror and sorrow. We are so many. We are so alone. Each moment has become a multitude of dimensions. The lostness took hold long ago. It was yesterday I think, when whatever it was that was slouching towards Bethlehem took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up here. Winding us up and down in equal measure. Toil and trouble. Agony, ecstasy, and other illicit items. And March was three months ago.
It really boggles the mind, when you step back, out of your body and preconceived ideas for a moment and contemplate this experience. I mean, the fact that by saying "this experience", most if not all of you know what I am talking about is astounding. Everyone in the world is united. We all are living this. We all are discussing it. No matter what side of the myriad arguments about how many deaths there have been, or if this was a biological warfare scheme, or a hoax, or whatever the fuck you want... we are all talking it, walking it, living it. This maelstrom of intensity. Protests. Global Pandemic. All of it somehow connected, isn't it? Doesn't it feel like that? That somehow, all of this is part of a larger event. The world spirit shouting "enough" from every fiber of its being. Every molecule. Every iteration of the energy that is all of us. Manifesting in the strange dreams. The savoring of human company. The delight in being alive. And the dread. The memes we share. The masks we wear. Or don't. All connected. Nobody oblivious to the situation.
We are all slouching towards each other. We are bound by this time, this instant in the cosmos of contemplation and isolation. We are that moment in the movie where the hero changes, takes all the pain and want and experience and does that thing that leads to salvation. Cue the montage music please. The film isn't over. I'm not even sure if it's part of a series, though now that I say that, I feel pretty certain it is. In any event, there is more to do on this journey, this vision quest imposed on us by strange gods. And I think we all know that, too. We are at that point in time, that crossroads where you meet demons and make decisions that alter forever who you where you end up. Big junction, conjunction junction, what's that function?
I think we are unafraid. And terrified. We are every moment from the Big Bang to the Final Entropy.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. Well, I am a motherless child. And sometimes, things are rough. Other times, things are sweet as can be. Right now, with all that's going on in the world, I feel strangely great. Connected. Alive. Is that wrong? And holy shit, has this time been productive. I've written a complete screenplay, to the tune of over 120 pages, and then done a full second draft, and am about to do a third one. That' s crazy, isn't it? Well, I'm crazy.
The script is currently titled The Belvedere Jungle. It's one of those semi-autobiographical stories about growing up in a world full of crazy people. A world where those in charge seem to be only capable of making bad decisions. Can you imagine?
As I get ready for next draft, I look at all the scenes I've had to cut. And I mourn them. When I write a play or movie script, I create these people, these moments, and I love them. I really do. They are like my children. And some of them have to take a seat in the ether dugout. Which is a bit of a drag. But such is the craft.
Scenes I've cut: Halloween, going to a haunted house with my buddies, getting scared in a strobe light room with a creepy clown and hitting said clown in the balls with my bag of candy, then running as fast as I can; my sister dressing me and my friend up like girls and parading us around the neighborhood; imagining I'm a monster in a graveyard; a Cub Scout meeting where everyone turns into werewolves.
Good bye, dear scenes of discovery and wonder. You shall be missed.
We all have to say good bye to things. It ain't easy.
Here's a song. It's Black Water by The Doobie Brothers.
Had several weird dreams last night. Notable in that, of late, I've been sleeping easy as can be. The stress dreams of the early days of the virus had receded, replaced by the usual space traveling, magic realms, and ghosts among us kind of dreams. But not last night. First, I dreamed my neighbor, who is a very nice guy, was playing music incredibly loud in the middle of the night. I was enraged, opened a window that doesn't exist in this reality, and shouted obscenities. He yelled back apologies, and I realized I was being a bit of a nut, felt embarrassed, and closed the window. Then I dreamt I was teaching some late night event with a bunch of my theatre students. Like three in the morning late. Finally, it was over, and time for me to go home. I went to the parking lot, but couldn't find my car. I wandered the whole lot, which was empty. It was dark and hard to see, and the more I searched, the more frantic I became. Finally, I found the car, but by then, the gates were closed, and I couldn't get out. So, of course, I drove the car into the school, somehow got it into this little room on the second floor, and then freaked out. I got out of the car, called home to say I'd be a bit late, then turned to discover that somehow, while on the phone, the car had been disassembled and put into a bunch of shoe boxes. This was a drag, as I knew it would take some time to put the car back together. And just then, I kid you not, a giant spider started to crawl into the room through an air vent. Happily, I was awoken by my dog, who needed to go outside and perform his early morning ablutions.
I think I was picking up some of the anxiety running rampant in the world, the waiting for the other shoe to drop, the sense of unease. The despair I feel when I see people acting like the pandemic is over, that crowds are good, that wearing a mask is an unnecessary imposition. Such willful denial. Add to that the people, the few who are left, who don't seem to understand what the protests are about. It's frustrating.
I do believe we are in a time of change. That the old ways of doing things are on their way out, that ignorance, privilege, soul deadening jobs, and oppression are through. I think of the Velvet Revolutions of Eastern Europe, and how quickly things changed. I think of my own life, and how when I finally decided to change course, it was the easiest thing ever. We have all been given the gift of time. Of being forced to confront ourselves, our fears, our joys, our sorrows. And when we do that, our choices become clearer. That doesn't mean that change isn't scary. It is. Uncertainty can be overwhelming at first. But so freeing. I remember my first acting job. I was twenty-one. It was in Durango, Colorado. One of my teachers at San Jose State asked me if I wanted to get paid to do theatre for the summer. I said yes, jumped in a car, and was off to the races. It was very exciting. And terrifying. I had never lived anywhere but San Jose. I had never had a job doing what I wanted to do with my life. I had never done a lot of things. And the first night I was there, I had a bit of a freak out. What would happen? What if I was no good? What if I was great? I had no idea what to expect. And it scared the shit out of me. I went to sleep full of anxiety. But I got up the next day, went to work, and ended up having one of the best summers of my life. I leapt, and the net appeared. It was an important lesson for me. One that I learn again and again. There is always another leap to make, another risk to take.
All who wander are not lost.
Here's a song. It's a live version of Can't Find My Way Home by Steve Windwood w/Tom Petty.
Long ago, in another universe before now, I was a young man earning my degree in theatre at San Jose State University. I had this crazy teacher. He was "experimental", came from LA, and everyone sort of thought of him as nuts. He directed a show, taught acting classes, and also voice and diction, one of the basic classes you took in your first year as a theatre student. And that's where he taught me. In class, we'd have all sorts of long discussions about politics, mysticism, life, death, and on rare occasions, voice and diction. One day, he announced that there was going to be a speaker on campus, a concentration camp survivor, and we were all to go see his speech. So off I went.
The man' speech was life changing. He spoke with a gravity that could not be denied. He had been through things most of us will never be able to fully understand. I expected him to be full of sorrow and rage. But when he spoke, even when he was telling stories of his experiences in the camp, the main power that came out of him was love. I call it a power because that is how it felt. Like a wave of energy emanating from him, a burst of this overpowering emotion, a joy in life and a mercy for those who can't find that joy. As he spoke, I felt embarrassed about my ease of life compared to his. I felt shame for humanity for what we are capable of inflicting to one another. I felt guilt.
After the speech, I approached him to thank him for his speech. He shook my hand and smiled, and I asked me my name. We spoke briefly, and I told him how I felt guilty when I listened to him. He asked me why. I told him that it wasn't fair that this had happened to him, and not to me. That I had lived a life of privilege. He nodded his head, considering what I had said. And then he said to me, "I have never been raped. I will never know what it is to be a woman who has been raped. But I still can hold her hand."
A lot of hands need holding in the world.
Here's a song. It's You Don't Know How It Feels by Tom Petty.
Is it true that all's well that ends well? And what exactly does ending well mean? Not dying by torture or being eaten by a pack of wolves? On one level, I get that saying. If things work out in the end, then whatever horrible things you go through to get there are okay and not worth gnashing your teeth about. But on another level, sometimes things can get quite awful before they get better, and maybe a little teeth gnashing is in order. Or yelling. Or screaming and crying and not change your clothes for a week. Maybe it should be "all's well that ends well after an arduous journey with lots of soul searching, questioning, not being sure if any of this existence is even real, angst, sorrow, joy, love, friends, music, art, and joy." Might be too long. But accurate.
So, of late I've taken a deep dive into being in the moment, of trying to be where I am at, as opposed to being a day or week or year in the future. Too many unknowns. And there always are, but that fact has been clarified these past few... what? Days? Weeks? Months? Time really has changed. The world has changed. I've changed. There are a few things in my life that have changed me in gigantic ways. In no specific order: getting into theatre; writing my first play which launched my whole writing life; meeting Lisa; 9/11; going sober; finding my father in Alaska after so many years; the death of my father nine years later; the death of my mother. Those are all pretty big things. Huge. And they kicked the shit out of me. But this past time frame, which should have it's own name, like "Covidspan", has mixed things up more than all of those other things, I think. My concept of time, of life, of death, of worry, of authority, of what I find important- it's all changed. Like those other events, there was the me before, and the me after. And there is no meeting of the two. When things change, for me anyway, they change completely.
And I like the changes. I like being in the moment. I like how much more I appreciate the time I spend with people. I like feeling connected to the world, to my wife, to nature, to the music I hear, the movies I watch, the scripts I write. For me, it's been clarifying. I know many people are bored, tired, angsty, over it. And I get that. I do. I just think the standard tools we've all been using to pass the time have been tested, and for the most part found lacking. They don't fill the void. They don't bring joy. Not the kind I need, anyway. Don't get me wrong. I love tv and video games and news shows and all that jazz. It just doesn't serve me well in this time of upheaval, of protests and panic and hospitals full and economic insecurity. Or serve me as well as a long talk with an old friend does. Or planting flowers. Or taking a four hour hike in the Rockies with my wife. These are things I should have been doing, but managed to let slip by as I worried about ephemeral nonsense.
I say a variation on the above almost daily. I write about it on this blog often. And it's true. And I love it. I know things are rough. Things are terrible in a lot of ways. We have almost a thousand people dying of Covid everyday here in America, but tons of people are in extreme denial, gathering in large crowds, and no doubt setting the stage for a second deadly wave to crash across the continent. There have been protests nighty springing from the most recent spate of insane police killing innocent people for no reason but the color of their skin. And we have a would-be dictator in the most powerful position in the world. Things suck. Even so, I love this life. I find it worth fighting for. Worth living for. Worth it.
I find it to be well. Here's a song. It's This Time Tomorrow by The Kinks.
Question Authority, reality, and yourself. And savor the answers. Question the answers, and how you got them. Question the internet, your neighbor, the thing your cousin heard from someone who knew someone. The whole universe is this quivering, constantly changing mass, so why would any of us take as truth something we have not experienced first hand? I even question some of the things I have been a part of, as memory is not always accurate, and just because we are in a room doesn't mean we see with 360 vision. And please, don't take my word for it. Don't take Google's word for it. Don't even take your word for it. Or if you have several words for it, any of them. Question the answers you found yesterday. Open your third, fourth, and fifth eyes, and look around. Verify what you can, which is probably not a lot, but better than nothing. We are living in a time of change, of flux. And as we all know, in times of flux, don't drive 88 or you will travel through time and mess up reality. Maybe that's what happened. Someone finally figured out how to time travel, and we have been suffering the consequences. Maybe this whole year, or even the past three years since the election that divided us so thoroughly, will all fade away like a bad dream, and we won't be able to fully remember it, as soon as Marty McFly or his equivalent goes back to the future and fixes this mess. But until she or he does, we are experiencing this version of reality, and we must question everything. Not just question it, interview it, had a podcast with it, and serve up doughnuts and a gluten-free alternative. Let's not just critically think, let's critically think with style and elan. With joy and a sense of humor.
And when I say question, I don't mean just google it. That's fine, but just another large, strange group of folks you don't know personally, have no personal connection with, and all too often just accepted as gospel. I have been in several places so far in my life that were noteworthy, on the news, big things that happened that were reported on national and international news. The earthquake in the Bay Area in 1989; the Rodney King riots, NYC for 9/11, and so on. And when I read about those times, or watch reports of them, often there are things that are either not covered, or given in a context that seems off. Like there is a narrative that is trying to be met, as opposed to a truth being sought. And here we are, in the most historic time of our lives, I think it's safe to say, and there are all sorts of versions of what's going on being pedaled by all sorts of people. I think we need to question them all. Ask how is giving this information and why are they giving it. Do they have a narrative to fit? A product to sell? An agenda to achieve? Probably. We all share stories and information for some reason. But too often, we assume that whomever is telling us something is merely inspired to tell us what is going on in the world for the sheer joy of it.
I write this blog for me. To clarify my thoughts. To explore my feelings. And to connect with you all because that gives me joy. I do have an agenda. I want the world to be groovier, kinder, happier, funnier, better. I want to shake things up, even the slightest bit, because even in this upside down universe, I sense too much complacency. Although, to be honest, I sense that complacency retreating, weakening. I see people waking up. Taking walks. Putting down their phones. I think a lot of people are asking questions, of themselves and their reality.
Don't take my word for it. Go out and make your own conclusions.
Here's a song. It's Free Yourself by The Untouchables.
I feel cosmically aware for this fleeting moment. Like Captain Marvel in the old comic books way back when. He had these cosmic bands, that were like very large bracelets, and they made him cosmically aware. Connected to the universe. I was never sure what powers they gave him, in the sense of super-hero powers like flying or strength or lasers shooting out of his eyes. Usually, he's go kind of translucent, and you could see outer space inside of his body, and he'd say something about the Power Cosmic, or being Cosmically Aware, and then go beat up whomever he was fighting. But those moments when he'd get into his awareness space always appealed to me when I was a kid. Like he was meditating, or had meditated so much that he could tap into this calm, this truth, this being one with the cosmos, that was awesome. He was sort of a precursor for me to the whole idea of The Force in Star Wars, and idea of being connected to everything, every rock and butterfly and pile of trash and cat and person and star. Letting go. And not is some passive, oh well, things will be what they will be and it is what it is. No, I have always gotten the sense that when you can channel your own cosmic awareness, you become more able to effect change, on every level.
It's like in acting when you go to audition. Whenever I would really want a role, that desire, combined with the fear of not getting it, would often lead to me not getting the role, because instead of just letting go and doing what I do, I'd hold on, freeze up, and not do what I do. On the auditions where either I let myself go and allowed the universe to flow through me, or I just didn't care all that much, I was always able to tap into the role, the monologue, the song, and just let loose. I would check my head at the door, leave my inner critic behind, walk into the room, and kick it in the ass. Now this is not easy, and often I fail in my attempts to be one with the universe, to feel groovy and magic. But it is a worthy goal, and when attained, however fleeting it is, always feels amazing. It's the same feeling when I see a sunrise, or a rabbit in the garden, or hear a piece of music that resonates, laugh at a joke, dance to the music on Alexa while I clean the dishes, and on and on.
I'm a hippie. I'm a consumer. I'm am she and he are we and you are me and Hi Diddly Dee an actor's life for me, a cosmically aware actor turned playwright turned screenwriter, founding member of the SOKF, streaker of renown, Left Foot of Sasquatch, Cryptozoologist, husband, son, brother, grandson, bunch of atoms combined in such a way that I can think and write blogs.
I have forsaken the news for the time being. I am brandishing my cosmic bands, flying to the dark side of the moon, which is where they actually recorded the album of the same name. Little know fact, but true. I leave sparkles in my path.
Here's a song. It's Totally Nude by The Talking Heads
I think the whole thing is dissolving, this mirage we have all accepted as reality. We must work in the same place all the time. We must post photos of what we ate for lunch, or declarations of love, or how we are connected to someone famous, whatever famous even means. All those precepts of what is important, what is real, who is in charge- all of it has come crashing down, shattered plastic slurpee cups spread on crumbling asphalt. I look at the news, and I don't feel the same. I look at my bills, and I don't feel the same. I go on social media, and I don't feel the same. Everything, every last little thing, has transmorgrified into something else. Something at once familiar and totally new.
And it feels good. It feels right. Is this what they mean when they say the scales have fallen from your eyes? Is this that sensation they say those sentenced to death feel, right before the end? That connection to everything and everyone? Is this a form of Nirvana? Coronavana? A feeling of separation, of enlightenment, of detachment, all at once. I feel peaceful, I feel calm, I fell groovy. I feel angry, I feel sad, I feel like the world is ending, at least the world I knew so far, and that a new one has begun. I feel like every atom in the universe has been altered. That, or we have vibrated to an alternate reality, a one slightly different to where we were, but close enough that we can function, know basically who we are, and what we have been, but at the same time fundamentally different. I feel love. And that is the constant.
I have had a long week, with lots of strife and stress and confusion. But even so, I feel connected to everyone and everything. I feel like I am everyone and everything. I am a Jedi, and an Avenger, a trickster, and a clown. I am a flower, a tree, the sea, and a fly. I am I, Don Quixote, the Lord of La Mancha. I am also a little tea pot, here is my handle, here is my spout.
Which is to say this: I have found I need food, shelter, and to be with those I love. The rest is shadows and fog, drums in the night, phantom trains running in the backyard. Money comes and money goes. Life is eternal and shockingly brief. When the larger artifices fall away, the smaller ones vanish.
Here's a song. It's Everyone Knows Everyone by The Helio Sequence.
How many lives did the shutdown save? Or more to the point, how many more people would be dead right now if we hadn't shut down? I hear some folks talk like the shut down was too much, that it was hysteria, that social media fanned the flames of mass hysteria, the we had pandemics before without shutting down, and on and on. I get that it sucks to be in shut down, to have jobs lost, friends and family cut off from one another, and bars closed. We like to be out and about, to hug, to be close to one another, to go to concerts and shows. So I think part of that reaction in natural. Human nature. But I still think the most important question to ask is how many more people would be dead right now if we hadn't shut down. Today, according to various sources, over 7,000,000 have contracted the virus, and over 400,000 have died from it. Here in America, we've lost 110,000 people so far. That's a lot. And the numbers aren't stopping today or any time soon. Most likely, there will be a second wave. There will be more people lost. More families torn asunder. So again, I ask, how many people did we save? How many more can we save? What are we doing, moving forward, to make sure we don't have to shut down again?
Is it me, or are some folks acting like the pandemic is over already? I go out and see people completely ignoring the idea of social distancing. Worse, I see some who treat those of us still trying to social distance with disdain. Sometimes it's a roll of the eyes. Other times it's a glare. And before you say it, yes, there should be more social distancing at the protests. All of them. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about when I take a walk or hike with my wife. When I go to the store. When I try to do what I can in our slightly re-opened but changed forever world. Last I checked, the virus has no vaccine yet, no treatment that guarantees you survive. It just is. And yet I see people desperately acting like none of this happened. And that is worrying.
Also, where are we with the virus? How much have we learned? Is there any better idea of how it spreads? What we should do to not spread it? What we should do when we go out? Is there any plan, whatsoever, to have the CDC do any more press conferences? Why are we getting more information from news shows, internet memes, and neighbors than from the federal government?
And last question today, what is the next step/plan for how to confront the economic burden this has placed on everyone? Is there discussion of a national health plan? Is there a plan for free and easy testing for everyone in the country? Will there be a second stimulus package for the middle and working class? Why haven't all the first stimulus checks gone out yet? We still haven't received ours, and when we check on the website or call the useless info line at the IRS, they just tell us it's being processed and to be patient. And does anyone believe anything the President says about anything anymore?
Here's a song, a crossover because this makes me think of strife, unrest, and injustice. It's Marvin Gaye singing What's Going On?
Dreamt I was buried alive. Well, not buried. More like planted. I was in this warm, sandy mud, and I could breathe, and the mud was filling me with strength, and I was growing, like I was a flower bulb, or a potato or something. I remember thinking "this is great!", and then my dog barked to be let out, and I woke up. I wonder if that is what is happening right now, what has been happening for the past few months as we have all sat in our homes, worrying and crying and laughing and staring into space and gardening and taking walks and calling our loved ones and getting angry at the lack of response on a federal level and marching in protest. Have we been growing, evolving, mutating into stronger, more capable people? Feels like it to me. I see the people marching, protesting, seeking truth and justice like the heroes we all are. And I feel great pride and joy in being a human being. I feel hope.
I do think some of the flowers and potatoes have been pulled early for various reasons, and are not living up to their full potential. They seem stunted, angry, sad. And make poor decisions that hurt themselves and those around them and the country and the world. We need to help these people see the light. We need to raise up our brothers and sisters, our neighbors, our friends, our enemies, our cities and nations and the entire world. We have to grow into the leaders we want and need. And I think we are. I think, in some strange way, this whole shut down global pandemic economic depression racial injustice has brought about a change that is just now beginning to be seen, like a plant just popping out of the earth. What it will grow into remains to be seen, but I have, as I said, great hope.
Last night, we had a zoom with Lisa's son and his girlfriend, who have gone to three marches so far in NYC. They live in Brooklyn, and are right in the thick of things going on right now. Hearing them speak of what they saw, listening to them share their hopes and fears and ideas was inspiring. I also saw a photo my best friend in the world shared of his niece at a protest in Montana. She is standing her ground, speaking her truth, while this man looms over her, clearly enraged. And the niece looks fierce. So inspiring.
All these people, rising up, going out in this pandemic, it's amazing. And in contrast to the protests just a few weeks ago from those who were demanding we open up our society, most of the current protesters, who seem much larger in numbers, are wearing masks and not carrying rifles. There is rage being expressed, to be sure. And there are some who are taking advantage of the marches, just as I'm sure there were some who took advantage at the earlier protests. But the overall vibe of the moment feels like my dream last night. Vital. Full of life. A signal of change.
To bring back a phrase, yes we can. We can and we will. We shall not only overcome, we shall grow.
Here's a song. It's The Chambers Brothers, live, doing Time Has Come Today.
I think I need to change what I do when having conversations with people about the world today. And when I say the world today, I am of course talking about the global pandemic, the looming economic depression, the mass protests, and whatever happens next. I have said, and heard others say, including Bill Maher on his show last night, that if aliens landed tomorrow, it would not be a surprise, but the logical next thing to happen. We were in a neighbor's backyard last night, having a socially distance meal, talking about the world. And for a lot of the time, we all just stated our thoughts, distilled from what we have seen on TV and read online either on news websites, or on social media. Rarely did we speak of what we are seeing ourselves. Which is funny, because those were the best parts of the night, the times when I was learning new things, hearing new perspectives, and evolving as a human being.
So I am going to try to ask more questions, listen to other people, and pontificate less. Of course, I am sure I will fail at this from time to time. But I really think we are all talking at each other far too much as opposed to talking with each other. So much more fulfilling and interesting and fun. For instance, the next time someone tells me George Soros is behind it all, I'm going to ask them to explain what they mean, and not just roll my eyes and walk away. The next time someone tells me All Live Matter, I'm going to ask them what they mean and how/if they negates the fact that Black Lives Matter. I've gone on at length about the world enough of late. Time for someone else to fill the void with their insights, jokes, and monologues. I will of course still blather. Of that I am sure. I just want and need to hear the voices of other people.
I wish we had more people in charge who felt the same.
Do you know what I mean?
Here's a song. It's The Music Must Change by The Who
Went on a long hike today, near Mt. Evans. Had a thought. What if there were tons of Loraxes? Literally an army of them, sort of a brightly colored zombie mob type of thing, and they stormed the White House and ate Trump? Wouldn't that be nice? I really am enjoying the fresh air, the clear skies, the energy I can feel off the plants and animals. One thing, among many, that I hope we retain after this is all over, is a renewed appreciation for the glory of nature.
Here's a monologue from my play Fenway: Last of the Bohemians. It's an adaptation of Uncle Vanya, and I dig it.
MOSS
I have this work space up in the attic I use when I'm really
burned out - it's got a great view of the Sound. The crickets sing, and I stand at my easel and work on these
maps. It's nice. (takes out a map) See this! It's what the
Sound looked like around the end of World War One. The green
stands for the trees, red dots for moose, the orange for elk,
and the yellow for bear. Oh, and the blue are for wolves.
There were all sorts of birds- ravens, eagles, hawks- and
spotted tree owls. Supposedly, the birds would block out the
sun at noon. Imagine that. There's Seattle, and a few little
towns. Over here -I love this- on this little river, just
sixty years ago, there was still a functioning water mill.
(flips to the next map) Now, this is the same area, around
thirty years later. Look at what we've done. Whole forests,
wiped out. The wolves, bears, elk - you name it- all the
animals are either dead or dying off. Still with me?
MADISON
Yes. Of course.
MOSS
Great. (flips over another map) And this is today. One
giant suburb. Most of the trees- gone. And, of course, with
those great forests have gone all of its tenants. All the
birds and beasts- poof- vanished. What this is, really, is a
time-line of our own, self-inflicted destruction. Some
people don't see it that way, say it's progress, the price we
pay and all that jazz- maybe they make a peace sign, or tell
me to "save the whales", and go their way. Which is just so
fucking insulting that it hardly merits a reaction. It
breaks my heart- it really does. I could understand, a
little, if our quality of life increased with the destruction
of the forests- but it doesn't. Look at any inner-city- does
that look like progress to you? No- we leave the corpse of
our cities to the poor and the weak- and those same people,
tired of this ugly world left to them by seemingly
indifferent strangers, turn to drugs to escape this madness.
I don't blame them. That's Manifest Destiny- a vanished
wilderness, and in it's place, a squalid, urban landscape...
(takes a long look at Madison) We're doomed.
MADISON
Doomed...Right.
Here's a song. It's Gilda Radner doing Talk Dirty to the Animals.
I woke up early, which is the norm of late. Around six each morning, I just wake up. It was the time my alarm would go off in the time before Covid. Maybe my body is in denial, and thinks if I just get up at the same time, things will go back to how they were before. Like "before" was some perfect place where we all got along, money wasn't an issue, and everyone had perfect health. I know that's not so, but it is tempting to think so. The past is always a bit rosy, isn't it? This morning, I feel a strange emptiness, a sense of "I have no idea what will happen next". And I think that is a good thing. Most times, when I think I know what's going to happen, I get kicked in the head. So maybe not knowing is the ideal, the place to strive for. If it is, mission accomplished. I've made it. If not...
I realized this morning that I haven't been reading as much as I like. I listen to tons of music, have written a full draft of a new screenplay, meditated, taken long walks each morning, and done this blog every day since the shut down began. But I haven't been reading enough. And I am not sure why. I have a stack of books on my dresser waiting or me. The stack isn't new. I always have a stack of books to read. Short stories, non-fiction, and novels. Maybe a graphic novel here and there, a book of poetry. I have read some poems during all this, but not as much of those either. I am going to try and change that. I have always found comfort in books. Not just the joy of going to some other land or time, which is certainly there. But also hearing how someone else has experienced the world. How they see things, as expressed through the stories they tell. I need that. Why haven't I gone there? I like to think I am finding things in myself and the world I missed before all this. Appreciating life more, reflecting more and all that. I say hi to more strangers as we walk. I have called a ton of people I haven't called in forever. I take more time to notice nature. And yet, I feel a gnawing sense of missing something. Of there being something I am supposed to be doing that I am not doing. Should I be marching? Should I be writing even more?
Or is this just a bit of ennui, a slight touch of anxiety brought on the life? Am I just tired because we stayed up later than normal? Probably I am reading too much into this feeling. But it's there, and so I ponder.
Wait. I know what it is. I just finished the screenplay. Whenever I finish a script, or a show, I find my self having a bit of the blues. There is a great feeling of purpose when doing a large artistic undertaking. You lean in, all your thoughts, when not doing the daily routine things like cleaning house, cooking food, and paying bills, goes into the work. It's a struggle, and at times frustrating. But it also gives you focus. A goal. And then, in an instant, the work is done. And this great emptiness appears. And it really doesn't go away until the next project.
So. On to the next project. Read more. Continue to call more folks I have been meaning to. Lean into this life. Stay involved. Active. Open to what comes down the pike. No shortage of things to do. The whole world needs help, doesn't it? So help. Write. March. Read. Sing. Love.
Here's a song. I don't know why, but it popped into my head. It's Leave It by Yes.
Trying to focus on humanity this morning. The good things. Why we fight kind of things. I find it important to do this, not from time to time but from day to day. We have so many gifts, all of us, and somehow, we find ourselves unable to enjoy them. Sometimes, it's because of economics. When you are two, three, four months behind on your bills, it's hard to wake up an extra hour early and say "time to read poetry out loud while facing the east. Other times, after hearing sirens go off and on throughout a night when there is a curfew in your city for the first time that you can remember, raising your hand to the sky in joy seems odd and too close to being arrested to make that seem like a viable option. Or if you are exhausted from all the social distancing, the worrying about your older friend who isn't wearing a mask anymore because they think it's all over, those worries can invade your mind while you try to meditate. But even so, you have to try. I do, any way. I find that times of strife, of sorrow and hardship, are when art and reflection are most needed, most helpful to a troubled soul. We I am troubled. I think we all are. Even the folks with what look like slightly forced smiles plastered on their faces as they sit outside in restaurants for the first time in months look troubled. These are the times we need to listen to a song straight through without checking our phone once during the song. When we need to open a book a poetry, flip to a random page, and read whatever we come upon out loud to ourselves and whomever is nearby, even if it's just a houseplant. When we should take a walk, with no phone on our person, and not think about turning back until we have found a flower, a tree, and a body of water. We have to, for our sanity. For our survival.
Some might say that right now is not the time for that. That we have bigger fish to fry, larger problems to solve. And that's cool. I understand that line of thought. I just disagree with it. If we have things to do, we need to be healthy and composed. Centered. Clear on our priorities. And I don't think Tiger King bingeing alone will do the trick. Or eating a lot of fast food. Or drinking oneself to sleep, or getting high, or whatever else you use to escape. Not that we don't need escape. We do. Clearly. We are quite good at that aspect of self care. But we need to have balance with that. We need to stop and take note of where we are, how we are feeling, and why we are feeling that way. Don't we? I do. I have found, from the beginning of this pandemic, that I am best able to function when I do more with my time that just trying to recreate the world before Covid and bemoaning my fate. Don't get me wrong. I bemoan a lot. I find it easy to do. Why has this happened? When will I be able to go to a movie or concert or sports event again? When can I hug my neighbors and friends? What's going to happen? On and on. I'm not saying don't freak out. I'm saying, find time to breathe. To revel in the fact that your are alive. That you can have emotions and thoughts. That you are a human being. Yes, we can be a foolish species, and are capable of the worst things imaginable. But we are also able to create music. To sing. To dance. To dream. Remember that as you watch the news. When you stand in line, six feet from the person in front of you. When you go through the mail and get that "past due" letter. To paraphrase Thornton Wilder, you are a human being, not a chair. The fact that you exist is a miracle.
For me, I write a lot. I do this blog everyday. For myself, mostly. I need to express myself, to consider the world I am living in, which troubles me greatly and can often feel overwhelming. So I get up early, put on the coffee, and try to let some of my worries and hopes, my dreams good and bad, out, so that I can examine them. That's one of the ways I meditate. Some people find gardening helpful. Planting seeds, tending to them, and helping them grow. Whatever it is that gives you joy, do that. Call old friends. Tell a dirty joke. Look at the stars. Do something besides the same old same old. I promise it will help. We have a lot of anger and sorrow right now. This is not new. And it isn't going anywhere. Once this time passes, and it will, another terrible thing will come along. And another. That's part of the deal. Even so, life is beautiful, magic, and worth fighting for. And to get in fighting shape, you need to know what you are fighting for. Life. Love. Joy.
Here's a song. It's The Flesh Failures/Let the Sunshine In from Hair. Dig it.
Long ago and far away in a kingdom by the sea, I was a pirate in the service of Captain James Hook. It was glorious. I had many tattoos, a harpoon, and a sense of magic coursing through my veins. This was in a land called The Western Stage, more of a dimension than anything else. A world where we all could fly, cast spells, and dance between the raindrops. I had gotten lost on my travels, and sent out a distress signal to an old friend. He answered, gave me a position on the Jolly Roger, and my fate was set.
