I've been writing about my dreams as of late for several reasons:
1) I've been dreaming again after a period when I had no dreams and wasn't sleeping well.
2) I believe dreams are a significant part of one's awareness
3) So many of my really vivid dreams in the past couple years have included my late Grandma, who I have an incredible connection with
4) I sense dreams are a gateway to another world
Still trying to piece together where I was last night. I recall a fantastic mountainous and lake or river setting. Winding roads and beautiful homes. It was dusk. The skies were a dark sapphire blue, reflected in the still waters. The rising moon gave the lake a sparkling appearance. I was with my family, and a family which once had a close friendship with mine.
We drove unusually fast to the house we were staying at. I was sure we might just miss a sharp curve and plummet off a cliff and vanish into the innocent looking waters below. We reached our destination intact. The home itself doesn't register as much as the artifacts within it. There was a wall calendar, or something like it, with somewhat historic photos that had been colorized. One was of a water skiing pyramid, and I was informed one of the beautiful women atop the pyramid was my Grandma in all her glorious youth.
I recall being in a room which was in most ways like any other. The one exception was a nook adjacent the four-post bed which had a very modern looking brown chaise, which affixed to a custom hole in the floor via a metal post. Apparently this hole accommodated interchangeable furniture pieces. A small twin bed in this case was the alternate piece that had been placed there at one time. This area of the bedroom had a kidney bean shaped area of wood flooring whereas the rest of the room was wall-to-wall carpeted.
My Grandma came into the room. She looked around and appeared sad when she saw the area featuring the chaise. She didn't speak, I just read it on her face. She recalled the bed having been there, something about her and the bed or someone she was close to and the bed. It's blurred in my recollection.
Another part of my dream placed me with childhood friends, now grown adults. We were at a child's party at one of their homes. The home had a sunken, tiled living room and built-in sectional. The home seemed cavernous, literally, as if built into a cave or otherwise subterranean. There was an elevated water feature in the corner of the room, a naturally occurring one that had been built around. Somehow I managed to be wielding a 3-drawer vertical filing cabinet, placing it near or in the water feature. Then suddenly the cabinet was sinking. I reached in to retrieve it only to discover it hadn't been sinking so much as it was being sucked into a porthole inside this small pool. The pool was blue-green in color and the surround inside looked much more like a natural tide pool than anything remotely man made. I managed to fully recover the file cabinet, and knew something had been pulling on it vs. some form of suction, otherwise the water would have been drained out. My friend apologized for the incident and mentioned they have plans to finish the jacuzzi. Odd.
Dusk: This is a dream of sadness; it portends an early decline and unrequited hopes. Dark outlook for trade and pursuits of any nature is prolonged by this dream.
Water: To dream of clear water, foretells that you will joyfully realize prosperity and pleasure.
Lake: To see a lake in your dream, signifies your emotional state of mind. You feel restricted or that you are unable to express your emotions freely. Alternately, the lake may provide you with solace, security and peace of mind. If the lake is clear and calm, then it symbolizes your inner peace.
House: To see a house in your dream, represents your own soul and self. Specific rooms in the house indicate a specific aspect of your psyche. Being aware of someone else in the house suggests that we may be feeling threatened by an aspect of our own personality. The house is popularly known as the seat of the soul, and in spiritual terms links us to the way we are in the world. A house represents security and safety, and therefore signifies protection and the Great Mother.
Bedroom: The bedroom portrays a place of safety where we can relax.
Bed: Since sleep is a way of leaving the busy world behind, a bed can represent a form of spiritual sanctuary and a sense of purity. For most people the bed and bedroom signify a private place. If the bed is made, then it symbolizes security.
Photographs: In dreams these can represent a spiritual need to understand the past. In a sense they are a microcosm within a microcosm, a small part within a greater whole. Obviously photographs represent memories, past occasions, perhaps past difficulties. To be looking at photographs of someone from the past is to be looking at that person's qualities, perhaps bringing them forward into our own lives and making use of those same qualities within. When we dream of looking at photographs, we are often looking at an aspect of ourselves, perhaps our younger self or part of ourselves that we no longer feel is particularly valid.\
Friends: Signify aspects of your personality that have been developing and making you grow as a person. The relationships you have with those around you are important in learning about yourself, so look to the friends you dreamed about for signals of personality traits they have that you desire in yourself, and work on those things. Additionally, dreaming of friends sometimes foretells that you will hear happy news from them.
Grandmother: To see your grandmother in your dream represents nurturance, protection and unconditional love. Consider the qualities and characteristics that exist in your own grandmother.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Memorial Dream
After a couple weeks of unrest, I am finally sleeping well again. About a half hour ago I awoke from a vivid dream, another where I saw my dearly departed Grandma.
The dream began in some very strange city with narrow streets lined with concrete walls about three to four feet in height. It could have been in Europe, no offense intended. I was attempting to maneuver my SUV into one of the last remaining parallel parking spaces anywhere in the vicinity of my destination. My purpose there was to browse a consignment shop for furnishings as I was moving into an apartment. Despite moving into a roommate situation, the place was going to be sparse as the person moving out was taking several key pieces with them. My friend Brent made a cameo in this part of my dream.
The consignment shop had many antique pieces dating back to the 1950's and 1960's. They had other eras of furniture represented, but I was favoring the more "retro" mid century modern style furnishings. There was this brilliant wooden console, out of which popped up a vintage stereo. The console was tall and narrow with really cool wood, honey maple with an accent of light blue-green. I don't know how to describe it in words, other than in my dream it was a very unique and fabulous piece.
There was a dark turquoise-ish sofa and then this great light ruby armchair. Someone had already bought the console. I ended up buying the chair, and vaguely recall putting it in the back of my SUV.
The next part of my dream involved a memorial service for my dearly departed Grandma. My business associate Kerri had attended to pay her respects. I arrived late, I don't know what delayed me. Upon my arrival, Senator Ed Murray was just completing a eulogy of sorts. There were men in black suits, and a few members of my mom's family. I saw my aunt and three cousins. One of my cousins hugged me, I nudged by one and walked past the other.
My mom was there grief stricken, but then she wasn't there. I don't recall if it was because I continued on my way, following the procession of pallbearers. This would be quite odd for a memorial service. Still, the procession proceeded ahead of me from an outdoor, grassy area surrounded by evergreens into an enclosed area of hallways, which led to another outdoor area.
Upon entering the hallway I saw my Grandma running in my direction wearing a beautiful fuchsia-colored robe with satin collar, cuffs and hem. She looked like she did in the '80s, with large, set hairdo and her signature round eyeglasses. Her eyes were particularly blue. She had a very determined look on her face, and appeared to not be aware of my presence as she dashed by me. I felt some degree of tension for being able to see her and being unable to truly see her.
I continued through the hallways until I reached the burial site. The men-in-black pallbearers had disbursed. Ed was sitting on the lawn resting on his right elbow adjacent the site. I had been crying, and really just wanted a moment alone, yet held silent for wanting to be polite. Ed remarked about my Grandma being a wonderful lady. In reality he doesn't know anything about her. He and I only barely know one another through my involvement with the Seattle Monorail Project, the GSBA and via a mutual friend.
Sensing my desire to have a moment, Ed gets up and makes mention the ferry will be leaving shortly. I would need to be on my way soon if I intended to catch it. I told him I wasn't taking the ferry. He asked me where I lived and I told him Normandy Park. I asked if he lives in West Seattle and he affirmed, then was on his way.
Of course I consulted with my Dream Book:
Fuchsia: The color fuchsia represents your connection with your spirituality and meditation. You are letting go of old attitudes and ready for change. This color is also associated with emotional stability.
Hallway: Often represents spiritual growth and learning. They can also mean the dreamer has untapped psychic abilities. A dream of walking through a long hallway or corridor can also represent your frustration in trying to escape a repetitive situation.
Furniture: Represents how you feel about yourself and your family. It refers to your relationships with others and how they fit into your life. To dream that you are moving furniture indicates you are going out of your way to please others. Also, you may be changing your ways and trying to reevaluate your relationships/attitudes. To see old or worn furniture in your dream symbolizes outdated attitudes, former relationships and/or old ways of thinking.
Grandmother: To see your grandmother in your dream, represents nurturance, protection and unconditional love. Consider the qualities and characteristics that exist in your own grandmother.
That's all I have time to notate for now as I prepare to embark on a day-long mindfulness retreat.
The dream began in some very strange city with narrow streets lined with concrete walls about three to four feet in height. It could have been in Europe, no offense intended. I was attempting to maneuver my SUV into one of the last remaining parallel parking spaces anywhere in the vicinity of my destination. My purpose there was to browse a consignment shop for furnishings as I was moving into an apartment. Despite moving into a roommate situation, the place was going to be sparse as the person moving out was taking several key pieces with them. My friend Brent made a cameo in this part of my dream.
The consignment shop had many antique pieces dating back to the 1950's and 1960's. They had other eras of furniture represented, but I was favoring the more "retro" mid century modern style furnishings. There was this brilliant wooden console, out of which popped up a vintage stereo. The console was tall and narrow with really cool wood, honey maple with an accent of light blue-green. I don't know how to describe it in words, other than in my dream it was a very unique and fabulous piece.
There was a dark turquoise-ish sofa and then this great light ruby armchair. Someone had already bought the console. I ended up buying the chair, and vaguely recall putting it in the back of my SUV.
The next part of my dream involved a memorial service for my dearly departed Grandma. My business associate Kerri had attended to pay her respects. I arrived late, I don't know what delayed me. Upon my arrival, Senator Ed Murray was just completing a eulogy of sorts. There were men in black suits, and a few members of my mom's family. I saw my aunt and three cousins. One of my cousins hugged me, I nudged by one and walked past the other.
My mom was there grief stricken, but then she wasn't there. I don't recall if it was because I continued on my way, following the procession of pallbearers. This would be quite odd for a memorial service. Still, the procession proceeded ahead of me from an outdoor, grassy area surrounded by evergreens into an enclosed area of hallways, which led to another outdoor area.
Upon entering the hallway I saw my Grandma running in my direction wearing a beautiful fuchsia-colored robe with satin collar, cuffs and hem. She looked like she did in the '80s, with large, set hairdo and her signature round eyeglasses. Her eyes were particularly blue. She had a very determined look on her face, and appeared to not be aware of my presence as she dashed by me. I felt some degree of tension for being able to see her and being unable to truly see her.
I continued through the hallways until I reached the burial site. The men-in-black pallbearers had disbursed. Ed was sitting on the lawn resting on his right elbow adjacent the site. I had been crying, and really just wanted a moment alone, yet held silent for wanting to be polite. Ed remarked about my Grandma being a wonderful lady. In reality he doesn't know anything about her. He and I only barely know one another through my involvement with the Seattle Monorail Project, the GSBA and via a mutual friend.
Sensing my desire to have a moment, Ed gets up and makes mention the ferry will be leaving shortly. I would need to be on my way soon if I intended to catch it. I told him I wasn't taking the ferry. He asked me where I lived and I told him Normandy Park. I asked if he lives in West Seattle and he affirmed, then was on his way.
Of course I consulted with my Dream Book:
Fuchsia: The color fuchsia represents your connection with your spirituality and meditation. You are letting go of old attitudes and ready for change. This color is also associated with emotional stability.
Hallway: Often represents spiritual growth and learning. They can also mean the dreamer has untapped psychic abilities. A dream of walking through a long hallway or corridor can also represent your frustration in trying to escape a repetitive situation.
Furniture: Represents how you feel about yourself and your family. It refers to your relationships with others and how they fit into your life. To dream that you are moving furniture indicates you are going out of your way to please others. Also, you may be changing your ways and trying to reevaluate your relationships/attitudes. To see old or worn furniture in your dream symbolizes outdated attitudes, former relationships and/or old ways of thinking.
Grandmother: To see your grandmother in your dream, represents nurturance, protection and unconditional love. Consider the qualities and characteristics that exist in your own grandmother.
That's all I have time to notate for now as I prepare to embark on a day-long mindfulness retreat.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Reality & Creation
This morning I find my "This Day in History" widget oddly synchronistic. It's entitled Creation of the World, According to Archbishop James Ussher (4004 BCE). Just last night I was listening to a couple of internet radio broadcasts, one about human origins and another about our reality construct. Yeah, I know, kind of monumental topics for humankind.
In one of the segments, the guest expert spoke of the origins of humankind. He cited biblical references that were originally written in Hebrew. Foremost, El is the word for God. This I find fascinating as I've just started a Spanish conversational class, and El is also the article for every masculine word in that language.
Even more fascinating is that the English translation of Genesis in the Bible states "In the beginning God created heaven and earth." In the Hebrew version, which long predates English, the word elohiym, commonly translated as "God" in most modern translations, is a masculine plural word meaning "powers." They also used this when it is written "Let us make man with our image and likeness." The use of personal pronouns us and our is undeniably indicative of more than one.
So what, things get lost in translation all the time. This wouldn't have any global religious or political implications now would it? Nah ...
I'm not necessarily here to dive into religion. I've always been much more of a spiritual person, one who practices tuning into the higher self, vs. religious, one who makes one's self subservient to another's narrow view of spirituality. I only recently became quite clear on that distinction, and I thank my parents for having not immersed me in religion while I was growing up. They always allowed this one particular genre to be my choice, and my choice alone. Now that's poetic justice. Many other people I know in my life have had great struggles freeing themselves from religion's suppressive nature enough to think for themselves.
So this is a really great segway into reality. What is reality? What is real?
According to Mirriam-Websters, it is "the quality or state of being real." OK, that seems just a bit vague. What does "being real" truly mean?
Wikipedia appears to have a much more comprehensive definition: "Reality is the state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they may appear or might be imagined. In a wider definition, reality includes everything that is and has been, whether or not it is observable or comprehensible." OK, that's better.
Well, we know we are real. We think, therefore we are. Thanks, Rene Descartes. In mindfulness practice, there is much emphasis on following one's breath. Such is also the case for the basis of meditation practice. Breathing is a vital source of aliveness within the body. Following the ebbs and flows of one's breath is a very real experience. It's the first step toward being able to look more inward, toward being able to see things as they truly are.
Much of the time we are subjected to the chaos that is our modern world. Everyday we're beamed with electromagnetic radiation, breathe polluted air, drink polluted water and eat foods that have been modified in some way shape or form. Now that's what exists on the physical level. We also fight traffic getting from point A to point B, get into conflicts with fellow humans, our minds absorb hundreds if not thousands of advertised messages daily (positive, negative or neutral) and we're constantly bombarded with the chaos outside our doors through mass (and now also social) media, whether we even step foot outside our doors. We tend not to think about this reality on a daily basis. This is real. This is what it so. I cannot imagine this doesn't adversely affect people and their states of being.
When everyone was a fuss over the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012, and I must also admit I had my own uncertainties via media influence, I've also come to realize we may just in fact be entering a new phase of reality. Try on that our collective human consciousness is waking up, and we are embarking on the next stage of our evolutionary journey.
I'm going to wrap up today by sharing an infamous quote I find highly inspiring:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." - Marianne Williamson
What you chose to do with this is now up to you ...
In one of the segments, the guest expert spoke of the origins of humankind. He cited biblical references that were originally written in Hebrew. Foremost, El is the word for God. This I find fascinating as I've just started a Spanish conversational class, and El is also the article for every masculine word in that language.
Even more fascinating is that the English translation of Genesis in the Bible states "In the beginning God created heaven and earth." In the Hebrew version, which long predates English, the word elohiym, commonly translated as "God" in most modern translations, is a masculine plural word meaning "powers." They also used this when it is written "Let us make man with our image and likeness." The use of personal pronouns us and our is undeniably indicative of more than one.
So what, things get lost in translation all the time. This wouldn't have any global religious or political implications now would it? Nah ...
I'm not necessarily here to dive into religion. I've always been much more of a spiritual person, one who practices tuning into the higher self, vs. religious, one who makes one's self subservient to another's narrow view of spirituality. I only recently became quite clear on that distinction, and I thank my parents for having not immersed me in religion while I was growing up. They always allowed this one particular genre to be my choice, and my choice alone. Now that's poetic justice. Many other people I know in my life have had great struggles freeing themselves from religion's suppressive nature enough to think for themselves.
So this is a really great segway into reality. What is reality? What is real?
According to Mirriam-Websters, it is "the quality or state of being real." OK, that seems just a bit vague. What does "being real" truly mean?
Wikipedia appears to have a much more comprehensive definition: "Reality is the state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they may appear or might be imagined. In a wider definition, reality includes everything that is and has been, whether or not it is observable or comprehensible." OK, that's better.
Well, we know we are real. We think, therefore we are. Thanks, Rene Descartes. In mindfulness practice, there is much emphasis on following one's breath. Such is also the case for the basis of meditation practice. Breathing is a vital source of aliveness within the body. Following the ebbs and flows of one's breath is a very real experience. It's the first step toward being able to look more inward, toward being able to see things as they truly are.
Much of the time we are subjected to the chaos that is our modern world. Everyday we're beamed with electromagnetic radiation, breathe polluted air, drink polluted water and eat foods that have been modified in some way shape or form. Now that's what exists on the physical level. We also fight traffic getting from point A to point B, get into conflicts with fellow humans, our minds absorb hundreds if not thousands of advertised messages daily (positive, negative or neutral) and we're constantly bombarded with the chaos outside our doors through mass (and now also social) media, whether we even step foot outside our doors. We tend not to think about this reality on a daily basis. This is real. This is what it so. I cannot imagine this doesn't adversely affect people and their states of being.
When everyone was a fuss over the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012, and I must also admit I had my own uncertainties via media influence, I've also come to realize we may just in fact be entering a new phase of reality. Try on that our collective human consciousness is waking up, and we are embarking on the next stage of our evolutionary journey.
I'm going to wrap up today by sharing an infamous quote I find highly inspiring:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." - Marianne Williamson
What you chose to do with this is now up to you ...
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Living Without Preference
Recently a couple of my close friends confided they've not been happy. One of them thinks they might have edged into depression. I've certainly had my ups and downs on the roller coaster of autoimmune disorder.
Of course as a compassionate friend my first instinct is to want my friends to be happy. So I'm naturally inclined to want to help them find the silver lining, sugar coat it and then beam a ray of sunshine on it. That would be the Planet Unicorn brand of uber gay.
My acupuncturist treated me yesterday for what he labeled as Running Piglet Syndrome. By Western definition my body had an over abundance of thyroid hormone. Apparently this caused my rapid heart rate, palpitations and trouble catching my breath over the weekend.
While on his table we discussed moods and feelings, among many other things. Basically there's a "therapy" component to his treatment. He treats his reaction to how I occur for him based on my thoughts and feelings about my current state of being. I know, that sounds like the Southern California brand of flaky and weird. So what, it works.
After I related the sadness I experienced over the weekend, he says, "Maybe it's about living life without preference."
What did he mean by that exactly? I'll tell you. Most of us enjoy being happy, feeling well and having a sense of contentment with ourselves and our lives. It would then stand to reason most of us prefer to be happy, prefer to feel well and prefer to have a sense of contentment. These states of being are fleeting. All states of being are. We cannot know the light without the dark.
Living without preference, I believe, means accepting where you are in the moment exactly as it is. Being present. Finding contentment in whatever state of being happens upon one's self.
As I reflected on my sadness from a couple nights ago, I found comfort and contentment in those moments. I put on some beautiful chill, moody (but not dark) jazz. Brought the lights in the house down to a warm glow. Practiced a mindfulness based meditation. Ate some delicious homemade chicken noodle soup. Spent some cozy time on the sofa with one of the cutest little dogs in the whole world. Opened myself up to make some expressions in writing. The one thing I did not do was resist my emotional and physical states of being. All in all, despite not being where I originally wanted to be, I ended up in a wonderful place.
My chiropractic practitioner, who is also a good friend, says, "Health doesn't just happen to people. You have to work at it." Indeed.
After giving it some thought, I felt it more worthwhile to impart this information about preference with my friends who complained of not being happy. I'm not sure whether they found this useful, or if they even understand it. I just feel grateful for having discovered this distinction so I can be more mindful about putting this into practice for my life as I have already enjoyed the benefits of this mindset.
Of course as a compassionate friend my first instinct is to want my friends to be happy. So I'm naturally inclined to want to help them find the silver lining, sugar coat it and then beam a ray of sunshine on it. That would be the Planet Unicorn brand of uber gay.
My acupuncturist treated me yesterday for what he labeled as Running Piglet Syndrome. By Western definition my body had an over abundance of thyroid hormone. Apparently this caused my rapid heart rate, palpitations and trouble catching my breath over the weekend.
While on his table we discussed moods and feelings, among many other things. Basically there's a "therapy" component to his treatment. He treats his reaction to how I occur for him based on my thoughts and feelings about my current state of being. I know, that sounds like the Southern California brand of flaky and weird. So what, it works.
After I related the sadness I experienced over the weekend, he says, "Maybe it's about living life without preference."
What did he mean by that exactly? I'll tell you. Most of us enjoy being happy, feeling well and having a sense of contentment with ourselves and our lives. It would then stand to reason most of us prefer to be happy, prefer to feel well and prefer to have a sense of contentment. These states of being are fleeting. All states of being are. We cannot know the light without the dark.
Living without preference, I believe, means accepting where you are in the moment exactly as it is. Being present. Finding contentment in whatever state of being happens upon one's self.
As I reflected on my sadness from a couple nights ago, I found comfort and contentment in those moments. I put on some beautiful chill, moody (but not dark) jazz. Brought the lights in the house down to a warm glow. Practiced a mindfulness based meditation. Ate some delicious homemade chicken noodle soup. Spent some cozy time on the sofa with one of the cutest little dogs in the whole world. Opened myself up to make some expressions in writing. The one thing I did not do was resist my emotional and physical states of being. All in all, despite not being where I originally wanted to be, I ended up in a wonderful place.
My chiropractic practitioner, who is also a good friend, says, "Health doesn't just happen to people. You have to work at it." Indeed.
After giving it some thought, I felt it more worthwhile to impart this information about preference with my friends who complained of not being happy. I'm not sure whether they found this useful, or if they even understand it. I just feel grateful for having discovered this distinction so I can be more mindful about putting this into practice for my life as I have already enjoyed the benefits of this mindset.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Alienation: The side effect of chronic illness
I've been living with an autoimmune disorder since the end of 2012. I'm not even sure which one exactly. I've only recently learned there are nearly 100 types of this disorder, and many other variations of it have yet to be defined. About one in five of us are living with this type of disease. Someone you know may have it, and you may not even be aware.
Before this disease showed up in my life, I was very active and highly social. While I've gradually become much more stable in my daily life, most days tending to healing, work and home is about all I have bandwidth for. When I break it down it sounds like I lead such a simple life. I wish, most of us wish (even if on a subconscious level).
Take today for example. My fiance and I had just finished breakfast. For once in a long time we actually had a whole weekend day with nothing on the calendar to tend to. I stood up from the breakfast table and suddenly I didn't feel so well. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, it was just a general sense that my respiratory and cardiovascular functions were out of alignment. I could feel my heart thump away in my chest and it felt as though I had to focus a little to catch my breath.
I laid down, and the sensation of my pounding heart intensified. I stayed calm, a challenge when one's body feels as though it may just fatally fail. After several hours of laying in bed, some of the time sleeping, some of the time meditating and some of the time just silently freaking out, things calmed down. My resting heart rate fell from 124 beats per minute to between 80-88. I felt kinda blah the rest of the day, and regarded the event as my body's unique way of letting me know it needed me to lay low this weekend.
My fiance and I were supposed to attend a couple of birthday celebrations tonight. I was looking forward to both of them. I was looking forward to seeing my friends. More and more I see less and less of my friends.
I honestly don't know what's worse, the seeming impasse I'm having with the healing process, which is anything but expeditious or linear, or falling out of bounds with my sphere.
It's hard to explain my body's limitations to people, and quite honestly I can't think of a less inspiring subject to regale people with. Whether I'm able to be social comes down to a couple of things for me. 1) Does it involve food I may have an adverse reaction to? 2) Do I have the wherewithall? Sometimes just standing and mingling takes extra effort, then add being authentic, engaged and interesting into the equation. I know, it's ridiculous to even read that I just wrote that.
There was a time I didn't want to really talk about this disease, partially because I may have been in denial about living with chronic illness, partly because it's such an uninspiring topic, but mostly due to the shortness of breath I had been experiencing. I could barely hold even the briefest of conversations on some days without becoming very fatigued.
I've been very quiet and contemplative today. This evening my fiance and I had a great heart-to-heart. I confessed how much I miss my friends and my sadness around this. I discovered the longer I chart this course, the more I relinquish hope of a full recovery. I acknowledged my fiance's suffering. He would love for us to travel, to visit our lovely seaside village in Mexico. We've not really left home for many, many months. My disease has made him a prisoner. Those are my words, not his.
Through his and my exchange, I gained clarity on what is going well. We are going well. He is an amazing support to me. He is the one who checks in with me regularly, gives me a wonderful sense of feeling cared for and loved despite no longer being the "life of the party." Our home is an amazing sanctuary. I love our home and what we've created it in. I love where we live. The peace and tranquility surrounding our home environment is beautifully idyllic. We have the cutest, sweetest most loving little Daschund. We have a loving and supportive family, well he does mostly. I have my mom, who I deeply care for and love.
There are so many questions yet to be answered. I wonder whether I'll truly ever recover my wellness. I wonder whether I'll be full of vitality daily and rekindle that unbridled enthusiasm for life. I wonder whether I'll ever have that comforting, familiar sense of normalcy around my life again.
I was sad today because I read an article written by a woman with autoimmune disease. It wasn't the article. It was relating to her sense of having become an imposter. I can deal with the disease. I've been dealing with it for about a year. It's the realization I've lost a part of my identity that's much more of a challenge to face. I can physically feel how much more serious I've become. Whereas I used to come at life so playfully.
My hope is, whether I fully recover my health, I can fully recover my self ...
Before this disease showed up in my life, I was very active and highly social. While I've gradually become much more stable in my daily life, most days tending to healing, work and home is about all I have bandwidth for. When I break it down it sounds like I lead such a simple life. I wish, most of us wish (even if on a subconscious level).
Take today for example. My fiance and I had just finished breakfast. For once in a long time we actually had a whole weekend day with nothing on the calendar to tend to. I stood up from the breakfast table and suddenly I didn't feel so well. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, it was just a general sense that my respiratory and cardiovascular functions were out of alignment. I could feel my heart thump away in my chest and it felt as though I had to focus a little to catch my breath.
I laid down, and the sensation of my pounding heart intensified. I stayed calm, a challenge when one's body feels as though it may just fatally fail. After several hours of laying in bed, some of the time sleeping, some of the time meditating and some of the time just silently freaking out, things calmed down. My resting heart rate fell from 124 beats per minute to between 80-88. I felt kinda blah the rest of the day, and regarded the event as my body's unique way of letting me know it needed me to lay low this weekend.
My fiance and I were supposed to attend a couple of birthday celebrations tonight. I was looking forward to both of them. I was looking forward to seeing my friends. More and more I see less and less of my friends.
I honestly don't know what's worse, the seeming impasse I'm having with the healing process, which is anything but expeditious or linear, or falling out of bounds with my sphere.
It's hard to explain my body's limitations to people, and quite honestly I can't think of a less inspiring subject to regale people with. Whether I'm able to be social comes down to a couple of things for me. 1) Does it involve food I may have an adverse reaction to? 2) Do I have the wherewithall? Sometimes just standing and mingling takes extra effort, then add being authentic, engaged and interesting into the equation. I know, it's ridiculous to even read that I just wrote that.
There was a time I didn't want to really talk about this disease, partially because I may have been in denial about living with chronic illness, partly because it's such an uninspiring topic, but mostly due to the shortness of breath I had been experiencing. I could barely hold even the briefest of conversations on some days without becoming very fatigued.
I've been very quiet and contemplative today. This evening my fiance and I had a great heart-to-heart. I confessed how much I miss my friends and my sadness around this. I discovered the longer I chart this course, the more I relinquish hope of a full recovery. I acknowledged my fiance's suffering. He would love for us to travel, to visit our lovely seaside village in Mexico. We've not really left home for many, many months. My disease has made him a prisoner. Those are my words, not his.
Through his and my exchange, I gained clarity on what is going well. We are going well. He is an amazing support to me. He is the one who checks in with me regularly, gives me a wonderful sense of feeling cared for and loved despite no longer being the "life of the party." Our home is an amazing sanctuary. I love our home and what we've created it in. I love where we live. The peace and tranquility surrounding our home environment is beautifully idyllic. We have the cutest, sweetest most loving little Daschund. We have a loving and supportive family, well he does mostly. I have my mom, who I deeply care for and love.
There are so many questions yet to be answered. I wonder whether I'll truly ever recover my wellness. I wonder whether I'll be full of vitality daily and rekindle that unbridled enthusiasm for life. I wonder whether I'll ever have that comforting, familiar sense of normalcy around my life again.
I was sad today because I read an article written by a woman with autoimmune disease. It wasn't the article. It was relating to her sense of having become an imposter. I can deal with the disease. I've been dealing with it for about a year. It's the realization I've lost a part of my identity that's much more of a challenge to face. I can physically feel how much more serious I've become. Whereas I used to come at life so playfully.
My hope is, whether I fully recover my health, I can fully recover my self ...
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Today We Mourn the Death of Print Journalism?
RIP Mustang Daily
1916 - 2013
Today I received news via Facebook from my former journalism school comrades; our Mustang Daily newspaper is no more: http://mustangdaily.net/coming-soon-mustang-news/
"Mustang Daily embodied a now-dead form of journalism," wrote J.J. Jenkins, a business administration senior and Mustang Daily editor in chief, about the paper's degradation to a twice-weekly print piece.
The paper began on April 26, 1916, just 15 years after Cal Poly opened its doors. Until its final day (yesterday), the paper published five days a week, and was the only daily in the United States produced entirely by students (from the writing and ad design to the actual printing).
For those of us learning the craft of journalism, we couldn't have had a more comprehensive lab than a real life newsroom experience. The Daily enjoyed a solid readership within the university and also within the greater San Luis Obispo community. Dissemination was guaranteed without prior restraint.
Sure, we made plenty of mistakes. We had occasional spelling and syntax errors. We also had the uber controversial story or opinion which set off a deluge of passionate letters. For a dying breed, we certainly received plenty of lively engagement from the student body and general public.
I have to admit my heart hurt when I read the news our daily student newspaper is no more. As I reflected on my experience on the Daily staff, I realized why it meant so much to me. Among all the wonderful things I found working at the Daily (deadlines, adrenaline rushes, joy, comradery, acceptance), I ultimately found my craft; my voice. Eureka.
They can scrap the paper, or even burn down the graphic arts building for that matter. Our experience at the Daily, which helped shape many of its former staff into the people they are today, will be with us always.
I responded to the Facebook post with a couple of comments:
"I would be remiss by not acknowledging our time at the Daily as symbolic of our unique generation; the bridge between past and future at the dawn of the digital age."
"BTW, anyone else find it a sobering sign of the times that a business admin sr. is editor in chief? The parallel being how corporations have systematically hijacked media and destroyed information for profit. Just an observation ..."
As we lay to rest nearly 100 years of first amendment daily tradition, it is important to acknowledge all that has changed and all that hasn't. Journalism school lesson numero uno: always question authority ...
1916 - 2013
Today I received news via Facebook from my former journalism school comrades; our Mustang Daily newspaper is no more: http://mustangdaily.net/coming-soon-mustang-news/
"Mustang Daily embodied a now-dead form of journalism," wrote J.J. Jenkins, a business administration senior and Mustang Daily editor in chief, about the paper's degradation to a twice-weekly print piece.
The paper began on April 26, 1916, just 15 years after Cal Poly opened its doors. Until its final day (yesterday), the paper published five days a week, and was the only daily in the United States produced entirely by students (from the writing and ad design to the actual printing).
For those of us learning the craft of journalism, we couldn't have had a more comprehensive lab than a real life newsroom experience. The Daily enjoyed a solid readership within the university and also within the greater San Luis Obispo community. Dissemination was guaranteed without prior restraint.
Sure, we made plenty of mistakes. We had occasional spelling and syntax errors. We also had the uber controversial story or opinion which set off a deluge of passionate letters. For a dying breed, we certainly received plenty of lively engagement from the student body and general public.
I have to admit my heart hurt when I read the news our daily student newspaper is no more. As I reflected on my experience on the Daily staff, I realized why it meant so much to me. Among all the wonderful things I found working at the Daily (deadlines, adrenaline rushes, joy, comradery, acceptance), I ultimately found my craft; my voice. Eureka.
They can scrap the paper, or even burn down the graphic arts building for that matter. Our experience at the Daily, which helped shape many of its former staff into the people they are today, will be with us always.
I responded to the Facebook post with a couple of comments:
"I would be remiss by not acknowledging our time at the Daily as symbolic of our unique generation; the bridge between past and future at the dawn of the digital age."
"BTW, anyone else find it a sobering sign of the times that a business admin sr. is editor in chief? The parallel being how corporations have systematically hijacked media and destroyed information for profit. Just an observation ..."
As we lay to rest nearly 100 years of first amendment daily tradition, it is important to acknowledge all that has changed and all that hasn't. Journalism school lesson numero uno: always question authority ...
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Was it a farewell dream?
Tuesday night I had a strange dream. Three people I've not before seen in my dreams were present; my aunt Gini, my brother and my estranged (adoptive) "dad." Yet the dream actually centered around my dearly departed Grandma.
The setting was someplace like Washington's San Juan Islands. My brother, "dad" and I were awaiting my Grandma's arrival. My aunt was escorting her on the ferry.
As is true with many dreams, the landscape was pretty unusual. For example, there were canals and channels that ran on inclines. The one the ferry was expected to sail up resembled a giant log flue. There were very rounded hills that looked a bit cartoonesque in shape. The village as it were had cute cottages with canals running between rows of them.
We had to be right at the dock for Grandma's arrival as she has mobility issues stemming from a herniated disk in her lower back. The approaching ferry looked more like a very common green fishing boat; this one used exclusively for walk-on passengers. As the boat neared the dock, I saw my aunt standing behind an empty wheelchair and my Grandma standing next to her. My aunt wore a red sweater. My Grandma wore black, semi-light-weight material pants and a gray sweater. This was very unlike her as incarnate she always wore colors, bright colors.
The moment my Grandma and I saw one another, we extended the same hand as though waving at ourselves in the mirror. We both grinned ear to ear. We waved at each other vigorously as joyful tears streamed down our cheeks. A profound feeling of elation washed over me. I had never before been so excited to see another being as I was to see my dearest Grandma.
The boat hadn't yet tied up to the dock, and my Grandma leaped out of the boat at me! She flew right into my arms and I caught her. We embraced and wept joyfully. No sooner had I began to grasp that moment, I awoke.
My feelings and emotions around this connection were so real, they stayed with me well into my awakened consciousness that morning.
I mentioned this dream to my best friend. She had the same sense I did; my Grandma wanted me to know she was crossing over into the eternal afterlife. The ferry is one of the oldest symbols of transition between life and the afterlife; crossing the River Styx. This may seem strange. I also have this sense she wouldn't have crossed over unless she knew I was going to be OK, and I think she was assuring me we are going to reunite. My heart of hearts already knew this. Still, this was an extraordinarily enchanted vision I am so grateful for.
The setting was someplace like Washington's San Juan Islands. My brother, "dad" and I were awaiting my Grandma's arrival. My aunt was escorting her on the ferry.
As is true with many dreams, the landscape was pretty unusual. For example, there were canals and channels that ran on inclines. The one the ferry was expected to sail up resembled a giant log flue. There were very rounded hills that looked a bit cartoonesque in shape. The village as it were had cute cottages with canals running between rows of them.
We had to be right at the dock for Grandma's arrival as she has mobility issues stemming from a herniated disk in her lower back. The approaching ferry looked more like a very common green fishing boat; this one used exclusively for walk-on passengers. As the boat neared the dock, I saw my aunt standing behind an empty wheelchair and my Grandma standing next to her. My aunt wore a red sweater. My Grandma wore black, semi-light-weight material pants and a gray sweater. This was very unlike her as incarnate she always wore colors, bright colors.
The moment my Grandma and I saw one another, we extended the same hand as though waving at ourselves in the mirror. We both grinned ear to ear. We waved at each other vigorously as joyful tears streamed down our cheeks. A profound feeling of elation washed over me. I had never before been so excited to see another being as I was to see my dearest Grandma.
The boat hadn't yet tied up to the dock, and my Grandma leaped out of the boat at me! She flew right into my arms and I caught her. We embraced and wept joyfully. No sooner had I began to grasp that moment, I awoke.
My feelings and emotions around this connection were so real, they stayed with me well into my awakened consciousness that morning.
I mentioned this dream to my best friend. She had the same sense I did; my Grandma wanted me to know she was crossing over into the eternal afterlife. The ferry is one of the oldest symbols of transition between life and the afterlife; crossing the River Styx. This may seem strange. I also have this sense she wouldn't have crossed over unless she knew I was going to be OK, and I think she was assuring me we are going to reunite. My heart of hearts already knew this. Still, this was an extraordinarily enchanted vision I am so grateful for.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
911 This Day In History ...
My 'This Day in History' widget of course paid homage today to the September 11, 2001 US domestic terrorism events. I recall vividly where I was twelve years ago today, trying in vain to get a few more minutes of sleep before embarking on my trans-Lake Washington commute from Downtown Seattle to Downtown Bellevue.
My former partner RC and I had a corded phone line back then; most people still did. That morning the apartment phone kept ringing and ringing. I finally gave in, got up and answered it. On the other end a panicked voice commanded I turn on the TV at once. So I did, and upon doing so saw one of the World Trade Center towers falling straight down into a cloud of dust.
"Terrorists fucking blew up the World Trade Center!" the voice on the other end exclaimed as I still stood before the screen shocked, not yet able to process what had just occurred. Had I mentioned this is what I awoke to, a day following a flight home from Austin, TX where I had for the first time reconnected with members of my biological family? Kind of already had a bit too much to process at the time. My mind was on overload.
Oh, the voice on the other end of the phone line was Kasey Frix, RC's childhood best friend and our neighbor down the block. At the time we lived on Seattle's First Hill.
I expeditiously hung up with Kasey and went to inform RC of what was happening. He too had been inconvenienced by the excessive phone ringing. He too was completely shocked to learn why our phone was ringing to no avail.
Only a couple years prior we were holed up in our top floor apartment while militant helicopters hovered outside our windows. We literally saw a view of our living room on the evening news from the outside perspective while we sat watching TV in our living room. We stayed in off the streets that night for the mobs of people protesting the militia of police in riot gear clearing them from Downtown Seattle streets into our neighborhood during the World Trade Organization shutdown in 1999.
This was different. This was a whole new brand of fuck the people, theft and utter hatred. The message was clear. The result registered as fear.
RC and I both must have looked like utter zombies. We couldn't stop watching what the news media was relaying. It was completely surreal, like a catastrophic disaster. Only this one appeared completely, diabolically premeditated and precisely orchestrated.
We were in disbelief of people jumping from windows, as if the choice to die falling from an incredible height was so much better than being burned to death inside a smoldering skyscraper. Dozens, hundreds, possibly thousands fleeing the scene for their lives with thick clouds of debris rapidly closing in on them. What were we really watching that day, hell on Earth?
Somehow I managed to rip myself away, get myself together and head into work. The downtown streets were abuzz with activity. The transit tunnel was equally busy. I boarded a fairly crowded Sound Transit 550 Express. It would seem to be just an extra heavy volume commute except for the haunting silence. People didn't say much, didn't move much, just sheepishly went about their business of getting from point A to B. A few people were crying.
As we rolled into the Pioneer Square station, the platforms were nearly overflowing with downtown workers who had been evacuated from Seattle's tallest skycraper, the Columbia Tower. From that one stop, the 550 filled to standing room only capacity, perhaps a bit beyond.
My head was still in a fog. So much so I didn't even notice we had already driven across the lake and over Mercer Island. I snapped out of my fog in Bellevue as I watched passengers disembark to loved ones that had come to pick them up at the Eastside Park and Ride. One woman broke into sobbing tears as a man approached and then wrapped his arms around her.
"Did she lose someone, a fellow compatriot, a friend, a loved one? Or like everyone else alive was she just so horrified by what happened and/or fearful of what lie ahead? What am I doing going into work today?" I thought to myself, and then surrendered to the thought a distraction might just be beneficial.
When I reached the office, my colleagues were all tuned into the day's main events. It became uber clear there was no escaping this sinister reality, none whatsoever. Suddenly an alarm sounded in the building followed by a uniformed officer entering our lobby.
"This is an evacuation order. Please exit the building immediately." he said authoritatively.
Evidently someone left an unattended briefcase in the Social Security offices upstairs. No one was taking any chances. Everyone was on high alert. The bomb squad was en route.
We walked out into the bright sunlight, which was brilliantly reflected off the mirrored glass-faced surrounding skyscrapers. Amid the shuffle, the sound of a small aircraft sputtered overhead. Based on my own internal response as well as from those around me, we were all nervously awaiting the proverbial other shoe to drop. Then I decided I wasn't waiting around any longer. It was time to go home.
I kept replaying the building collapses over and over in my mind. Aside from the obvious, why did this look so strangely peculiar to me? Then I recalled the building collapse I was witness to the year before; the Kingdome demolition. A sports arena, which would be completely dwarfed by the twin towers, took weeks if not months of planning for the structure to fall in on itself and directly downward to the ground. At 110 stories, how the hell were those buildings able to fall perfectly downward without toppling over in one direction or another? It really begs deep and thorough questioning.
Few Americans think on this day and recall September 11, 1973. This was the day in history our country backed a coup in Chile, resulting in thousands dead and the assassination of that country's first publicly elected president. This got me thinking about what our government is capable of. Can't balance a budget for shit. Change the political landscape of other nations to benefit our interests, no problemo!
One thing in particular I find odd about our domestic 911. If foreign operatives wanted so badly to boldly send a message to the American people and the people of the world, why didn't they strike the towers after the morning commute had ended? About 50,000 people used to work in the twin towers. Yet most workers were still en route to their jobs when the planes struck. Why not strike a bit later for maximum impact? It almost seems as though there was some intention around minimizing loss of life. Why? What's the difference between a few thousand and tens of thousands? Wouldn't a far greater death toll punctuate the "shock and awe" factor? Maybe with the high degree of expert planning involved in executing this unprecedented operation they just simply overlooked that.
The events of our domestic 911 had a profound, short lived silver lining. For a brief moment in history, we as Americans stood united and the world stood with us. Different from the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Eastern Block which was celebratory, this was more like an unspoken bond. Our collective sense of domestic peace and security as a nation had been unimaginably, totally violated. This wasn't just an attack on America. This was an attack on our society. Unconsciously, I think most everyone had some sense of this, even if they couldn't articulate it. We were kinder to one another, more understanding of our differences, for a time anyway.
One has to wonder if this public solidarity was an unintended consequence the evil-doers hadn't taken into account. In the days following 911, the Bush Administration certainly did a great job of re-polarizing the American public, manipulating the masses with scare tactics and ultimately capitalizing on 911 to usurp our civil liberties through the "Patriot" Act. Sadly, the Obama Administration has maintained the status quo by extending the Patriot Act.
Regardless of your political affiliation, if you're an American still residing domestically, there's no denying the brave new post-911 world we live in. If we're to move forward and prosper as a nation, we must do so as a collective. How soon we forget. United we stand ...
My former partner RC and I had a corded phone line back then; most people still did. That morning the apartment phone kept ringing and ringing. I finally gave in, got up and answered it. On the other end a panicked voice commanded I turn on the TV at once. So I did, and upon doing so saw one of the World Trade Center towers falling straight down into a cloud of dust.
"Terrorists fucking blew up the World Trade Center!" the voice on the other end exclaimed as I still stood before the screen shocked, not yet able to process what had just occurred. Had I mentioned this is what I awoke to, a day following a flight home from Austin, TX where I had for the first time reconnected with members of my biological family? Kind of already had a bit too much to process at the time. My mind was on overload.
Oh, the voice on the other end of the phone line was Kasey Frix, RC's childhood best friend and our neighbor down the block. At the time we lived on Seattle's First Hill.
I expeditiously hung up with Kasey and went to inform RC of what was happening. He too had been inconvenienced by the excessive phone ringing. He too was completely shocked to learn why our phone was ringing to no avail.
Only a couple years prior we were holed up in our top floor apartment while militant helicopters hovered outside our windows. We literally saw a view of our living room on the evening news from the outside perspective while we sat watching TV in our living room. We stayed in off the streets that night for the mobs of people protesting the militia of police in riot gear clearing them from Downtown Seattle streets into our neighborhood during the World Trade Organization shutdown in 1999.
This was different. This was a whole new brand of fuck the people, theft and utter hatred. The message was clear. The result registered as fear.
RC and I both must have looked like utter zombies. We couldn't stop watching what the news media was relaying. It was completely surreal, like a catastrophic disaster. Only this one appeared completely, diabolically premeditated and precisely orchestrated.
We were in disbelief of people jumping from windows, as if the choice to die falling from an incredible height was so much better than being burned to death inside a smoldering skyscraper. Dozens, hundreds, possibly thousands fleeing the scene for their lives with thick clouds of debris rapidly closing in on them. What were we really watching that day, hell on Earth?
Somehow I managed to rip myself away, get myself together and head into work. The downtown streets were abuzz with activity. The transit tunnel was equally busy. I boarded a fairly crowded Sound Transit 550 Express. It would seem to be just an extra heavy volume commute except for the haunting silence. People didn't say much, didn't move much, just sheepishly went about their business of getting from point A to B. A few people were crying.
As we rolled into the Pioneer Square station, the platforms were nearly overflowing with downtown workers who had been evacuated from Seattle's tallest skycraper, the Columbia Tower. From that one stop, the 550 filled to standing room only capacity, perhaps a bit beyond.
My head was still in a fog. So much so I didn't even notice we had already driven across the lake and over Mercer Island. I snapped out of my fog in Bellevue as I watched passengers disembark to loved ones that had come to pick them up at the Eastside Park and Ride. One woman broke into sobbing tears as a man approached and then wrapped his arms around her.
"Did she lose someone, a fellow compatriot, a friend, a loved one? Or like everyone else alive was she just so horrified by what happened and/or fearful of what lie ahead? What am I doing going into work today?" I thought to myself, and then surrendered to the thought a distraction might just be beneficial.
When I reached the office, my colleagues were all tuned into the day's main events. It became uber clear there was no escaping this sinister reality, none whatsoever. Suddenly an alarm sounded in the building followed by a uniformed officer entering our lobby.
"This is an evacuation order. Please exit the building immediately." he said authoritatively.
Evidently someone left an unattended briefcase in the Social Security offices upstairs. No one was taking any chances. Everyone was on high alert. The bomb squad was en route.
We walked out into the bright sunlight, which was brilliantly reflected off the mirrored glass-faced surrounding skyscrapers. Amid the shuffle, the sound of a small aircraft sputtered overhead. Based on my own internal response as well as from those around me, we were all nervously awaiting the proverbial other shoe to drop. Then I decided I wasn't waiting around any longer. It was time to go home.
I kept replaying the building collapses over and over in my mind. Aside from the obvious, why did this look so strangely peculiar to me? Then I recalled the building collapse I was witness to the year before; the Kingdome demolition. A sports arena, which would be completely dwarfed by the twin towers, took weeks if not months of planning for the structure to fall in on itself and directly downward to the ground. At 110 stories, how the hell were those buildings able to fall perfectly downward without toppling over in one direction or another? It really begs deep and thorough questioning.
Few Americans think on this day and recall September 11, 1973. This was the day in history our country backed a coup in Chile, resulting in thousands dead and the assassination of that country's first publicly elected president. This got me thinking about what our government is capable of. Can't balance a budget for shit. Change the political landscape of other nations to benefit our interests, no problemo!
One thing in particular I find odd about our domestic 911. If foreign operatives wanted so badly to boldly send a message to the American people and the people of the world, why didn't they strike the towers after the morning commute had ended? About 50,000 people used to work in the twin towers. Yet most workers were still en route to their jobs when the planes struck. Why not strike a bit later for maximum impact? It almost seems as though there was some intention around minimizing loss of life. Why? What's the difference between a few thousand and tens of thousands? Wouldn't a far greater death toll punctuate the "shock and awe" factor? Maybe with the high degree of expert planning involved in executing this unprecedented operation they just simply overlooked that.
The events of our domestic 911 had a profound, short lived silver lining. For a brief moment in history, we as Americans stood united and the world stood with us. Different from the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Eastern Block which was celebratory, this was more like an unspoken bond. Our collective sense of domestic peace and security as a nation had been unimaginably, totally violated. This wasn't just an attack on America. This was an attack on our society. Unconsciously, I think most everyone had some sense of this, even if they couldn't articulate it. We were kinder to one another, more understanding of our differences, for a time anyway.
One has to wonder if this public solidarity was an unintended consequence the evil-doers hadn't taken into account. In the days following 911, the Bush Administration certainly did a great job of re-polarizing the American public, manipulating the masses with scare tactics and ultimately capitalizing on 911 to usurp our civil liberties through the "Patriot" Act. Sadly, the Obama Administration has maintained the status quo by extending the Patriot Act.
Regardless of your political affiliation, if you're an American still residing domestically, there's no denying the brave new post-911 world we live in. If we're to move forward and prosper as a nation, we must do so as a collective. How soon we forget. United we stand ...
Monday, September 9, 2013
People Power
I find this highly inspiring: http://www.upworthy.com/a-bunch-of-young-geniuses-just-made-a-corrupt-corporation-freak-out-big-time-time-for-round?g=2
The world could use a lot more inspiration ...
The world could use a lot more inspiration ...
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Pride 98
It was my last day in San Luis Obispo (SLO). I remember walking through town that evening for farewell drinks with a few of my buddies. Out of nowhere a car screeches past us and someone shouts "faggot" out the window at me. My friends turned cautiously to gauge my reaction. I smiled, chuckled and said "I've been here for five years, and someone has just now decided to take issue with my sexual orientation?!"
That wasn't entirely true. I once took great issue with my sexual orientation. Forget the first couple decades of my life, feeling like something was wrong with me that needed to be fixed. About a year previous to the drive by faggoting, I was so paranoid of being seen in public with a guy I had previously dated, I kept my distance from him as we walked through the town's Thursday Farmer's Market. It was so obvious how stand offish I was being, he was deeply hurt. My self preservation at the time was seemingly important. I was only 22. He was a more experienced 32. What if I were to run into one of my professors or classmates?! In hindsight how dare I make someone feel like I was ashamed of being with them. What can I say. I was young. It was a different time. We were in a much more conservative, mostly rural area of California. Truly.
Conversely, there was something about being with my first boyfriend Jason that put me at ease and made me immune to caring about what anyone else thought. I loved him, at least I thought I did. No, I did, as much as I was capable of at the time.
On another occasion, I had kissed my first boyfriend Jason goodbye after walking him to work in downtown SLO. Just as we had turned and walked away from each other, a very angry voice emerged from the afternoon crowd.
"Y-you, you FATHEADS!" Yelled a man who was with a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. I can only deduct they were a family. The woman seemed extremely embarrassed by the man's reaction toward us. Clearly as disturbed as the man was by our extremely G-Rated display of affection, he refrained from using the word faggot. Fatheads does sound similar, so it was probably his bigoted intention. My sense is he didn't want his kids to hear the word faggot. Yet they were still witness to his hatefulness toward us. Go figure.
Jason and I just shrugged and continued on our separate ways. The woman actually had to grab the man by his arm to prevent him from pursuing us. Though it appeared they were walking in the same direction I was. I could feel them behind me for about another half block or so before I turned toward my house. A bit awkward, mostly for them. Then again, I wasn't really sure if this hot tempered man might continue his pursuit of me. I was alone on foot.
Of course the SLO County skinheads sent me a few love letters to my university newsroom, suggesting I move somewhere like San Fransissyco. What a novel idea. It was mostly because San Francisco is such an incredible, vibrant city I thought I'd give it a shot after college. After all, SLO is very finite and I knew I'd need a more expansive place if I were going to continue evolving.
My journalism department fostered some professional networking opportunities. This lead to a prospective position with one of the world's largest PR firms, Burson Marsteller. Prior to graduating, I had an interview setup with a manager in the firm's corporate practice.
Finding housing was another saga. It was 1998, and the tech boom was underway. Vacancy rates in The City had plummeted. I found myself on interview after interview with potential roommates. Let me tell you, San Francisco is home to some really freaking living situations. This could warrant a story in of itself.
Alternately, I had taken up residence in a tourist hotel in the "Tenderlean" I used to stay at on weekend trips to The City during college. I had a room on the fifth floor, which was the top floor of this old building, complete with a cage elevator, a fabulous collection of vintage jukeboxes in the lobby and one of the hottest front desk men imaginable. Judging by his accent, I'm pretty sure he was French.
"Monsieur, Davis," he would address me in his thick, very sexy accent. He too had a room on the fifth floor, though he had to use the shared shower as I saw him heading out of it one day with just a towel wrapped around his incredible form. He hurt to look at; flawless. I digress ...
The first week living in The City was overwhelming. Noisy, impersonal, lonely. I spent most of my days looking for a reasonable living situation and work. I was looking very forward to my interview at Burson. At the time it was the only viable prospect I had lined up. I was living off my dad's credit card. Talk about living on borrowed time.
Nights were very lonely. I didn't really know anyone in The City at the time. One night I went out and met a couple really cool Irish gals. I recall cabbing home from the bar that night. As we were driving down Market Street, the Albanian cab driver remarked about the long rainbow banners hanging off all the lampposts as far as the eye could see.
"What are all these flags? A new country?!" he asked.
"You could say that, a more enhanced country." I replied.
Pride weekend was just a week or so away. I cannot recall a time I felt more humbled and insignificant. It had only been two weeks. Even though I had friends from SLO coming into town for Pride weekend, I had to use a lifeline. I phoned a friend, my best friend at the time, Jeff. The best. He was free Pride weekend, so I booked him a ticket, courtesy of my dad's plastic.
The afternoon Jeff arrived I had booked us a spa package at a resort in Calistoga. As luck would have it, my big interview simultaneously landed on that day. It was the only time they had available. In my best navy and pin stripe suit (Dior - which I picked up second hand on a trip home to Seattle a year prior), I dashed to SFO, picked up Jeff for a layover at Burson's Burlingame offices. Jeff sat in the car and read a book.
Meanwhile I sat in the hot seat. The hiring manager is alumni from my alma matter, so we had a great school connection. He seemed very impressed with my portfolio. I studied his office. One of the first things I noticed on his desk was a framed photo of him and Bob Dole. Further into our conversation it was explained the corporate practice serves some of the firm's most important clients, many of which are big oil companies. I wasn't sure how I felt about the information I was gathering. Yet beggers can't be choosers, and I was eager to land this gig. I was certain the starting salary would be substantial enough to set me up decently in The City.
They gave me a written test, part of which contained question and answer. The other part required me to write a news release about scissors. Yes, scissors. This was my opportunity to shine, and I did. In fact, I nailed the interview. They called immediately after I left in follow up, letting me know I would be hearing from them soon and they were looking very forward to working with me.
Jeff was such a great sport. We zipped up to Calistoga, having missed at least half our services. I was really looking forward to a volcanic mud bath. We had a brilliant time catching up during the car ride up. Had great massages and then headed back to The City.
It was our first night out together for quite some time. I thought it would be fun to switch it up a bit. By that I meant that I would wear Jeff's preppy attire and he'd try on some of my vintage, second-hand duds. What an interesting night it was. Of course we ended up at the Cafe in the Castro. And I ended up meeting Jeremy.
Jeremy was a tall ginger, ex marine Stanford grad. We danced, drank and by the end of the night were gratuitously making out. Jeff was a great sport. At some point after last call, Jeff ran into my ex Jason in the bathroom. Leave it to Jeff to rub it in Jason's face that I was there and also very "preoccupied." Oh, I hadn't mentioned that Jason had broken up with me months prior. I was devastated. Of course I eventually got over it. Jeff wasn't so sure whether Jason had based on his reaction to seeing me with this Jeremy fellow.
So Jeremy makes plans to meet up the following afternoon at Cafe Flora. This time Jeff is back to his preppy self and I'm back to my retro wears. And Jeremy is totally into Jeff. The two just chatted it up as if they had been long time friends. Great that they were hitting it off so well. As we moved into the evening, it became very apparent I was the third wheel. I suppose perhaps this is how Jeff was feeling the night before? This is crap!
Jeremy excuses himself. I'm sitting silent, fuming. Jeff picks up what I'm puttin' down.
"Is everything OK, Brad?"
"If it were you wouldn't be asking. I thought this was supposed to be our weekend."
"Say no more. Do you still have that ecstasy?"
"Yes."
Before I know it, Jeff and I dose a tab each. It's all we had. Then he assures me he's going to handle this. Jeremy returns.
"Welcome back, Jeremy," Jeff said. "Look, I came here to spend time with my best friend. We just took some ecstasy. Unfortunately we don't have anymore to share. We're planning to hit Club Universe tonight. If you are OK with chaperoning, you're welcome to come with us."
The look on Jeremy's face was priceless, just kind of expressionless because it was a lot to take in. Once he processed, he said OK, that he wanted to join us.
We make a plan to head back to our hotel first to change, prefunk (really?), etc. I drive us in my Explorer. We get about a block from the parking garage and suddenly the ecstasy kicks in full tilt boogie. It was amazing and frightening at the same time because suddenly driving became a very arduous task and the streets in the center of town are complicated. Somehow I managed to park the car safely and was so incredibly relieved to not have to do anymore driving for the evening. We'd take the rest of the night via cab.
So we pass the hot front desk man and get back up to my fifth floor room. Jeremy lays back and sprawls out on the bed. Jeff and I begin fussing around for a change of clothes, trying to decide who we wanted to be for our big night out at Club Universe. Especially for the Saturday of Pride weekend in San Francisco, this was the promised land of places to be. I couldn't have been more thrilled! Yeah, it was probably the ecstasy.
I put on some music. Jeff and I bantered and fussed and bantered some more. We sang along to songs while still trying different things on. Out of nowhere I decide it would be a great idea to play with shaving cream. Anyone who has ever been on ecstasy will understand. The sensation of everything is so utterly enhanced. Some friends I had dosed with months prior in SLO introduced me to playing with shaving cream while rolling on e. It's mesmerizing, oddly enough.
So Jeff and I are sitting on my hotel room floor Indian style facing one another playing with shaving cream between our entangled hands. At this point we're also completely lost in great conversation. We were all smiles with sparkles in our eyes. Suddenly a song comes on, and it seems to completely encapsulate the moment we're in. The last few verses repeat the words "I love you." During this time we're completely silent yet still conversing with our eyes, like telepathy. We were experiencing pure love in that moment, completely requited. The moment lingered for some time. Neither one of us wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else doing anything else. We were completely content, in a state of total, utter bliss.
Then I spoke the words, and when I did, I meant them, wholeheartedly: "I love you."
At one point I remember we made our way out onto the fire escape to have a cigarette. Jeff told me he had feelings for me for quite some time, and to ask our mutual friend Kathy if I didn't believe him.
We were both all smiles, giddy. We shared so many feelings and thoughts under a clear early summer night sky in The City. After what was probably a long while, even though it felt like no time at all, we climbed back in through the window and noticed there was a man sprawled out across the bed snoring.
We looked at each other and began laughing, knowing we were simultaneously thinking, "What are we going to do with this guy."
I guess the good news is all three of us got to experience what it was like being the proverbial third wheel. I forget which famous psychologist (or was it as sociologist) opined the perfect grouping is always two people because any more than that and someone always feels left out at some point.
This time I assure Jeff I'll handle this one. I rifled through some of my graduation cards and gathered up some cash into an envelope. I called a cab. Then I woke Jeremy up, and broke the news to him.
"My best friend and I have fallen in love. We're going to stay in tonight, and we want to make sure you still have a great Pride. Here's some cash. Your cab is waiting for you downstairs. Please have a great time."
Everything just flowed, and I didn't even pause to consider how Jeremy might react to this information, especially after having been suddenly awaken out of a deep sleep. He smiled and said he was truly happy for us. Well, he was a bit puzzled at first, only because he was still waking up. Ultimately he was very congratulatory. He gathered himself and showed himself out.
The next morning we woke up rather late. It seemed the night before we had a whole lifetime to catch up on. In fact, it was a phone call from Jeremy that stirred us. He called to let us know what happened to him on his way to the cab in front of the hotel. Three guys jumped him. Long story short, he got his marine on and kicked their asses. They managed to get away with some money, a whole dollar bill.
We were to meet some of my dear SLO friends downtown for the big parade. With this new discovery, suddenly all that mattered was that incredible feeling of home. I wanted to go home. My home had for so long been in Seattle.
"Jeff, what would you say if I asked you to help me pack my car, forego your flight and drive home with me?"
"Are you asking me?"
"Yes."
Beaming, he agreed and asked if I was sure. I told him I hadn't been more sure of anything in my life to date.
I put a call into my friends, letting them know I was heading home and why. It didn't seem to register.
"But you'll miss the parade." said the voice on the other end of the line.
It took us about an hour to load my car with all of my wordly possessions. I decided we were going to take the scenic route up Highway 101. To get there from the Tenderlean we literally drove through the center of the parade. It was an incredible moment, almost like our own special bon voyage celebration.
As soon as we rolled onto the Golden Gate Bridge, Jeff turned on the radio. Supertramp's Goodbye Stranger stated playing. I had surrendered myself for five years to California, forged some incredible friendships, experienced so much and really started coming into my own during this time. Suddenly I was leaving, not knowing when I would be back, whether I would be back, if I would ever see my dear friends again. I felt a tear roll down my face. My body knew my sadness before I was even mentally aware I had anything to be sad about. I had for hours previous been so wrapped up in love I couldn't consider anything other possibility.
Jeff flashed me an understanding look. We didn't speak. We just let the music play. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies. Puffy white clouds. Reflections of the sun sparkling across the bay. Clearly we were still just a smidge high. Even so, this was a beautiful moment full of mixed emotions and no regrets.
Our second to last stop in California is worth a mention. We were running low on fuel as we rolled into Crescent City in my bright red Explorer with a long, horizontal rainbow pride sticker plastered across the top of my rear window glass. I'm at the pump about to begin fueling when I hear "FAGGOT!" shouted at me from the station attendant. I looked at him, dropped the pump on the ground and told him to pick it up. I casually returned to my car, drove off and filled up at the next station down the street.
Our last stop in California was deep in the redwood forest along the cross over highway between 101 and I-5. Twilight was rapidly descending into nightfall. The trees were silhouettes against a purple backdrop. No sign of civilization present, except a faint light up ahead at a bend in the road. It was a phone booth, in the middle of wilderness. Weird. I pulled off the road, thinking it would be a good idea to call my family and let them know I was heading home. There were a couple of what appeared to be abandoned cabins behind the phone booth. Jeff was sound asleep
I quietly stopped the car and slipped out into the booth. Just as I began dialing a terrifying impact was made on the side of the booth. There was a large, black boot laying on the ground a ways from where the impact was made. I looked up and saw one of the cabin's had the front door wide open, but it was pitch black inside. I've seen way too many horror flicks to stick around. Without putting anymore thought toward it, I booked back to the car and drove away as fast as I possibly could. Of course this woke Jeff out of his sound slumber.
"What's going on?!" he asked.
I explained what had just occurred. By the expression on my face, which had gone completely pale, he didn't question any further. We drove on into the night and once we reached Medford, Oregon, I pulled into civilization and made my call home.
Oh, speaking of calls. I followed up with the hiring manager at Burson Marsteller upon arriving home, letting them know I had relocated to Seattle. He was very disappointed, mentioning they didn't have any offices in Seattle. Looking back, I know that whole situation turned out for the very best.
In some way it would be great to share that Jeff and I lived happily ever after. Perhaps both of us have. I can only speak for myself and acknowledge for all life's struggles I am living happily ever after. I've not spoken with Jeff in many years, yet my hope of course is that he is truly happy.
Perhaps this is a good time to mention Jeff was living with his fiance during that Pride weekend in 1998. Honestly I think Jeff was more in love with the idea of being in love with his fiance than he was truly in love with his fiance. Perhaps what he and I experienced together was just a byproduct of an illicit substance. Perhaps there were true feelings there that ran deep because we had such a solid history. It doesn't really matter, especially now. Our lives ebbed and flowed exactly the way they did.
Maybe I shouldn't share this last bit. I might as well. So Jeff did inform his fiance about us. Of course he didn't take it too well, and of course he was going to need some time to find a place of his own. Translation: "I don't want this to end, so I'm not in any hurry to leave."
Jeff and I had our first official date shortly after our return to Seattle. Our friends were quite stunned by our news. Happy yet stunned. I picked him up one evening out front of his place. He looked so cute in his khakis and bright polo. So he gets in the car and says he has something he needs to discuss with me.
"So you know Craig is still looking for a place to live."
"Yes, I know."
"And while he is, we're still sharing a bed together."
"OK."
"And, well, we're probably still going to, you know, have sex."
"So what are you really asking me? Whether you can have your cake and eat it, too?! I think I'm finally really clear. You can go now, this date is over."
Oddly Jeff looked shocked. He wanted to know if I was serious, which of course I was. It's not what I wanted. I knew how much he fooled around on Craig. I would be the fool to think he could ever change, and as much as I adored him, I loved myself, too.
Days following on the fourth of July, just as the fireworks began igniting over Seattle, Jeff and I had a huge blowout of our own. I don't even recall the exact circumstances or the he said, he said. Just that we both had a lot of pent up anger to vent, and we did so at one another. I'm not sure whether we ever fully resolved our differences. Perhaps if we had things might be different. I don't mean that we would have pursued a romantic relationship together. I simply mean perhaps we might have ended up as we had began, as friends.
A year later to the day, Jeff introduced me to my partner of seven years in his front yard. That's a whole other ball of wax, and this is more than plenty for one post.
That wasn't entirely true. I once took great issue with my sexual orientation. Forget the first couple decades of my life, feeling like something was wrong with me that needed to be fixed. About a year previous to the drive by faggoting, I was so paranoid of being seen in public with a guy I had previously dated, I kept my distance from him as we walked through the town's Thursday Farmer's Market. It was so obvious how stand offish I was being, he was deeply hurt. My self preservation at the time was seemingly important. I was only 22. He was a more experienced 32. What if I were to run into one of my professors or classmates?! In hindsight how dare I make someone feel like I was ashamed of being with them. What can I say. I was young. It was a different time. We were in a much more conservative, mostly rural area of California. Truly.
Conversely, there was something about being with my first boyfriend Jason that put me at ease and made me immune to caring about what anyone else thought. I loved him, at least I thought I did. No, I did, as much as I was capable of at the time.
On another occasion, I had kissed my first boyfriend Jason goodbye after walking him to work in downtown SLO. Just as we had turned and walked away from each other, a very angry voice emerged from the afternoon crowd.
"Y-you, you FATHEADS!" Yelled a man who was with a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. I can only deduct they were a family. The woman seemed extremely embarrassed by the man's reaction toward us. Clearly as disturbed as the man was by our extremely G-Rated display of affection, he refrained from using the word faggot. Fatheads does sound similar, so it was probably his bigoted intention. My sense is he didn't want his kids to hear the word faggot. Yet they were still witness to his hatefulness toward us. Go figure.
Jason and I just shrugged and continued on our separate ways. The woman actually had to grab the man by his arm to prevent him from pursuing us. Though it appeared they were walking in the same direction I was. I could feel them behind me for about another half block or so before I turned toward my house. A bit awkward, mostly for them. Then again, I wasn't really sure if this hot tempered man might continue his pursuit of me. I was alone on foot.
Of course the SLO County skinheads sent me a few love letters to my university newsroom, suggesting I move somewhere like San Fransissyco. What a novel idea. It was mostly because San Francisco is such an incredible, vibrant city I thought I'd give it a shot after college. After all, SLO is very finite and I knew I'd need a more expansive place if I were going to continue evolving.
My journalism department fostered some professional networking opportunities. This lead to a prospective position with one of the world's largest PR firms, Burson Marsteller. Prior to graduating, I had an interview setup with a manager in the firm's corporate practice.
Finding housing was another saga. It was 1998, and the tech boom was underway. Vacancy rates in The City had plummeted. I found myself on interview after interview with potential roommates. Let me tell you, San Francisco is home to some really freaking living situations. This could warrant a story in of itself.
Alternately, I had taken up residence in a tourist hotel in the "Tenderlean" I used to stay at on weekend trips to The City during college. I had a room on the fifth floor, which was the top floor of this old building, complete with a cage elevator, a fabulous collection of vintage jukeboxes in the lobby and one of the hottest front desk men imaginable. Judging by his accent, I'm pretty sure he was French.
"Monsieur, Davis," he would address me in his thick, very sexy accent. He too had a room on the fifth floor, though he had to use the shared shower as I saw him heading out of it one day with just a towel wrapped around his incredible form. He hurt to look at; flawless. I digress ...
The first week living in The City was overwhelming. Noisy, impersonal, lonely. I spent most of my days looking for a reasonable living situation and work. I was looking very forward to my interview at Burson. At the time it was the only viable prospect I had lined up. I was living off my dad's credit card. Talk about living on borrowed time.
Nights were very lonely. I didn't really know anyone in The City at the time. One night I went out and met a couple really cool Irish gals. I recall cabbing home from the bar that night. As we were driving down Market Street, the Albanian cab driver remarked about the long rainbow banners hanging off all the lampposts as far as the eye could see.
"What are all these flags? A new country?!" he asked.
"You could say that, a more enhanced country." I replied.
Pride weekend was just a week or so away. I cannot recall a time I felt more humbled and insignificant. It had only been two weeks. Even though I had friends from SLO coming into town for Pride weekend, I had to use a lifeline. I phoned a friend, my best friend at the time, Jeff. The best. He was free Pride weekend, so I booked him a ticket, courtesy of my dad's plastic.
The afternoon Jeff arrived I had booked us a spa package at a resort in Calistoga. As luck would have it, my big interview simultaneously landed on that day. It was the only time they had available. In my best navy and pin stripe suit (Dior - which I picked up second hand on a trip home to Seattle a year prior), I dashed to SFO, picked up Jeff for a layover at Burson's Burlingame offices. Jeff sat in the car and read a book.
Meanwhile I sat in the hot seat. The hiring manager is alumni from my alma matter, so we had a great school connection. He seemed very impressed with my portfolio. I studied his office. One of the first things I noticed on his desk was a framed photo of him and Bob Dole. Further into our conversation it was explained the corporate practice serves some of the firm's most important clients, many of which are big oil companies. I wasn't sure how I felt about the information I was gathering. Yet beggers can't be choosers, and I was eager to land this gig. I was certain the starting salary would be substantial enough to set me up decently in The City.
They gave me a written test, part of which contained question and answer. The other part required me to write a news release about scissors. Yes, scissors. This was my opportunity to shine, and I did. In fact, I nailed the interview. They called immediately after I left in follow up, letting me know I would be hearing from them soon and they were looking very forward to working with me.
Jeff was such a great sport. We zipped up to Calistoga, having missed at least half our services. I was really looking forward to a volcanic mud bath. We had a brilliant time catching up during the car ride up. Had great massages and then headed back to The City.
It was our first night out together for quite some time. I thought it would be fun to switch it up a bit. By that I meant that I would wear Jeff's preppy attire and he'd try on some of my vintage, second-hand duds. What an interesting night it was. Of course we ended up at the Cafe in the Castro. And I ended up meeting Jeremy.
Jeremy was a tall ginger, ex marine Stanford grad. We danced, drank and by the end of the night were gratuitously making out. Jeff was a great sport. At some point after last call, Jeff ran into my ex Jason in the bathroom. Leave it to Jeff to rub it in Jason's face that I was there and also very "preoccupied." Oh, I hadn't mentioned that Jason had broken up with me months prior. I was devastated. Of course I eventually got over it. Jeff wasn't so sure whether Jason had based on his reaction to seeing me with this Jeremy fellow.
So Jeremy makes plans to meet up the following afternoon at Cafe Flora. This time Jeff is back to his preppy self and I'm back to my retro wears. And Jeremy is totally into Jeff. The two just chatted it up as if they had been long time friends. Great that they were hitting it off so well. As we moved into the evening, it became very apparent I was the third wheel. I suppose perhaps this is how Jeff was feeling the night before? This is crap!
Jeremy excuses himself. I'm sitting silent, fuming. Jeff picks up what I'm puttin' down.
"Is everything OK, Brad?"
"If it were you wouldn't be asking. I thought this was supposed to be our weekend."
"Say no more. Do you still have that ecstasy?"
"Yes."
Before I know it, Jeff and I dose a tab each. It's all we had. Then he assures me he's going to handle this. Jeremy returns.
"Welcome back, Jeremy," Jeff said. "Look, I came here to spend time with my best friend. We just took some ecstasy. Unfortunately we don't have anymore to share. We're planning to hit Club Universe tonight. If you are OK with chaperoning, you're welcome to come with us."
The look on Jeremy's face was priceless, just kind of expressionless because it was a lot to take in. Once he processed, he said OK, that he wanted to join us.
We make a plan to head back to our hotel first to change, prefunk (really?), etc. I drive us in my Explorer. We get about a block from the parking garage and suddenly the ecstasy kicks in full tilt boogie. It was amazing and frightening at the same time because suddenly driving became a very arduous task and the streets in the center of town are complicated. Somehow I managed to park the car safely and was so incredibly relieved to not have to do anymore driving for the evening. We'd take the rest of the night via cab.
So we pass the hot front desk man and get back up to my fifth floor room. Jeremy lays back and sprawls out on the bed. Jeff and I begin fussing around for a change of clothes, trying to decide who we wanted to be for our big night out at Club Universe. Especially for the Saturday of Pride weekend in San Francisco, this was the promised land of places to be. I couldn't have been more thrilled! Yeah, it was probably the ecstasy.
I put on some music. Jeff and I bantered and fussed and bantered some more. We sang along to songs while still trying different things on. Out of nowhere I decide it would be a great idea to play with shaving cream. Anyone who has ever been on ecstasy will understand. The sensation of everything is so utterly enhanced. Some friends I had dosed with months prior in SLO introduced me to playing with shaving cream while rolling on e. It's mesmerizing, oddly enough.
So Jeff and I are sitting on my hotel room floor Indian style facing one another playing with shaving cream between our entangled hands. At this point we're also completely lost in great conversation. We were all smiles with sparkles in our eyes. Suddenly a song comes on, and it seems to completely encapsulate the moment we're in. The last few verses repeat the words "I love you." During this time we're completely silent yet still conversing with our eyes, like telepathy. We were experiencing pure love in that moment, completely requited. The moment lingered for some time. Neither one of us wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else doing anything else. We were completely content, in a state of total, utter bliss.
Then I spoke the words, and when I did, I meant them, wholeheartedly: "I love you."
At one point I remember we made our way out onto the fire escape to have a cigarette. Jeff told me he had feelings for me for quite some time, and to ask our mutual friend Kathy if I didn't believe him.
We were both all smiles, giddy. We shared so many feelings and thoughts under a clear early summer night sky in The City. After what was probably a long while, even though it felt like no time at all, we climbed back in through the window and noticed there was a man sprawled out across the bed snoring.
We looked at each other and began laughing, knowing we were simultaneously thinking, "What are we going to do with this guy."
I guess the good news is all three of us got to experience what it was like being the proverbial third wheel. I forget which famous psychologist (or was it as sociologist) opined the perfect grouping is always two people because any more than that and someone always feels left out at some point.
This time I assure Jeff I'll handle this one. I rifled through some of my graduation cards and gathered up some cash into an envelope. I called a cab. Then I woke Jeremy up, and broke the news to him.
"My best friend and I have fallen in love. We're going to stay in tonight, and we want to make sure you still have a great Pride. Here's some cash. Your cab is waiting for you downstairs. Please have a great time."
Everything just flowed, and I didn't even pause to consider how Jeremy might react to this information, especially after having been suddenly awaken out of a deep sleep. He smiled and said he was truly happy for us. Well, he was a bit puzzled at first, only because he was still waking up. Ultimately he was very congratulatory. He gathered himself and showed himself out.
The next morning we woke up rather late. It seemed the night before we had a whole lifetime to catch up on. In fact, it was a phone call from Jeremy that stirred us. He called to let us know what happened to him on his way to the cab in front of the hotel. Three guys jumped him. Long story short, he got his marine on and kicked their asses. They managed to get away with some money, a whole dollar bill.
We were to meet some of my dear SLO friends downtown for the big parade. With this new discovery, suddenly all that mattered was that incredible feeling of home. I wanted to go home. My home had for so long been in Seattle.
"Jeff, what would you say if I asked you to help me pack my car, forego your flight and drive home with me?"
"Are you asking me?"
"Yes."
Beaming, he agreed and asked if I was sure. I told him I hadn't been more sure of anything in my life to date.
I put a call into my friends, letting them know I was heading home and why. It didn't seem to register.
"But you'll miss the parade." said the voice on the other end of the line.
It took us about an hour to load my car with all of my wordly possessions. I decided we were going to take the scenic route up Highway 101. To get there from the Tenderlean we literally drove through the center of the parade. It was an incredible moment, almost like our own special bon voyage celebration.
As soon as we rolled onto the Golden Gate Bridge, Jeff turned on the radio. Supertramp's Goodbye Stranger stated playing. I had surrendered myself for five years to California, forged some incredible friendships, experienced so much and really started coming into my own during this time. Suddenly I was leaving, not knowing when I would be back, whether I would be back, if I would ever see my dear friends again. I felt a tear roll down my face. My body knew my sadness before I was even mentally aware I had anything to be sad about. I had for hours previous been so wrapped up in love I couldn't consider anything other possibility.
Jeff flashed me an understanding look. We didn't speak. We just let the music play. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies. Puffy white clouds. Reflections of the sun sparkling across the bay. Clearly we were still just a smidge high. Even so, this was a beautiful moment full of mixed emotions and no regrets.
Our second to last stop in California is worth a mention. We were running low on fuel as we rolled into Crescent City in my bright red Explorer with a long, horizontal rainbow pride sticker plastered across the top of my rear window glass. I'm at the pump about to begin fueling when I hear "FAGGOT!" shouted at me from the station attendant. I looked at him, dropped the pump on the ground and told him to pick it up. I casually returned to my car, drove off and filled up at the next station down the street.
Our last stop in California was deep in the redwood forest along the cross over highway between 101 and I-5. Twilight was rapidly descending into nightfall. The trees were silhouettes against a purple backdrop. No sign of civilization present, except a faint light up ahead at a bend in the road. It was a phone booth, in the middle of wilderness. Weird. I pulled off the road, thinking it would be a good idea to call my family and let them know I was heading home. There were a couple of what appeared to be abandoned cabins behind the phone booth. Jeff was sound asleep
I quietly stopped the car and slipped out into the booth. Just as I began dialing a terrifying impact was made on the side of the booth. There was a large, black boot laying on the ground a ways from where the impact was made. I looked up and saw one of the cabin's had the front door wide open, but it was pitch black inside. I've seen way too many horror flicks to stick around. Without putting anymore thought toward it, I booked back to the car and drove away as fast as I possibly could. Of course this woke Jeff out of his sound slumber.
"What's going on?!" he asked.
I explained what had just occurred. By the expression on my face, which had gone completely pale, he didn't question any further. We drove on into the night and once we reached Medford, Oregon, I pulled into civilization and made my call home.
Oh, speaking of calls. I followed up with the hiring manager at Burson Marsteller upon arriving home, letting them know I had relocated to Seattle. He was very disappointed, mentioning they didn't have any offices in Seattle. Looking back, I know that whole situation turned out for the very best.
In some way it would be great to share that Jeff and I lived happily ever after. Perhaps both of us have. I can only speak for myself and acknowledge for all life's struggles I am living happily ever after. I've not spoken with Jeff in many years, yet my hope of course is that he is truly happy.
Perhaps this is a good time to mention Jeff was living with his fiance during that Pride weekend in 1998. Honestly I think Jeff was more in love with the idea of being in love with his fiance than he was truly in love with his fiance. Perhaps what he and I experienced together was just a byproduct of an illicit substance. Perhaps there were true feelings there that ran deep because we had such a solid history. It doesn't really matter, especially now. Our lives ebbed and flowed exactly the way they did.
Maybe I shouldn't share this last bit. I might as well. So Jeff did inform his fiance about us. Of course he didn't take it too well, and of course he was going to need some time to find a place of his own. Translation: "I don't want this to end, so I'm not in any hurry to leave."
Jeff and I had our first official date shortly after our return to Seattle. Our friends were quite stunned by our news. Happy yet stunned. I picked him up one evening out front of his place. He looked so cute in his khakis and bright polo. So he gets in the car and says he has something he needs to discuss with me.
"So you know Craig is still looking for a place to live."
"Yes, I know."
"And while he is, we're still sharing a bed together."
"OK."
"And, well, we're probably still going to, you know, have sex."
"So what are you really asking me? Whether you can have your cake and eat it, too?! I think I'm finally really clear. You can go now, this date is over."
Oddly Jeff looked shocked. He wanted to know if I was serious, which of course I was. It's not what I wanted. I knew how much he fooled around on Craig. I would be the fool to think he could ever change, and as much as I adored him, I loved myself, too.
Days following on the fourth of July, just as the fireworks began igniting over Seattle, Jeff and I had a huge blowout of our own. I don't even recall the exact circumstances or the he said, he said. Just that we both had a lot of pent up anger to vent, and we did so at one another. I'm not sure whether we ever fully resolved our differences. Perhaps if we had things might be different. I don't mean that we would have pursued a romantic relationship together. I simply mean perhaps we might have ended up as we had began, as friends.
A year later to the day, Jeff introduced me to my partner of seven years in his front yard. That's a whole other ball of wax, and this is more than plenty for one post.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
The Atomic Age & Devolution
My blog has a "this day in history" widget at the top, which automatically posts daily events of importance that have occurred on that day. Today is the anniversary of the U.S. dropping atomic bombs on Japan: http://encyclopedia.tfd.com/Atomic+bombings+of+Hiroshima+and+Nagasaki
For all of our intelligence as mere mammals, our "advancements," our "achievements" are in so many ways devolved. We humans are reckless, selfish and ignorant creatures.
Here's what I find fascinating. The latest scientific research indicates primitive humans began eight million years ago. Then suddenly 50 thousand years ago, we humans mysteriously make a giant leap in our evolution. What changed?
Regardless of what changed, it is clear where we are headed. Man vs. man in the ultimate conflict over sustainability. Will it be survival of the fittest? Survival of the wealthiest? Or mass extinction?
I ran across this documentary while searching online for clues to humankind's sudden evolutionary advancement. Not like this is groundbreaking or even "news," it's just well done and gives pause for thought about our collective human fate: http://youtu.be/dN06tLRE4WE
For all of our intelligence as mere mammals, our "advancements," our "achievements" are in so many ways devolved. We humans are reckless, selfish and ignorant creatures.
Here's what I find fascinating. The latest scientific research indicates primitive humans began eight million years ago. Then suddenly 50 thousand years ago, we humans mysteriously make a giant leap in our evolution. What changed?
Regardless of what changed, it is clear where we are headed. Man vs. man in the ultimate conflict over sustainability. Will it be survival of the fittest? Survival of the wealthiest? Or mass extinction?
I ran across this documentary while searching online for clues to humankind's sudden evolutionary advancement. Not like this is groundbreaking or even "news," it's just well done and gives pause for thought about our collective human fate: http://youtu.be/dN06tLRE4WE
California Dreamin'
In early 1992, at the ripe ignorant age of 17, I had semi "flown the
coop" from my folks' nest. My Grandma
and Aunt had taken me in to finish my second semester of high
school at my hometown alma mater Issaquah. According to Wikipedia,
"Issaquah" is an anglicized word for a local Native American name,
meaning either "the sound of birds," "snake," or "little stream." I had
once heard from a friend who heard from some descendant of a native
tribe from our region that if someone acted silly or a little crazy, one
would say, "they must be from Issaquah." The latter meaning really
resonates with me.
I graduated with the class I grew up with. Still not sure how I managed to make it out, alive. Stated junior college. Moved into a house with some roomies. Threw a shitload of parties. Went to a shitload of parties. Dropped out of junior college. Really was going nowhere fast. This just wouldn't do. I wanted more for myself. I'm sure my folks, at the time, wanted more for me, too.
Spent a spring break down in Lake Havasu, Arizona. One night, I almost literally drank my weight in booze. I just lost complete control of my sense and sensibility. The last thing I remember; throwing back a jug of vodka. Then I recall waking up on a cold, stainless steel table under horrible florescent lighting in a medical room. A nurse came in, and the first thing I ask her is if I'm in trouble. She assured me as far as she was concerned I wasn't. Not too much time passed before I was released from the hospital, which had treated me for alcohol poisoning. I was told I had a .38 blood alcohol content. I was also told .4 is certain death. This was a wake up call.
Speaking of calls, it was my brother who heroically called 911. For someone to be in that bad of shape for my brother to think there was an urgent medical emergency is saying something. Truly. Well, you don't know my brother.
So the following night, my brother, and I were to have dinner with our folks. They were visiting him in San Luis Obispo where he attended junior college. So relieved I hadn't died, they were surprisingly lenient with me. Completely disappointed, albeit lenient.
Upon my return to Seattle, I did quite a bit of soul searching. I engaged in my first internship with a local video production company. They were working on a really cool project, documenting the story of our nation's most prolific serial arsonist Paul Keller. The work was really unglamorous, sometimes boring and tedious. I was also schlepping at an Italian restaurant bussing tables. This was at least my third restaurant gig, and I was still bussing, not waiting. In hindsight, it might have been to my advantage to acknowledge my Hispanic appearance and avoid working in restaurants altogether. Oh well, live and learn.
Sometime at the beginning of my third quarter in community college I dropped my classes and withdrew. While in the registrar's office, I recall overhearing a gal talking to another staffer about the college dropout statistics. Apparently the percentage of people who drop out of college and return to graduate with a degree is astronomically low. This really got to me. What kid grows up dreaming of being a loser statistic!?
For once I actually intentionally followed my brother's lead. I applied and was accepted to his college in little San Luis Obispo. So that summer I wrapped up my video production internship, quit my schlepping gig, said farewell to lifelong friends and moved to California's Central Coast.
The night before I left I had the oddest dream. I was in a large, green vehicle. It was a boat of a car, kind of like an old Lincoln. Actually I couldn't tell whether it was a car or SUV. It was really large and full of passengers; family. I don't recall if the car was full of actual relatives or people who felt close to me like family. That part was ambiguous, probably the latter as I have a very loose knit family at best.
We were driving on a major freeway through the heart of a major downtown. It could've been I-5 through Downtown Seattle under the Washington State Convention Center. It could've been the Hollywood Freeway through Downtown Los Angeles. I'm not really sure. Again, ambiguous.
I was sitting in a middle seat, and for some reason there was no working safety belt. We were cruising at a good clip, about 75 miles per hour. Then it was as if someone flipped a switch on traffic, and the cars ahead of us appeared to suddenly be at a stand-still. The driver hit the brakes. It was too late. We slammed into the back of the car ahead of us. I slammed through the windshield and into the pavement.
The next thing I know, I'm standing there watching all these people get out of their cars and rush over to the pileup. I stood up on my tippy toes to get a look at the motionless body lying in the road. The person was face down into the pavement, it wasn't pretty. Upon closer examination, I notice they're wearing the same clothes as I was. Then it hit me. That was me lying there, motionless.
In denial, I begin trying to get people's attention. No one acknowledged me. More and more I try to get in people's faces. It's clear no one sees or hears me, or so I thought.
There was a lighted escalator to the side of the freeway, like at a transit or subway stop. The people riding up it waved to me, motioning for me to follow them. So I did. I began my ascent. Suddenly I'm in a hospital room. My nearest and dearest are gathered around a table. They were grieving over my white draped remains.
A man came through the wall. He was dressed handsomely in full white tie tuxedo. In the most loving of manners he asked me if I had any regrets. I searched myself and honestly I didn't, so I said no. He asked me if I was ready to go. I searched myself again, and while I felt the loss of the life I had known, I felt unimpeded to move on. The mysterious man extended his hand toward me. I reached out and he grasped my hand tenderly. He then led me through the wall he had just moments before walked through.
On the other side, we're in a beautiful red rock canyon environment, like you see in Southern Utah. I look over at the mysterious man. He is now dressed in a sheriff's uniform and there's a squad car just ahead of us. We get in and drive around a bend. As we clear the bend, I see this magnificent city stretch out before us. It's beautiful, strange and seemingly multi-pastel colored.
The mysterious man drops me off at a park. There's a news kiosk, so I take it upon myself to learn more. There are multi-colored leaflets being distributed to passers by. They look like blank pages from a variety pack of construction paper.
A younger man around my age approaches me. He says I must be new, and not to worry, that over time I'll be able to see the words. Then he invites me to follow him to a pay phone. I oblige. He picks up the receiver and makes a call. Then he says your turn and hands me the phone. My mom is on the line, calling my name as if she's wondering whether it's me on the other end. I say, yes, mom, it's me. I'm here. She continues to call my name. She doesn't hear me and hangs up. My new acquaintance explains to me we can sometimes contact our earthbound loved ones. He also informs me we're to have dinner with the creator that evening.
Next thing I know, we're at the creator's home. He's the same mysterious man who first came to me through a wall. He and a woman are preparing dinner in a very nice, yet modest, completely wooden kitchen. This is inside a completely wooden house. There is a feast of food spread out on a long, wooden table. We begin to sit down at the table together, and I can't remember anything more about the dream beyond this.
The next morning I was on the road to start my new life and finish my college degree in California ...
I graduated with the class I grew up with. Still not sure how I managed to make it out, alive. Stated junior college. Moved into a house with some roomies. Threw a shitload of parties. Went to a shitload of parties. Dropped out of junior college. Really was going nowhere fast. This just wouldn't do. I wanted more for myself. I'm sure my folks, at the time, wanted more for me, too.
Spent a spring break down in Lake Havasu, Arizona. One night, I almost literally drank my weight in booze. I just lost complete control of my sense and sensibility. The last thing I remember; throwing back a jug of vodka. Then I recall waking up on a cold, stainless steel table under horrible florescent lighting in a medical room. A nurse came in, and the first thing I ask her is if I'm in trouble. She assured me as far as she was concerned I wasn't. Not too much time passed before I was released from the hospital, which had treated me for alcohol poisoning. I was told I had a .38 blood alcohol content. I was also told .4 is certain death. This was a wake up call.
Speaking of calls, it was my brother who heroically called 911. For someone to be in that bad of shape for my brother to think there was an urgent medical emergency is saying something. Truly. Well, you don't know my brother.
So the following night, my brother, and I were to have dinner with our folks. They were visiting him in San Luis Obispo where he attended junior college. So relieved I hadn't died, they were surprisingly lenient with me. Completely disappointed, albeit lenient.
Upon my return to Seattle, I did quite a bit of soul searching. I engaged in my first internship with a local video production company. They were working on a really cool project, documenting the story of our nation's most prolific serial arsonist Paul Keller. The work was really unglamorous, sometimes boring and tedious. I was also schlepping at an Italian restaurant bussing tables. This was at least my third restaurant gig, and I was still bussing, not waiting. In hindsight, it might have been to my advantage to acknowledge my Hispanic appearance and avoid working in restaurants altogether. Oh well, live and learn.
Sometime at the beginning of my third quarter in community college I dropped my classes and withdrew. While in the registrar's office, I recall overhearing a gal talking to another staffer about the college dropout statistics. Apparently the percentage of people who drop out of college and return to graduate with a degree is astronomically low. This really got to me. What kid grows up dreaming of being a loser statistic!?
For once I actually intentionally followed my brother's lead. I applied and was accepted to his college in little San Luis Obispo. So that summer I wrapped up my video production internship, quit my schlepping gig, said farewell to lifelong friends and moved to California's Central Coast.
The night before I left I had the oddest dream. I was in a large, green vehicle. It was a boat of a car, kind of like an old Lincoln. Actually I couldn't tell whether it was a car or SUV. It was really large and full of passengers; family. I don't recall if the car was full of actual relatives or people who felt close to me like family. That part was ambiguous, probably the latter as I have a very loose knit family at best.
We were driving on a major freeway through the heart of a major downtown. It could've been I-5 through Downtown Seattle under the Washington State Convention Center. It could've been the Hollywood Freeway through Downtown Los Angeles. I'm not really sure. Again, ambiguous.
I was sitting in a middle seat, and for some reason there was no working safety belt. We were cruising at a good clip, about 75 miles per hour. Then it was as if someone flipped a switch on traffic, and the cars ahead of us appeared to suddenly be at a stand-still. The driver hit the brakes. It was too late. We slammed into the back of the car ahead of us. I slammed through the windshield and into the pavement.
The next thing I know, I'm standing there watching all these people get out of their cars and rush over to the pileup. I stood up on my tippy toes to get a look at the motionless body lying in the road. The person was face down into the pavement, it wasn't pretty. Upon closer examination, I notice they're wearing the same clothes as I was. Then it hit me. That was me lying there, motionless.
In denial, I begin trying to get people's attention. No one acknowledged me. More and more I try to get in people's faces. It's clear no one sees or hears me, or so I thought.
There was a lighted escalator to the side of the freeway, like at a transit or subway stop. The people riding up it waved to me, motioning for me to follow them. So I did. I began my ascent. Suddenly I'm in a hospital room. My nearest and dearest are gathered around a table. They were grieving over my white draped remains.
A man came through the wall. He was dressed handsomely in full white tie tuxedo. In the most loving of manners he asked me if I had any regrets. I searched myself and honestly I didn't, so I said no. He asked me if I was ready to go. I searched myself again, and while I felt the loss of the life I had known, I felt unimpeded to move on. The mysterious man extended his hand toward me. I reached out and he grasped my hand tenderly. He then led me through the wall he had just moments before walked through.
On the other side, we're in a beautiful red rock canyon environment, like you see in Southern Utah. I look over at the mysterious man. He is now dressed in a sheriff's uniform and there's a squad car just ahead of us. We get in and drive around a bend. As we clear the bend, I see this magnificent city stretch out before us. It's beautiful, strange and seemingly multi-pastel colored.
The mysterious man drops me off at a park. There's a news kiosk, so I take it upon myself to learn more. There are multi-colored leaflets being distributed to passers by. They look like blank pages from a variety pack of construction paper.
A younger man around my age approaches me. He says I must be new, and not to worry, that over time I'll be able to see the words. Then he invites me to follow him to a pay phone. I oblige. He picks up the receiver and makes a call. Then he says your turn and hands me the phone. My mom is on the line, calling my name as if she's wondering whether it's me on the other end. I say, yes, mom, it's me. I'm here. She continues to call my name. She doesn't hear me and hangs up. My new acquaintance explains to me we can sometimes contact our earthbound loved ones. He also informs me we're to have dinner with the creator that evening.
Next thing I know, we're at the creator's home. He's the same mysterious man who first came to me through a wall. He and a woman are preparing dinner in a very nice, yet modest, completely wooden kitchen. This is inside a completely wooden house. There is a feast of food spread out on a long, wooden table. We begin to sit down at the table together, and I can't remember anything more about the dream beyond this.
The next morning I was on the road to start my new life and finish my college degree in California ...
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Dream Revelations
Someone seemingly out of nowhere handed me a baby. They fled. I'm holding this cute baby in my arms. I wasn't sure what to do. Was I to keep it? I start to walk forward. Suddenly I realize I just stepped on something. It was another baby, a really, really small baby; a preemie. I was horrified! The preemie was burrowed face down on the ground. I picked it up. There was no sign of life. I was completely shock-stricken. I'm pretty sure this was the point when I awoke as I don't remember anything beyond this.
Of course I had to consult my dream book on this one. Here's the revelation I have so far:
"To see a train in your dream represents conformity. You are going along with what everyone else is doing. Or you have a need to do things in an orderly and sequential manner. If you see a passenger train, then it relates to mental work. Alternatively, your dream of trains may be a metaphor that you are "in training" for some event, job or goal. To dream you are on a train symbolizes your life's journey. It suggests that you are on the right track in life and headed in the right direction. Alternatively, you have a tendency to worry needlessly over a situation that will prove to work out in the end."
Well that's reassuring.
"To see a city in your dreams, signifies a sense of community. To dream you are in a deserted city indicates that you feel rejected by those around you."
Wow, that's pretty fucking accurate. I'll get back to that in a minute.
"To see a baby in your dreams signifies innocence, warmth and new beginnings. Babies symbolize something in your own inner nature that is pure, vulnerable, helpless and/or uncorrupted. If you find a baby in your dream, then it suggests that you have acknowledged your hidden potential. If you dream that a baby is neglected, then it suggests you are not paying enough attention to yourself. You are not utilizing your full potential. To dream of an extremely small baby symbolizes your helplessness and your fears of letting others become aware of your vulnerabilities and incompetence. To see a dead baby in your dream symbolizes the ending of something that is part of you."
OK, that went a bit below the surface right to the core. I'm really intrigued by that very last sentence, almost as if I know the answer. It just eludes me now.
I've been chronically ill for the past nine months. This has been the most traumatizing journey I have ventured to date. While I have a sense I am just beginning to really heal and restore my wellness, there have been many moments I thought I might possibly keel over dead.
This has also been a very isolating journey few can relate to in my sphere. I have friends who I am pretty sure don't really know how to support me in what I've been going through. Some don't really acknowledge or even check in to see how I'm doing.
The flip side of that isolation coin is having withdrawn quite a bit because I just haven't had the wherewithal to do much more than work through my health issues, perform my job functions (when I've been well enough to) and do what I can to keep the status quo at home (which has symptomatically been fairly improbable).
Here's hoping the part of me that's ending is the illness that has altered the course of my life and made me for a time a stranger to myself.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Another year, another reality ...
Before I started writing about equality, I noticed my last post before it was almost exactly a year old! Shit. What's up with me reconnecting with my blog perennially in June? Where does the time go?
Speaking of time, a friend of mine made this remark at a mountain cabin getaway last weekend: "We invented time so we can construct reality."
Yesterday I was driving through Seattle's Beacon Hill neighborhood. When I reached the top of the hill by the light rail station, I saw a large mural of Frida Kahlo with a quote: "I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality." I found these words profoundly inspiring.
My friend's comment and this quote caught my attention this week. On the heels of this I received a very emotionally moving email from another friend as he prepares to journey into his next life (I feel like "afterlife" is so void of life and possibility of a magical existence beyond this place).
There is such truth and beauty (in some instances obscure) in my friend's closest friend's words. So I will share some excerpts with attribution:
"Now, it’s time to be a bit more transparent. Although we had a great day, it was very taxing for him. He now has difficulty with the simplest things. Getting in and out of the car. Walking up stairs. Balance, dexterity – opening and closing things, handling utensils. It’s not easy just having a normal day. It takes a lot of energy for him to go out and about and just do normal things and it requires a lot of patience for those who are caring for him. His speech is slurred much of the time and confusion is a constant companion – which frustrates him to no end. There are other issues that make him very uncomfortable that I will not describe here, but have a big impact on his life. Fortunately, hospice care is providing relief for those issues, so his comfort is maximized and his pain is minimized.
Today, Erika, John and I met with his wonderful hospice nurse – Lisa – and came to a number of conclusions and decisions about his care and the time he has left. The focus now is on making him as comfortable as
possible so he can enjoy the time he has remaining. I can tell you that emotionally and spiritually, Johnny is in a good place – he has his difficult days – but he remains the wonderful, balanced human being we all love and draw strength from.
By mutual agreement with hospice, his family, myself, and John – we respectfully ask: That he receive no more visitors, phone calls, or requests for meetings. He is simply not physically able to accommodate this. It
really breaks his heart to do this, as we all know how social he is, but he physically cannot do it anymore and hospice has strongly recommended this course.
I will close this message with a thought about my best friend and my brother. When I think about what I would do for him and what he would do for me…a favorite scripture from the Bible comes to mind. It’s from
John 15:13…and it goes like this “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends”. If I could…I would. And he would too. I love you Johnny." - Kerry M.
John and I met through our local LGBT business chamber before I became contract staff there. He immediately did everything he could to support my copy writing craft. He was an established and successful ad man who came out late in life. Honest, hard working, passionate, very compassionate and generous. He was always upbeat and a pleasure to converse with. He's one of those spirits who's equal parts sagely wise and playful.
My last opportunity to see him was several weeks ago on April 21st (isn't that Earth day?). John's nearest and dearest threw him a grand celebratory party at a beautiful highrise apartment building in Downtown Seattle. I knew I had to go see him one last time.
What a turnout! No surprise, John is an extremely amiable guy. Of course he's loved by so many. His dream was to retire in Bali, which he had done for some time until he became very ill. His purpose for returning to Seattle was to receive the best possible cancer treatment and of course be surrounded by those who know and love him.
Unfortunately the treatment course was unsuccessful. John has subsequently accepted his fate, chose to allow the disease to run its course and live out the rest of his days with his family in Southern California. So this celebration was to be his final farewell to those of us he's leaving here in the Emerald City.
I waded through countless people in the great common gathering area on the second level of the Olivian lobby until I reached what appeared to be clearing. John was seated in the middle of this vast room, which felt cozy by all counts thanks to it being filled to near capacity with those like me who wanted to see John one last time.
He was bald, thin as a rail and dressed smart for a day in the tropics with a linen scarf draped losely about his neck. We caught eyes and suddenly he lit up, exclaiming, "Brad! You don't know how much it means to me that you made it!" He began to weep, and I found myself overcome with a mix of joy and heart-wrenching emotion.
It was clear he was comfortably seated, so I knelt down and we took one another's hands. I told him how wonderful it was to see him, and it was. His eyes sparkled like fine gems. We smiled at one another. He wanted to know how I was doing. Despite months of illness, I told him I was doing well and that life is good. While in some ways it felt as if we were able to connect for quite a while, I know it was in reality just a blink of an eye. He invited me to see him if I ever made it down to Southern California. I think this was a way of letting me know we may meet again on the other side or perhaps in another life. Or maybe he simply meant exactly what he said.
I could feel a presence at my back, so I turned to see what appeared to be a really long receiving line that stretched clear across the great room. I acknowledged how many other people who loved him were longing to see him, so I vowed I would look him up if I'm ever planning to head his way. He reiterated how much it meant to have me there, and I could feel his truth in his words inside my bones. Choked up, he brought his fist up to his chest, knocked gently a couple times and told me I would always be in his heart.
While I haven't known John terribly long, and I haven't known him well in the conventional sense, I feel I knew him profoundly.
A few days after the party, John sent me the following private message via Facebook:
"dear brad...i cannot tell you how much your visit meant to me on Sunday. your spirit and enthusiasm inspire me. always has and always will. if you are ever in the Newport Beach area, let me know. would love you to meet the rest of my wonderful and whacky family. give my best to Matt when you see him. tell him i understand that he will always remain a special person in my heart--just like you are. much love and many blessings, amigo..."
I was so touched and moved by his message, I wasn't sure whether I had a worthy enough response. I didn't reply.
The email I received updating me on his condition was my call to action. While I may have missed an opportunity to respond digitally, I sure as hell wasn't going to miss an opportunity to create a tangible, loving thought for him to enjoy as he transitions out of this life. I began pondering some thoughts last night. This morning I sat down and began to write, and this is what I expressed to him:
"The joy you filled me with at your Seattle celebration overwhelmed me, John. Much like an outstanding note in an enchanting melody, it is those gilded moments which contain life’s very meaning. The space in between is so we can clearly hear when those notes are struck, appreciate them for the light they bring into our realities and reflect upon them fondly. It is my sincerest wish you have been savoring much more than the world’s fair share of precious moments. May love always light your way as you have so warmly lit others’. With much love, Brad"
The cover of the card was blank, so I thought a simple quote on its cover would be ideal:
"Everything you can imagine is real." - Pablo Picasso
Equality & Myths of Unicorns
equal·i·ty: the quality or state of being equal
 |
| I like to think of this as the "uniquality" symbol. |
Take marriage equality for example. The sanctity of marriage under state and federal laws bestows a bundle of some 1,400 rights and/or immunities, until now not afforded to same gender couples.
Once upon a time Thomas Jefferson introduced The American concept of equality, "all men are created equal," in 1776. Since then, we have enslaved African men and women. We have disenfranchised women, mixed-ethnicity couples and homosexuals. Struggles, clashes, full blown movements and civil war have ensued over this simple, little word; equality.
Is it so profound our U.S. Supreme Court ruled to uphold a basic human right and principle clearly intended by those geniuses who founded this nation in the first place? I don't mean to downplay the far-reaching implications of this amazing, historic ruling. I'm just merely pondering how far we have to veer off course until the wheels fall off and then we find ourselves back at square one. Why must we lose sight of what was important to our forefathers to begin with? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Almost sounds like a classic tagline for the travel industry. Well it's not. It's the promise America made to its citizens. How many of you out there are happy? Looking for happiness? Resigned you'll never be happy another day in your life?
The truth is, no one can intrinsically be equal. Not even Siamese twins. Russia discovered this through its little social experiment. Remember the U.S.S.R.? Even in a communist system there's a hierarchy, which is a complete paradox.
Look around the environment. All natural systems have a hierarchy, too. Top of the food chain. Bottom of the food chain. Things that feed on the bottom of the food chain. So how do we elevate ourselves from survival of the fittest? Equality? Maybe.
Do I as a homosexual male American feel more equal in the eyes of the law today? Maybe. I definitely feel like unicorns are more accepted as real. I know, you're thinking what is up with this guy. Why is he looking a gift horse in the mouth?
Is it really a gift? Or is equality very similar in proxy to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; a promise from America? You take away my promise and then reaffirm the promise. It's a little bit like cutting open my chest, ripping out my still-beating heart and then returning it to me wrapped up with a bow. That's not a gift. I was born with it. It was mine to begin with, so fuck you!
The reality is, these social issues are a complete smoke screen masking the more sinister issues plaguing our world. One of the nastiest is Corporate Sociopathism. I've touched on this in my last couple posts 'You Can't Handle The Truth I & II.'
Equality, like unicorns, is a beautiful concept in theory. In reality, the average American spends a quarter of their life working to support our federal government and the world's wealthiest banking families that lease every dollar to us. What do you call this? Indentured servitude comes to mind.
Just like unicorns, equality is still the stuff myths and legends are made of ...
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