Conversation

I frequently come back to the story about how Rumi and Shams used to walk out into the wilderness for weeks at a time in a practice they called “conversation” – a dialogue between the higher and lower self. Of course, either of them could have had a chat between these selves independently…I think we all do fairly regularly; we just aren’t always aware of it. Sometimes, though, I become quite aware of it.

I looked out onto rain coming down in sheets or buckets; from my perspective I wasn’t sure which and didn’t really care. Beyond my yard getting wetter with every passing second, I noticed between the boards in the fence that there were cars going by…lots of them…very, very slowly. The conversation became rather obvious. It started with more of a rant on one side.

“He wants us to walk in this? After all the things we’ve been through that have *led* us to be totally despairing, he wants us to get our endorphins up by walking in a torrential downpour and dodging the wayward paths of irritated motorists…this passes for a friendly suggestion somehow? Explain this to me.”

“Things probably look different where he is. He’s right by the ocean, not off the highway in the mountains like we are…not that a different perspective invalidates the suggestion. It might be the best thing.”

“Bah! You always side with him.”

“So do you. You’re just more grudging about it. I take the suggestion in 2 seconds where you take 2 days if you’re allowed to.”

“True enough…but I am not walking in that. There is no way.”

“Well, he wasn’t dead set on us walking around out there. He just said, really, to go outside, move, get some endorphins going, and get out of the rut.”

“He doesn’t understand what we’re facing.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. So what? We understand better than anyone, but understanding isn’t getting us anywhere anyway…and why would he have to understand to help? That’s just a lot of modern-era Euro-American nonsense. Anyway, he mentioned dancing…”

“Ha! You think dancing is such a great idea, you do it. Somebody starts shooting a pistol at my feet, I’ll dance. Meanwhile, no.”

“Yoga then. We need to do that anyway or we’ll be in even worse shape later today.”

“Oh, so then when I’m good and limber you’re going to drag me out in the rain? We don’t have time for this **** anyway, if we’re going to go to the movie, which you seem intent on doing, and which is also a lot of ****.”

“Well, the time constraint is an issue, yes. Well, we can go outside and do yoga.”

“You want me to go out in that mess and do yoga?! Oh, enough already. You’re nuts and there’s no stopping you. Do what you want. I’ll never get any peace anyway unless you get your way.”

“Hey, he asked as a favor.”

“True. Fine. Let’s do this.”

“Okay, great! Now, first…well, I hate to put on fresh clothes without showering…I’ll just go out like this. Pajamas are fine yoga clothing…and my old sweatshirt has seen enough outdoor action, it’ll be fine to toss over myself. Now, shoes…I hate to wear shoes to do yoga though…well, there was that elder who said that touching bare feet to bare earth at least once in the day was necessary for well-being…”

“Wait, wait. You’re going to go tramping around in the rain in bare feet now?”

“We did it in Hawai’i.”

“And you were even more nuts than usual in Hawai’i…oh, whatever. You never listen to me. Fine. Let’s go.”

…Interestingly, that voice went pretty well silent once I got out there. On the deck, rain hitting my face, brushing the sleepiness from the edges of my consciousness…breathing, stretching…focusing on a tree on the other side of the river…noticing my kokopelli chimes for the first time in a while, hanging silently in the largely still air…leaning forward, balanced on one foot, with sharp vision noticing tiny movements of distant leaves…of course, that other voice tried to pipe in again…

“Man, you’re gonna get ringworm hanging out in the rain in bare feet. I know there’s no stopping you but when you wonder what’s going on with your soles in a while I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

“Quiet. Our ancestors walked this earth barefoot many times. We’ll be fine. You listen to the fear of modern urban people too much. They try to help but they can’t because they are every bit as unbalanced as you. They pull you from your nature.”

Coming back into the warm cabin for a warm shower seemed like a blessing even to the crankier of my two inner voices. To say that I am happy now would not be right, but I am observing my process, understanding that there’s more than one side to the story, even within.

Relationship: Core or Crutch?

It was the second time in just over a year that there was a threat of a most beloved key figure in my life being called elsewhere.  My heart sank.  My tongue seemed suddenly to have been stripped of the reservoir from which words normally flow.  Tears would not even come; perhaps my resistance to crying in a public space was to blame for the fact that I could not even find that release.  I just sat tearlessly, wordlessly, nodding occasionally, before going back to my normal pile of tasks, though I had no drive or energy left to do any of them.  It seemed I was on the cusp, once again, of being left behind for no especially good reason in the context of my own life; another meaningless loss.

Even so, I have a commitment not to fall victim to despair.  I know that as long as I continue the patterns that have already occurred in my life…I’ll continue the patterns that have already occurred in my life.  I knew my old coping mechanisms were not wise choices for someone with my ambition for a changed life.  So I began to look for a way in which this, and the larger pattern of relationships fading into approximate non-being, could be integrated into a meaningful overall picture.  I couldn’t find it.

In my life, I’ve made relationships a priority.  After losing so many relationships, though, and faced with the fear of further loss, I had to ask…what if my relationships continue to essentially come and go in the blink of an eye?  That would decimate my sense of meaning…and what does that mean?  Is this an appropriate, productive worldview, or is it somehow an inadequate guiding story for my life?

There are reasons for my strong orientation toward the need for healthy relationships that endure.  Even my God-concept is of a God who in Himself *is* relationship – before the beginning of the world, He was triune; three persons, though one being.  The Native Americans, I recently learned, have a similar view to my own; some will go so far as to say that there is no individual self; only a collection of relational selves.  Relationship provides dynamism, without which there is no life and no future.  My career is about forming a healing relationship with others, and without relationships that career is not only meaningless but altogether impossible.

Then, of course, there’s the issue of interdependence versus codependence.  People have asked me before where, if anywhere, the line is drawn.  And I have to ask myself, in honesty, if I’ve placed it properly myself.  Yes, clearly we need each other.  Even looking at our biology, no one can act alone to propagate the species; it takes a partner.  When we are together even in a far less intimate way, our bodies take cues from each other and interact – think about 3 women who, after a few months sharing a home, realize that their menstrual cycles have synchronized.  It’s our nature to come together.  But if I need someone in such a way that the notion of losing them gives me fits…is that an advantageous thing?  In a more traditional society based on settling down in one location among family and friends, it would be a good match.  But in a mobile society where people believe they may and even expect that they will have to pick up and leave town (or the state or the country), maybe not so much.  Even at that…if basic human instincts to bond and find security in community are not supported by the modern lifestyle, what’s going to break down first?  The person or the circumstance?

When you’re right, you’re right.

…when you ignore it, you suffer.

Following inner guidance is one of those interesting behaviors that society sometimes encourages and lauds, and sometimes beats to a bloody pulp at the slightest provocation.  Again, I’m in Northern California, the land of Follow Your Bliss, and yet the contradiction still plays havoc with me on an ongoing basis.  I know that if I go with my gut and win (or appear to), people will be quick to applaud me for my wit and skill and courage dealing with the situation at hand, and that if I don’t seem to reach my desired objective, I’ll be told I was foolish for exercising the same qualities; that I should have known better.  After all, sometimes you have to sacrifice and you just can’t get your way…that was too risky to try…nobody else has had that happen, why would it work for me?….  Of course, that’s good ol’ 20/20 hindsight in action more than anything to learn from as you look toward the future.  It occurs to me that sometimes boldness, not certainty of outcome or likelihood of support, is the missing link.

I’ve been given some powerful object lessons around relationships over the years.  I recall as a college student my mindset was unusual but my lips were bold; if I liked a man but just not that way, I would say it tactfully but promptly, and in no uncertain terms.  I wanted clarity and was not about to sacrifice it to be nice.  What made the difference between the bold, outspoken me at 17b14 and the 20b14 me of today?

I had to wonder about this.  A friend of a year and a half was showing romantic interest, and though my intuition was saying “something is wrong,” all I did was giggle and thank him for his sweet gestures, and wonder why I couldn’t more easily accept that a very loving, kind, attractive man wanted the pleasure of my company.  Well, finally a situation came up in which I just couldn’t ignore it.  Our worldviews were clashing; he was trying to give me a gift, but for someone of my faith it was the spiritual equivalent of poison.  I tried to accept it graciously, but my spine began to feel like a knotted rope…the feeling crept up from somewhere in my lumbar until my neck was affected, and I felt so tense I feared what would happen if I didn’t put a stop to things.  I hadn’t wanted to accept we weren’t a good match.  I hadn’t wanted to say “no.”  But I finally had to.  Three days later I still have an almost electrically charged knot in my shoulder, and a painful rash on one arm that appeared hours after my meeting with him.  This was how far my body had to go to tell me to listen to myself.  This is the kind of pain I go through when I don’t do it promptly.

I’ve also had more positive confirmation of the power of listening to myself. For 11b14 years, I refused to watch or read news coverage of any kind.  This, of course, made it impossible to know much of what was going on in the community, much less do anything about it…but taking a good, honest look at how I responded to being “in the know,” I found that it actually tended to take me out of the game instead of making me a better player.  I got overwhelmed; depressed; I didn’t like what I saw, and I didn’t see any way of changing it.  It was a matter of self-defense.

Well, after a while I started to challenge this in my own mind.  Maybe it was the long-term loved one whose life story included a level of social activism that basically ruled his life for over a decade.  Maybe it was looking at my heroes and noticing that they all just reached a point where they cared too much not to know and act, even when it broke their hearts or their lives…but I finally took up a cause recently.  A local business owner who was particularly important to the artistic community here was in trouble with the city.  He made some decisions that didn’t please them, and indeed I would not have made many of the same choices, but in the end I felt like I needed to support him in defending what he’d created.  I even attended a public hearing for the first time in my life a few weeks ago, only to leave so disillusioned that I began to question if I could really stay in a place where the government was so inveterately deaf to the public good and the people’s expressed will.  I encouraged others to speak out.  I kept up with developments.  And at a certain point I had to decide…was I going to the last meeting that would determine the fate of the business?  I didn’t want to give up on the issue, but my resources internally were already feeling strained.  I was still bleeding emotionally from the last meeting.  So reluctantly, I determined it was time to withdraw and care for my own needs; I elected to stay home.  In the course of the evening I played my Native American flute on the back deck of the cottage…supported a friend whose struggle to balance career and family life seems to have come to a very ugly head…played harp…practiced guitar…dreamed about the ukulele my mother is going to give me next week…I went to bed happy, though I wondered what had happened at City Hall.

When I had an opportunity, I reluctantly checked the local paper online.  The outcome was sad indeed; the city closed a cultural center that was really very badly needed here.  I was sad.  I grieved.  I wrote my condolences…and then I went on with my life.  Instead of pouring my energy into something which, while worthwhile and important, had drained my energy in the last round, I had built myself up by nurturing my own creative life.  I wasn’t happy in the face of the sad news, but I wasn’t totally demolished.  I could keep on living, right then and there, instead of two days later when I came off my depressive spell.  It was hard; some people would likely say I was a coward not to go; a small, traitorous voice in my head tries to tell me I might have affected the outcome of things…but I know, really, that I did well – I took care of myself, knowing that no one else would or conceivably could.  When you’re right, you’re right.  The trick is in knowing it and acting accordingly.

Decisions, decisions…

It’s been an interesting thing, gathering information about computer-based recording software.  Basically, there seem to be three schools of thought on the topic…

1. “I hate to say it ’cause it’s expensive and you’re broke, but go with Pro Tools.”
2. “Go with Cubase SE1.  It’s easy to learn and fairly cheap.”
3. “Go open source if you can…try Jackit (sp?) or Ardour.”

I have reasons to want to go in all these directions, and reasons to object to all three.  Do I go expensive and well-known, quick and dirty but easy, or, well…open source, which can have any number of positive and negative characteristics?

There’s the classic equalizing question, “what would you do if money were no object?”  Honestly as much as I like the whole spirit of open source software, time is of the essence to me these days, so I’d probably “go shrink-wrap” given an easy choice.  Then, that leads me to ask which direction I’d go between Pro Tools and Cubase if money were no object.

The advantages with Pro Tools that I like are that a) any professional studio will have Pro Tools, and b) I actually know people who use Pro Tools, which will come in handy if I get stuck.  The former is mostly one of those fanciful “won’t this be handy if I’m playing an open stage and get ‘discovered’?” sort of points.  It’s heartwarming though totally unrealistic, kind of like when Grandma asks if there’s “been any interest” in a cover I recorded (for her) of Keali’i Reichel’s “Lei Hali’a,” and haven’t even mentioned to anyone since I sent the only copies in existence to her and her sister-in-law.  The latter on the other hand is potentially a big deal; when I’m up at 3am and two steps away from having something recorded and find myself wondering “what the heck is wrong now?” it’ll be comforting if I can actually email someone a question, go to bed, and perhaps wake up to a response in the morning (afternoon).

Cubase, however, is cheaper and sounds more approachable in terms of the learning curve; ‘nough said.

So it looks like it all comes down to which part of my personality/life circumstance I’m going to heed; the part that treats itself to what is commonly thought of as the best and gets by with a little help from its friends, or the part that wants to save some time, money, and irritation in favor of a quicker, easier start.  Or perhaps the question is, am I willing to invest an extra $150 I don’t really have and an unknown amount of hours for the sake of solidarity?

Creating meaning

I always wondered how someone whose worldview didn’t include a sort of built-in sense of purpose or meaning would go on from day to day. In the big picture, I haven’t had to face that since I started school in 1983; a Christian education had its pluses and minuses, but finding the divine being my soul had cried out for as long as I could remember was the biggest plus I could imagine. I have periods of doubt and episodes of questioning like most any believer, but by and large I know that my life has a purpose and a destination, and both are beautiful beyond compare.

Of course, like humans of all faiths – and those of none at all – it’s easy for me to become myopic and get bogged down in the minutiae of the mundane. There are days like today where there doesn’t seem to be much purpose in a lot of the ways I spend my time on earth. I conquer one challenge at my day job and three more come up in its place…I cultivate relationships only to find myself alone when I could most use a friend…I clean the house and two days later it looks like a cyclone hit it…and some of these processes are less than enjoyable in and of themselves, even when they do seem productive. A voice came up in my head today though…I asked an inner guide what to make of all the madness and he said, “there’s got to be some reward at the end of a battle this hard. That’s not to say that working hard guarantees one’s outcome of choice; rather, if what you’re doing isn’t getting you anything you want in the short term, you have to create your own reward. This is your own life, which means it’s your own day as much as anyone’s…so how are you going to make it worth your own while?”

I didn’t have to ask such questions of myself outright as a teenager, but the answer seemed to come easily…and here I am, at 20b14, finding that it’s still the same. As long as I’m not so down as to need Liveship therapy (my own term for the effect of Robin Hobb’s second amazing trilogy of high fantasy novels), I can remain active and reach to my music.

There’s been almost an ache inside me since my friend last week brought up the possibility of doing more elaborate arrangements and recordings. When I first became a songwriter at the age of 12b14, I always had a difficult job ahead of me in my songwriting. I was hearing these massive arrangements in my head with all different instruments and voices, but I somehow had to pare them back and convey the essence of them with what I had – an untrained teenage mezzo-soprano voice and just enough guitar skills to whack out an earnest, if precarious, cover of “My Sweet Lord.” Well, with time I started to purposely bring my dreams and my skill level more in line with each other; I became something of a disciple of Michael Hedges’ legacy. For those who are familiar with his work, you know that he could take one guitar and one voice and create an effect that pretty well sent the listener into orbit. And so I sought to become a savage myth guitarist. Ambitious? Without question. Possible? Well…why not?

Well, it still hasn’t happened. The time between my epiphany about what made that music what it was and the time that a rough patch in grad school pretty much derailed my whole life was fairly short – only about four years – and even within that time I had a lot to contend with; life just had other plans for me, try as I did to further my own. But something else interesting has happened since then.

Between the fall of 2002 and February of this year, my life as a musician was basically in a vast dry spell, punctuated by brief oases just sizable enough to keep my thirst alive, but not to come anywhere near quenching it. There’s a story there that is more complex and sad than anything to which I can imagine the reader wanting exposure, but suffice it to say that I would have expected no significant musical growth during such a time at all. I feared, in fact, that I had likely lost much of my previous rich and promising skill set.

Funny thing is, all the little things I’ve done over the last few years that I thought were largely just “dabbling” or “wasting time” have really put me in a much better place in terms of being able to create more complex arrangements. Why the heck did I ask for a Celtic harp for Christmas? I barely play the guitar and now I’m going to distract myself with this – oy vey!…Why am I listening to this insane ’90s rock music? I mean, yeah, it’s good stuff that I’ve chosen, but I need to go back to my roots, don’t I? Listen to some Beatles records and some Hedges CDs again?…Okay, I just bought a Native American flute – I don’t know why; I just hope this doesn’t become an extremely expensive knickknack…now, wait, filling out the order form for a bass guitar was an okay way to play, but did I seriously just click “submit order”?! Have I lost it totally?

But the result of all this is something I told myself years ago I could never do…I now have access to, and at least solid embryonic capabilities to play, 5 distinct instruments. Pair that with technology and the voice I spent two years training during college, and there’s only one thing really missing…the arrangements in my head.

They’re still there…after many years’ denial they’ve grown very quiet and often vague, but after a day of seeming meaninglessness, I am indeed looking forward to spending part of this evening creating meaning and pleasure in life by nurturing those dreams back toward reality – listening and whispering, “come! Yes, come – I’ve learned a lot since you last really spoke up, and this time I may not be the only one to hear you!”

More magical musical madness…

My life has always been more or less the same in that there have always been some horrible things going on, and a few really powerful good things that kept me afloat. Well, in keeping with that pattern, my vocational life has been less than thrilling lately, but my music has given me a way to beat the blues…or at least lift myself out of them for a while.

I’ve always loved experimenting with sound – not even trying to make a “song” necessarily…sometimes just saying, “I wonder what would happen if I did this,” and then spending some time finding out, is an incredibly fulfilling thing. I let myself do the recording phase of one such exploration yesterday. The process was more interesting than the product (which won’t see the light of day or appear on an album) by far, so it’s the ideal topic for a blog entry.

I started this a few weeks ago. Basically I was stuck in an emotion I didn’t like and decided to turn my pain into publishing, as they say. I started writing some lyrics, and an annoying thing started to happen. There was so much chattering going on in the back of my head I could barely compose…yet the chatter all had to do with the topic. I noticed all these voices chattering at me from the past; former teachers, old boyfriends, various other good souls who for some reason took on a destructive flavor as they wove their way through my life.

Well, I thought, I‘m doing this more for the sake of catharsis than anything, so why don’t I give these voices equal time? Maybe then they’ll stop yammering at me. So I started typing out all their ramblings. Phrases months or years old made their way through the keyboard but still ached like hour-old bee stings. Before long, they reached a length of over two full pages…then I was faced with the question, “what do I do with this exactly?”

I decided to somehow use the voices from the back of my head as background singers; to create sort of a musical portrait of what it was like trying to think over their muddled din. I separated all those old nasty phrases into groups by who said what or what they were speaking of. Somewhere along the way I realized that there were so many different “voices” I almost didn’t need any instrumentation…just let them all yak and speak their minds behind my singing…wait…they’re going to be my guitar.

I decided on chords and a strumming pattern to accompany the main melody. Then, I grouped the phrases I had dictated from the mental noise into four sets, and arranged the syllables of each line of thought so that they could be sung in the strumming rhythm. For the harmony, I simply treated the four sets each as one of the highest strings of the guitar. Whatever note would normally be played on that string for the chord at that point in the song, that’s what I’d sing. I wondered what the effect would be like.

This also presented an interesting challenge in terms of recording because to do this I’d have to fit 5 tracks onto my 4-track recorder…which meant using ping-pong recording. I hadn’t done this since at least the year 2001 so I was a bit intimidated…but I RTFM again and actually got it.

The result, surprisingly, was not that interesting. The independent vocal lines all talking about different things didn’t really suggest a mental din at all; they reminded me a bit of a denser, more inscrutable version of John Dowland’s vocal harmonies. So, I’d say overall this compositional technique is less useful than I’d hoped, but I suppose if I ever want to write a quick harmony for something I can always use guitar chords as a model.

Meanwhile I can remember ping-pong recording now, which is potentially useful since it will allow me to record up to 7 tracks on the same song. I’m feeling called both by internal drives and by a friend’s encouragement to extend my recorded sound beyond my recent folk-like pieces. For a long time I thought it was silly of me to even consider really elaborate, multi-instrumental arrangements…but that’s what most people, myself included, often prefer to hear. More than that, I’ve been hearing such arrangements in my head since I started composing at age 16 (or 12 in base 14), and if I don’t yet play all the instruments I would need to make that a reality, well…I have a friend who plays keyboard, and I’d be only too happy to brush up my violin skills if I could lay my hands on an instrument. Until I find software to record directly to my computer (one with which I’m satisfied, that is), ping-pong recording on the multitracker is the gateway to that exploration…and I’ve thrown the gate open wide with this experiment!

Music is too important to be taken seriously.

A friend and I have a long-running gag about an imaginary character; sort of a quirky outsider-artist among hillfolk. My tendency to do spontaneous song parodies and silly improvisations eventually led to an embryonic song. When my friend’s birthday came along I couldn’t imagine a better thing to do than to record a demo by the imaginary character.  I wrote out the lyrics I’d occasionally been crooning during long walks with the birthday boy, finalized the tune, wrote up some chords…

The interesting thing is that once I was in the middle of a project that I didn’t feel any need to take seriously – when I didn’t put the slightest trace of “have-to” or “should” on it – things developed in interesting new ways.  Suddenly I was writing a rambling bridge into the song that sounded so different from the rest that it really sounded like a whole other composition…I wanted a touch of the quirky hillfolk outsider-artist’s rambling mentality to show through, so even if it took the listener wholly off course, how bad would that be?  I also decided that this would be a fabulous chance to try my hand at my newly acquired bass guitar – I’d doubtlessly learn something, and even if it wasn’t the ideal groove, well…that’d just be fitting.  It’s not as if the character would likely have had the benefit of an education from Juliard or Berklee; he could be forgiven for the occasional lapse in taste or flubbed note.

The process was more fun than a lot of the other more slick, professional things I’ve pulled off.  No pressure (even the self-imposed type), lots of creativity…I even let myself experiment with the finer points of the recording process itself and learned a lot that I could apply to other projects.  So what about the product?

The birthday boy and I had dinner the same day I gave him the final product, and as we walked together, he was very enthused about the CD.  “Even if it weren’t funny…it’s good…I mean this in the best possible way – it’s very pop.”  He liked the rambling bridge; the song structure interested him.  He liked the bass…even in one place where the bass and the rhythm guitar came together in sort of a strange way, he liked the “one funky chord.”  And he actually found it catchy.  He listened to it twice immediately and found himself humming it.  In fact, he reports that he’s still got it in his head now!

I wonder what would happen if I followed my bliss…even my humor…a little more in my music.  I’m currently allowing myself the luxury of a little more musical/recording experimentation; this time not of a humorous nature but definitely a little out there, conceptual…not really product-oriented.  And I wonder what would happen if I could do this more in other parts of my life too.  Time will tell.

It’s good to be 20b14.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you…there’s not a reason in the world to resist experimenting and enjoying.

Same Planet, Different Worlds

Again, diversity is a wonderful thing and a challenging thing. What’s even more so than cultural diversity in its many forms is individuality. What do you do when you’re in close and frequent contact with a person who, despite being on the same planet with you, is in a different world? What do you do when this creates conflict?

…She’s a good woman with a loving heart. I’ve found that though we only met a short time ago, we’ve been involved in several of the same New Age-style trainings…she once had the same career that I’m now launching myself into…I even worked for an old flame of hers once. We have many of the same or similar external experiences in life to draw on, which made me think that we might mesh very well. Sometimes we do.

Then The Incident hit. The Incident was not between the two of us, but between myself and another common acquaintance of ours. I was quite tired of even thinking about The Incident and didn’t plan to speak of it, but she saw that I was unhappy and was understandably wondering what had happened. There’s nothing wrong with her approach; it’s just different from my own. She tends to want to open up and talk about everything, and while I have my gregarious side, it tends to hibernate when I’m upset. My tendency is to go largely silent in order to conserve my already taxed energy, avoid reinforcing the problem, and minimize any risk of misunderstandings beyond whatever else may already have occurred. Also she’s very energetic, which is a poor match for me when I’m in a low mood. We began a walk together and I was feeling blunted and dull-eyed but still standing tall and walking quickly, planning to move on from what was bothering me. By the time we finished an approximately 10-minute walk, my posture had slumped almost imperceptibly but certainly to the left. I was tired. Tired of trying to parse rapid-fire questions and reflections…tired of trying to respond in an even-tempered and honest way that still preserved my right to privacy and to remain silent where I so desired…tired of being asked if I felt I was attracting the situation to myself in order to work through a pattern. The widely held New Age emphasis on choice is something which, in a state of health and happiness, I consider an interesting fallacy…in a state of vague unwellness and distinct unhappiness it becomes a large and unforgiving sore spot. (In a particularly grim mood, I once found myself talking to someone who believes we choose to experience certain dynamics in life before birth and finally said, “if I’m stupid enough to choose this circumstance, I shouldn’t be alive.”) Same planet, different worlds.

This becomes even worse when the different world you’re encountering seems to encompass values that don’t even seem like “values” because they are so different from one’s own. I once thought this was the exclusive domain of the big-bucks high-powered corporate world, but being a business owner who interacts with other small businesses frequently, I sometimes feel wholly adrift. I try to live my business life as I do my personal one – with honor, gentleness, generosity, and candor. However, I find that I am frequently lied to, given backhanded compliments, and verbally or financially roughed up where, were the tables turned, I would simply speak the truth and be done with it. I don’t know how to cope in a world where, for example, I have a dozen clients on a corporate contract raving about me and then have the person controlling the contract tell me it’s being terminated because the clients were dissatisfied. I talk on the phone or meet with people in the business world and they contradict themselves left and right; they’re definitely lying at least half the time, usually to squirm out of an agreement without consequence to themselves or to make my rightful claim to compensation seem ridiculous. When I tell a friend with management experience of such a thing the response is, “don’t be too hard on him for lying. Sometimes it’s just part of the job.” Sorry, I don’t believe that for a second.

What do you do when you’re walking down the street and find that without so much as a sign, you’ve entered someone else’s private parallel dimension and you just don’t know the rules?

Dreams as Salvation and Prison

Attraction in and of itself interests me, whether it’s attraction to a person or a place, an object or a feeling or an idea…even what’s attractive at surface-level is such a powerful force, and at the same time so individualized. Of course, what makes things even more interesting is the pairing of attraction simultaneously with a conflicting feeling or instinct.

Heterosexual though I am, I notice other women’s appearance; maybe it’s a search for a mirror of myself…maybe it’s a constant scanning for some outward symbol that a person is a prospective same-gender friend…maybe I’m trying to see women as a heterosexual man does…maybe all of this and more. This morning I saw a woman who I instantly knew would end up in my writing in some form; maybe as an image in a song or an example of how to write a good paragraph for my day job, maybe as a figure in a blog, but somewhere. I don’t remember what she was wearing or even the overall look of her face, but there are features that stood out – those eyes and that hair will not soon escape my memory. Her upturned nose and light freckles on a canvas of blemishless skin gave her the appearance of someone who clearly was once a girl, woman though she may be today. What made me pay attention to her among the many women walking along Pacific Avenue?

Attraction of a sort was certainly a factor. I’ve been complimented on my looks before, and I’m certain that I am my own worst critic, but I simply cannot imagine possessing the ability to look as together as this lady with whom I crossed paths. How many hours, dollars, and hair products do you need to have a high-set ponytail full of golden-brown waves fall on the back and sides of your head like that? Is it possible to get skin so smooth and even as this if you aren’t born with some particular gift? Some inborn factors were certainly at work – delicate facial features…sparkling eyes of grey or hazel…altogether she just had a sparkle. There was a quality I couldn’t quite define; it reminded me of silver filigree or cast iron scrollwork somehow.

And then there was a resistance. She looked so young and refined, yes…and those are qualities I haven’t had to that degree in quite some time if ever. Some of my resistance was likely just distaste at being reminded of societally treasured qualities that don’t come easily to me, if at all. And another part was an assumption that her look was indicative of a lifestyle I chose to abandon years ago. I came to the conclusion as a college student that with all my priorities in life, I could simply not afford to primp away every morning and fuss over every last aspect of my appearance. Add to that a current lifestyle which is characterized largely by hurriedness and tight funding, and you have my current hippie look – 5- to 10-year-old Beatles T-shirts, hair *almost* behaving, shoes several to many months beyond time for replacement…and I can’t imagine keeping my image up any better while the substance of my life is so demanding; while I work two jobs, maintain multiple close friendships, stay involved in church and music. I guess I don’t see a fresh, young look as compatible with the way I live my life.

You can probably imagine it casts me into some conflict on occasion. There’s a part of me, no doubt fed by years of media consumption, that wants to be that pretty young woman who makes all the guys go berserk…but another part of me doesn’t believe I can cultivate the image or should try. I don’t even remember how I chased after it in high school anymore. A few weeks ago I tried eye makeup for the first time in 11 or 12 years, only to discover that I no longer remembered how to apply a simple eyeshadow.

My life’s destination and my approach to it is even subject to a shade of this: attraction vs. fear. For contrast I’ll describe a close person in my life. The first time I saw him, I was astounded. He walked into the office for an interview with his head held high, and his face in a smile that suggested he *knew* something about the outcome already. I didn’t speak its language but I guessed it meant either, “I’m going to be working here within three days,” or, “it doesn’t matter what you say to me; my life will turn out beautifully and I will keep on smiling.” He was right, either way. He got the job, and since then I have gradually gotten to know him as a reflection of myself – showing me things I forget in ordinary consciousness, but also turning things around in a way; reversing left and right, creating a fundamental difference in orientation. I see his joy and I remember, if only in little shadow puppet plays, what it was like to be four years old and playing, strong and self-assured and utterly curious; fully unafraid. But he lives it today – like a good husband to a beloved wife, he seems committed to his true self…for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or health…and if necessary he will indeed “forsake all others.” Homes, jobs, money, states of relationship have all come and gone; he feels free to go where he is called because he is committed to his own path first and foremost. He’s quite capable of loving another, but it’s not his guide, ultimately. He trusts that the callings of his heart will guide him well, and the rest will all fall into place. It’s hard for me to understand that sometimes. I’ve felt threatened as someone who desires closeness with him, and I’ve thought he must feel quite adrift not having a clear picture of what he ultimately wants. I’m afraid of his way of going about things; I don’t feel I would want to live it. And yet…

My life is mostly geared toward nesting. I was intent on a tree-shaded womb at the riverside to share with my beloved cat when I selected my current home; I planned to move in thoroughly and not leave until something clearly better came along. I plan to be in this area to stay. Basically what I want is more of what I have today; a more spacious home further in the woods, further up the network of rivers and creeks we Santa Cruz Mountain-dwellers are blessed with, and to spend my days sharing bodywork with a much bigger client base. It guides my life; it’s my concept of paradise, and indeed I plan to go there.

I spoke of it a bit to someone today who asked if I plan to stay here “forever.” Yes, this is it. This is where I want to be. The one problem with holding anything, even a dream, is that your hands are full; you’re busy; you can’t afford to drop it. I live particularly in an area where it’s hard to get work at all let alone work that pays anything reasonable, and while in many senses I am in the place I need to be, I can feel trapped. I can feel forced to make this job work, forced to control my finances, forced to have career/financial continuity and stability. I imagine a prospective mate coming along on top of all this…suppose he wants to be able to move someday? Perhaps move often? What if he’s like my friend, who can live anywhere and needs almost nothing to be happy? Would he settle down for my sake? Would he be happy, even if he agreed? Suddenly being without direction, without clear dreams, seems almost appealing. “When you ain’t got nothin’ you got nothin’ to lose…” but even with a dream you have something – something, potentially, to lose.

So where is happiness, really? Is there a point of integration, where the passionate, busy, down-home hippie can moonlight as a cover girl? Where being destined for a home in the mountains doesn’t spell the death of travel and different experiences, or create a present mood of life in a dank, dirty prison? How can we integrate commitment and freedom?

Are you willing to have what you want?

After spending my 20b14 birthday being fussed over marvelously by three very loving friends, my recent craving for attention was no longer so much a gaping chasm – more like a little dip in the road which one could traverse almost without noticing. Nevertheless, it was indeed there, and I noticed it filling in when a friend invited me on a little workout adventure in the woods with him after work.

Yes, I happily accepted…and then I started thinking. Wait, that’s when I usually eat dinner – how am I going to keep my blood sugar up?…I’m not wearing socks. Will I get blisters? Will my shoes smell goofy afterward?…Come to think of it, what kind of shirt am I wearing – is it going to be too warm for a hike?…What if I can’t keep up? He’s much more athletic than I am, no question about that…Strange how getting what I want makes me worry.

A few hours later, my friend asked if we could share a workout another day – he was too tired to go, he realized. Oh, okay, well, this gives me a chance to be better prepared for possible spontaneous exercise after work in the future, and I’m glad he’s taking care of himself. Still, I’m going to miss him now!…Wait, even when I was happy going, I found reasons to be unhappy about going…and yet now that I’m not going, I’m not relieved; I’m also unhappy about that. Strange indeed…

I paid attention over the next few days and found this happened over and over. I wanted attention and involvement, and then when I came close to getting it I worried. However, the concept of not getting it was just as bad, in a different way. It happened with friends at work, people I tried to connect with who I hadn’t heard from in a while, business contacts…I didn’t know what was worse sometimes, getting what I wanted or not getting it!

It occurs to me that this doesn’t just change my interpretation of what goes on in my life; it also may have some bearing on what I actually make happen in my life.

My birthday lunch was sushi. I hadn’t been to a sushi place in at least six years and really had no idea what I was doing but it sounded like fun. When we unwrapped the wooden chopsticks something interesting happened…everyone was finding it hard to separate them. Then somebody said something about intention…I don’t even recall what exactly it was, but I realized that was the secret. When I was sure I wanted the chopsticks to come apart and was no longer preoccupied about breaking them in the wrong place, they came loose very easily.

I smiled and said, “I’m glad you mentioned intention; I realized it was like lighting a match. If you don’t want it to happen it won’t.” I remembered as a teenager trying to light ten matches in a row and experiencing nothing but the slight scent of phosphorus…maybe even a spark, but no fire. Apparently my desire to light an incense cone wasn’t as strong as my phobia of small open flames.

Looking deeper into my resistance to the fulfillment of my own desires, I realized that one of my biggest concerns is that I’ll create something in my life which I’m not ready for. Sometimes when I see a spark as a result of some actions I’ve taken but no flame, I’m actually relieved. Oh, it’s probably best that I don’t have any clients this week – I’m so behind on blah blah blah…well, it’s all for the better that I didn’t get around to my songwriting today because I’m not ready to record something that requires overdubbing like that anyway….

It makes me wonder if I could have a lot more in life if I felt ready. There are ways to achieve that sense of course. One of the big things that leaves me feeling unprepared for what I most want is the unnerving state of my home and home office…it’s almost organized. When my place was a permanent disaster area I didn’t notice so much, but now that there are just a few choice things left in disarray, they niggle at me. The receipts aren’t quite together. My sheet music is in 3 or 4 places instead of one…it feels nasty. So I’m spending some time this weekend getting things together – solving the problems that bug me instead of giving myself any more reason why it’s really for the better if I don’t have what I want.

You can also take the spiritual path, of course. My recent exploration of my Native American roots has led me to a lot of remarkable insights, and the Kanaka Maoli of Hawai’i speak of a principle called ma’ona – knowing that we always have what we need at any given time. And it’s true that during my time in Hawai’i, with a group of spiritually-minded people who were committed to exploring those Native principles, we always seemed to have what we needed. We’d run a little late getting into our vans, but we’d make it to the other side of the island right on time…we might not have seemed to possess all the sheets we needed for bodywork practice but we always managed to cover the ku’ahus. What if I really am ready for anything, all the time…including what I want?