Second Time

Recently I was taking pictures of a man I greatly admire.  I will call him Will for the sake of anonymity.  Will is, as he likes to say is of a certain age.  I have always thought of Will as a buddha.  He is genuine and serene.  He is interested, engaging and invested in this life and the people around him.  When he hears of the internal suffering of others he smiles encouragingly and will often say "Isn't that interesting how we do that."  He has a way of acceptance and love that is gentle and light but at the same time is freeing and profound.
Will has apparently not always been a buddha.  He has suffered in unspeakable ways from the day of his birth.  The suffering before his memory was explained to him by his parents who were also responsible for it.  I have heard of people who feel like they were raised by wolves.  Will's parents make the wolves seem like Mother Teresa.  To this day his mind still goes to a place of disgust when he sees his picture.  And so it was a huge boon to me that Will let me photograph him.  Will and I have sat and looked at these pictures for several hours on different occasions.  We talk about what we see in the face of my friend.  I found tears flowing down my face as I tried to convey what I saw and how it made me feel.  Will held the same kindness in his voice as he talked about what he saw but it was both sad and brave and powerfully beautiful.  His face was no less dry than mine.
During the afternoon when I was photographing Will I said "Will, you are a beautiful man."  His response was surprising and beautifully honest.  He told me that this was only the second time in his life that anyone had told him that he was beautiful.  He said the first time was when he was 20 and he thought that was about something different than what I was talking about.  He told me how surprised he was at how it made him feel, how he had not realized how much he had been wanting to hear those words.  It makes me cry to think of that moment.
I happen to know many people who know Will.  We all talk about him.  Just tonight a man who has an office down the hall from me told me that last night Will was in his dream.  Everyone I know who knows Will thinks he is an amazing, wonderful, beautiful man.  I had of course told Will how everyone felt about him, and then encouraged people to tell Will just exactly what they thought of him.  Life is too short to be ignorant of the love others have for us.
This is in a way a sad story.  I can not go back in time and protect or love Will.  We can never change the past.  I am sure every one around Will assumed that he was confident in his beauty.  It seems to me such a loss that someone who had suffered so much was unaware of the succor around him.  The good in this story is powerful for me.  I have come to know my buddha like friend so much better.  I am more aware of what I take for granted.  I feel more free and braver in telling the truth of any beauty or kindness I see in others. 
Thank you Will.  I love you.

Our Wedding Vows

The night before our wedding I asked Annie why she loved me and how she showed her love for me. Hours before the ceremony I distilled it into this. We both read it as we exchanged rings. People have asked me if it is different being married. My response is that you have to be essentially married before the ceremony or you wouldn't be getting married. I really like that our vows came not from what we wanted in our future but from how we have lived and loved each other up to now. Thank you Annie.

I love you because you are tender and kind

Because you console me when I am sad and celebrate in my happiness

I love you because you do not take me for granted

And always try to love me better

I promise to support you in your endeavors

To place our love before my ego

And to always remember how rare and precious you are.

I love you

Best Yet

OK this is going to sound a lot like bragging. That's because it is. I just had the best job interview this morning. I went in wearing what I wear every day. The receptionist was fantastic in every way and gave me a free sandwich before I left some five hours later. The office was beautiful, inviting, professional and felt open and expansive. The rooms were big enough for my long legs and that is saying a lot. The hot stones were better than my own. The manager was great. She was talking about her elite staff and when she mentioned a particular name and I said "Oh, I've worked on her. In fact she video taped me giving her a massage." I got some amused eyebrows and a little laughter and had to add, "...because she wanted to learn some of the moves I use." I knew I was being an arrogant ass but they were very impressed and that was what I wanted. I gave the manager two hours of hot stone massage for the interview. She did not ask for two hours but said I could take as much time as I wanted. I wanted. I was having fun doing what ever I wanted instead of what I thought an interview massage should be. I told jokes, made mistakes, flaunted my musculo-skeletal vocabulary, and even laughed at her maniacally. She insisted I work on the owner as well and I worked on him for over an hour in a very different way. I was all business sticking just to the upper thorax and using the heat of stones to soften rather than to indulge. He told me right away that I must love what I do. He told me he was going to make me into a super star. I told him I already was one. He told me just how sweet he would make it for me. The manager sat down and told me they only want to work with happy people. That her goal was to keep everyone happy. When an appointment hit the book she would call me and ask me if I wanted it. She kept telling me that I could say no and that she would reschedule. She said if at any point I can make more money outside the office that she expected me to take that appointment first. She said they not only want everyone to be happy because it's good for the clients, but also because that is how they get and keep the best massage therapists. That, and they pay better than Google. I had once considered massaging for Google because they payed their therapists so well but didn't want to be tied down to a corporate schedule. The manager said my work provided something that was missing in the office. She apologised for saying the word sensual but that it was a good thing along with a lot of other really nice a flattering adjectives. Hearing that in a clinical (take health insurance) setting made me feel really good. She made it very clear that she wanted me to work there. There was a lot of talking almost out of my hearing that I took to be about me and to be very favorable. And then I met the other male therapist and was immediately intimidated by his stature and humbled by his generosity of spirit. I am really looking forward to working at this place. If for some reason it doesn't work out it was still such a huge boon to my ego that I would have a hard time being disappointed. I have just felt respected and wanted in ways I would have never considered asking for. Thank you. Thank you so much.

Takes My Breath Away

Annie in Brooklyn

Annie at the Hudson

Annie at the Park

Annie in Amherst

Annie on St John US Virgin Islands

A few months ago I put a ring on this lady's finger. In a few weeks we will get married. I adore her. I really like looking at pictures of her. Annie is a special human. I know I can't be objective but all of her friends say so too. Some other time I will try to put it into words. I can tell you now that I feel very lucky to have her in my life.

All my life I have not been completely present with people around me. I would hold back and try to control those around me out of a fear of abandonment. There is a lot that I missed in life because I was too worried about the future to fully enjoy the present. With Annie it is easy to stay present because we demand it of each other. We communicate with real-time-honesty. I never thought I would be able to do that with anyone.

There is plenty of goodness that passed between us. And if something doesn't feel good, either of us will say so. Instead of getting angry, distant, or defencive the response is simply "Ok, lets do it differently" I think this is possible because our love for each other is greater than our own egos. It also helps that I no longer need my partner to be anything other than her self. I think a lot of that has to do with my letting go. But more of it has to do with Annie being fantastic. Thank you Annie. I love you.

White Nice

In 2007 I bought my lady a new truck to replace the one I destroyed on the black ice. I didn't think I could afford much but I went to a police auction and got lucky. Very lucky. This truck is nicer than anything either of us ever thought we would ever own. It would be fiscally responsible to turn around and sell it. But as Annie's mother said, "You should own something really nice at least once in your life." And so here we are living the good life. And compared to the old truck, a very safe life. Apart from all the luxury features, this truck has four wheel drive, ABS, duel side airbags, and a heater that works.

You may ask why I bought a truck when a car is more economical. I took this picture to illustrate the need (I also like the profile of her legs). This photo is of Annie next to her tuck going through security to get into the underground loading bays of the World Financial Center. She is pulling in to load five of her pieces that had been on exhibit. I am mighty proud. I took a lot of satisfaction from watching people stopping in their tracks to get lost in her work. I took some pictures of the pieces them selves if you would like to see them click here. I was kind of limited by having to shoot through the bonnets so some of her older art is better seen at her website, annievarnot.com

Black Ice

Not so long ago I was traveling backwards in Annie’s truck on I-87 at 60 miles per hour. The picture above is of the truck before. I had been visiting my sister, her husband and their five adopted children up in Plattsburg. My oldest sister and her three youngest children were there as well. They will be there for a year to help out. The children are growing up so well. I could not be prouder of them or their parental grownups of which there are many.
We were all together for Thanksgiving including Annie and my third sister Michelle and her two kids. Everyone was standing around the piano singing with a child in their arms. Ok that doesn’t quite explain it. The room was filled with love and dancing and the kind of singing that requires no inhibition. It was unreal even by my standards. If you would like to see pictures of the weekend click here.
I’ll return to the backwards driving. It was in the wee hours of the morning. I was alone. It had been getting warmer all day. I was going south. I was going through the mountains. It was the gain in elevation that got me. The road was wet one moment and the next moment my back tires started drifting out in front of me. I corrected, and then the tires were drifting out in the opposite direction. I corrected again and again, oscillating wider and wider. Pretty soon I was bouncing between the guardrails like a ping pong ball. It was at this point, flying backwards on the highway I thought it might be over.
This is an exceptional place I think for anyone to be in. I did not see my life flash before my eyes. All I thought was, “Is this it? Have I learned enough?”
This response was surprising for me in a profound way. It implied a lot regarding how I understand my relationship with this world and my life.
After the truck stopped moving my mind was flooded with all of the things I was grateful for. I was in shock, felt nauseous and had trouble standing. I was standing near the truck looking over the wreck when the first car came by. The car stopped and I was invited in out of the cold and was kept at a safe distance from the truck until the police arrived. I assume I would have survived without this help but it is possible I could have died from shock. Even sitting in a warm car I was having a really hard time. I am enormously grateful for the kindness and patience of my fellow travelers.
The accident was a good lesson. I now know more about black ice. The importance of that knowledge was impressed upon me with out any permanent damage. I also discovered that I am not so much the intellectual cynical unbeliever I thought I was. It’s good to know what I’m working with.
Thank you.

Laughing All Over

I would like to give you a little background about my father. My father was an asshole. I believe his bad behavior was born out of insecurity. He did not have friends and told me the day I was born was the best day of his life. He judged me according to his own insecurities and when I was nineteen years old I told him to stop it or I would walk out of his life. It took him weeks to respond but when he did it was with a genuine change.

My father has cancer now. It has started to double every six weeks. He told me his life is good except that he worries about his wife and what might happen to her in a year’s time. We talked about the nature of my work. Not the mechanical kinetic part that is the meat and potatoes of my practice but the other more esoteric part. I am reluctant to call it energy work because I don’t really understand it. I would like to think its effect is a mixture of what comes from yoga and meditation and maybe acupuncture. He was very interested and jumped at the chance to try it.

I had him lay down and made sure he was warm. I passed my hands over his body and found physical problems like a knee that was bothering him. I don’t know how that works with out touching and though a blanket but there it was. And I let it be. I put his chest between my hands front to back. There are a lot of ways to engage a body. There is pressure that matches the impedance of muscles; there is pressure that matches the impedance of viscera. You can similarly engage a body neurological or thermally. What I did with my father was none of these things. But I engaged and found in his chest hardness I had never felt before. I talked to my father about the importance of not judging the hardness. How this hardness had probably worked hard to protect him for most of his life. I helped honor this part of him and let it go. His chest softened. I worked on the rest of his body helping the loosening and opening.

When I was done my father told me he felt wonderful. That his body felt so happy it was like it was laughing all over.

The Good Fight

It is raining in central park. I am in central park. I am wrestling in central park. My face is in the grass. My hands are in the flesh of the beautiful dancer. My toes are in the mud digging.
Our hair and clothes are plastered to our bodies. I am on top. He is trying to throw me. He arches and twists. I resist using my head as a lever pushing off of the ground. This is the third time he has arched and this time my neck is not long enough and we roll over my head. He is on top.
My muddy feet are alive like badgers trying to find a way out. My toes lead my feet nosing at his leg looking for a path past it. They find and I push out pulling his leg straight and long away from his body. His arm is out to keep us form rolling. I grab his wrist and push breaking his friction lock with the ground. Rain is falling in my eyes. His arm is away from me. I try again and again. I palm his shoulders and push him towards my feet. It is not far but enough. His arm goes out and I catch it and pull. I am pulling so hard I feel the ribs of my chest bow out. His arm comes in. I arch hard and there is nothing to brace with. We go over. He kicks off with his top foot, the foot I am not pulling long. He is back on top.
An hour later and we are done. My body feels hot and torn. I feel so weak and sick from the exertion. It is delicious. I feel like a deer on the side of the road. Hit by a truck but still breathing. Covered in cold sweat and rain but still burning hot like a stove. There is some kind of magic that keeps us from breaking.
The rain has stopped and he is pulling blades of grass off of my face. The wind is blowing in the leaves and heavy drops of water are coming down. This man loves me.
I have always been jealous of the platonic affection women can express with each other. I have seen them hold hands, lean and even lay on each other. They can run their hands through each other's hair. I have seen it. I know it is not all the time or with everyone but it is real. I'm not talking about gay people, just loving and nurturing people. It is something I never had. Don't get me wrong, I have been blessed with a lot of female affection but it is not the same. It is not what I have been missing.
I feel like I have it now. This man loves me and touches in a comfortable and grounded way. It does not feel like he is feeling me up or trying to get into my shorts. It feels safe. It feels like healing. It feels good.
And then there is the wrestling. I feel my body, my muscles changing. This is good for me. I feel stronger. I feel open and honest. I feel alive and moving, clawing at the world before me like an animal running explosively through a forest. And in that moment of fight I don't have to protect him. I don't have to be nice to him. I don't have to hold back for fear of breaking his bones or bruising his feelings. And I get to use all of me, fight with everything I have pushing one hundred percent. And we laugh. And it feels safe and sane and healthy. I want this feeling for my every day honesty. I am working so hard to have this in my everyday life. This feels like good training. And yes it feels good.
Thank you god. Thank you my friend.

Something More

When I first started with massage people tried to teach me about energy. I remember putting my hands on another’s body and trying to feel what others could feel. I could not. Others could feel the energy in my own hands better than I could. Years of training and exercises followed and slowly awareness emerged of something more than raw anatomy. At first I could feel and think of it only as heat and then maybe some sort of bioelectrical current.

Other therapists were talking about bad energy, about taking on other people’s energy and becoming overwhelmed. Apparently many colleagues had to give up their work because they became contaminated with the negativity of others. At one workshop the teacher was explaining ways to prevent unwanted energy from entering the body while working. The teacher went on to suggest that some people were not bothered by the energy of their clients. The idea was put forward that some people used the perceived energy of their clients as a diagnostic tool.

Years later I have found that I often have some sort of physiological empathetic proprioception while working. I will sometimes feel sensations in my own body as I work that don’t fit with my history or understanding of my own body. I have come to ask my clients about their own bodies regarding the locations I feel bodily and it almost always lines up.

The other day I had a sensation that did not belong to me when I was not working. I was listening to a woman whom I had never met. I could not see her as she spoke. It took me a while to guess at what was happening. When I had a chance I asked the woman. She explained she had a condition that affected the side I was inquiring about. I asked about the specific location and she drew a line on her body illustrating perfectly the path of the sensations I had when she was speaking.

When I would have these sensations while working on my clients I always assumed it was how my subconscious mind was communicating subtleties. Little things like posture or skin temperature may have been adding up in the back of my mind to form details I could not consciously grasp but could feel in my own body. I have been told that when a person watches another person perform a physical activity the observer’s muscles fire in the same pattern as the observed but often below the threshold of self observation. I imagine what I experience is something like that.

When the woman was speaking I was feeling information about her body. I feel confident making that statement. What I am uncertain about is how I obtained it. Was all the information carried in her voice? Did I observe people observing her and some how ended up with accurate second hand information? Or is all the information for all people available to everyone and it is simply a matter of choosing to tune in to a particular person? Not that it matters, but I am curious. Perhaps it is the same curiosity and focus on the body over all these years that has led me to this path in the first place.

I am by no means a master of this understanding. It is not a trick I can pull out of my pocket at will. And yet it feels helpful at times. And if nothing else it is at least interesting. It seems there is more to life than I had ever guessed. Thank you. I love you my friend.

Start and End

I don’t have a boss. That’s pretty good. There is a woman I call my boss though she is really more of a landlord and colleague. I thought I had a pretty solid understanding with her but over the past several months I felt like I was getting more and more of a cold shoulder. I would ask her about it but I never got satisfaction. Finally I was able to sit her down for a solid hour. At the end of that hour I got a hug from her. It was a real hug. Later I got an email that said “I will always start....and 'end'...with I love you John.” That’s pretty good too. Ok it’s pretty amazing. I know I have only conveyed words but my understanding of the experience is something more. It is a promise to assume love in all interactions, most importantly in misunderstandings.

I honestly doubt that promise will be strictly held. But even just that someone would be genuine in making it is a beautiful thing. It is a complicated and imperfect story. I still feel grateful and humbled by it.

There is a slogan I have been told. It is “I would rather be happy than right.” I take this to mean that if you have what you want you may lose it by trying to satisfy your ego. During that hour long conversation I had a lot of points I wanted to bring up. When I realized I had everything there was to be gained I had to let go of everything else. I know that sounds obvious but I am just figuring it out. I have been told that the path to enlightenment is endless. I hope so. I have a lot to figure out along the way.

Thank you to all of my teachers. I love you.

Home

There is an old woman who sits in a chair on the sidewalk near the corner. She smiles at me every time I walk by. She asks fondly about my sister and her five new kids in their new home. She says I remind her of her priest.

Another woman works on the corner. She teases me and rolls her eyes at me. I find myself smiling and often laughing with her.

Half way down the block there is a garage where all the guys smile or wave when I ride by. They help me out and one of them spent several hours rebuilding my starter motor with me and would not take my money when we were done.

There is a man who works at the other corner. He greats me with “My Brother, how are you?” He gives me fruit. Every time I go in he tells me to take a fruit. Even when I am only buying an orange he tells me “And have and orange.”

These are not huge things. And there are moments in my life when I take them for granted. But regardless of how rushed or overwhelmed I might feel it is always better when I acknowledge the kindness of those around me. When I first came to this city I found it so hard that the mere gesture of another holding open a door for me was shockingly beautiful in contrast. It has gotten better. It feels like home now.
Thank you.

Worst Ever

Someone once asked if I have bad massage clients. My simple answer is no. I have had bad experiences giving massage though. Most of those sessions were not awful and in total make up much less than a percent of the work I do. I feel especially lucky about this. From what I understand this is not the case for every therapist.

Before I go on I want to be clear that I am not talking about bad massages I have given. I weigh those much more heavily because I can do more about them. I also count them differently. To be honest I can not count them very well at all. If someone has a bad experience I assume for the vast majority of the time they won’t bother to tell me about it. I have made educated guesses and assume that it is much more often bad for my clients than it is for me. In my defense I believe the frequency of this is still much less than one percent and gets smaller every year. I would be profoundly grateful for anyone who would speak up and tell me how I could have made it better. When I worked at Stone Spa I would ask the front desk to try to read the level of satisfaction in my clients when they checked out. I no longer have a system like that but it seems less of a problem as I have become more sensitive and all of my clients are hopefully some species of informed referrals.

The worst massage I ever had to endure giving was very early in my career. For a short time I worked at an awful spa. The owner was so determined to make as much money as possible that when a therapist called in sick she would make the cleaning staff work as massage staff. Clients would sometimes leave that place worse than when they entered. The owner was usually on site. To say that she was willful would be saying it kindly.

One day the owner took a client who requested a female therapist and talked her into working with me because there were no alternatives at that time. The woman came back to my massage room obviously upset. I asked her what had happened and she told me. I told her she didn’t have to have the massage, that the owner could badger people sometimes and that I would make sure she got her money back. It was a big gesture and might have involved me paying for the massage or even terminating my employment. What happened was worse.

She decided to have the massage. She may have been forced into the decision but had made the decision her own. And so I was trapped. The idea of refusing to work on her did not occur to me. Even now I’m not sure that would have been the best path. There are a lot of reasons why someone might not want to have a massage from a man. Some of them make me sick to think about. You can bet I was thinking about them during that massage. A massage is a very vulnerable thing and to feel unsafe or uncomfortable on any level is all wrong. I wanted to cry or throw up. I felt like I had become an unwilling party to violating this woman’s will if not her body. I talked her through every option, offering to just massage her hands or feet if it would make her feel more comfortable. She asked for a normal full massage. I don’t know if was being brave, stubborn, thrifty, or was just defeated. I could tell it was still a big deal for her. It was one of the worst hours of my life.

She relaxed, and was appreciative and seemed happy enough with me and my work when she left. I think she could tell that I was working hard to make it as right as I could for her. Later I told the owner if that happened again I wouldn’t be able to work there anymore.

There is a feel good here. It is not equal to how bad it was but it’s something. I acted in the best way I knew how. I am proud of that. And years latter I told this story to someone who I thought knew all about me, and it changed her understanding of me. The change was favorable and that has meant a lot to me.

I’m not sure what else to say. I wanted to talk about the bad because I have been talking so much about the good. I want there to be some balance and integrity even in this file designed only for things that make me feel good. I had noticed that three of the previous six posts had the word “good” in them. It seemed excessive. I love you my friend. Thank you.

Sharing is Good

The other day I had a massage therapist come in who has built a healthy medical practice for the past eleven years. As I was working she told me I made her want to go back to school and asked if I taught. If you don’t know what that feels like, let me tell you. It’s wonderful. She booked two hours for her sister so we could work on her together and I could teach her what I know. I was a little bit surprised that everything I do in one hour can not be learned in two. We focused on three moves, and then I just demonstrated the rest.

I got to share what I have discovered about body mechanics, how to line things up so you don’t get tired or hurt, and can deliver more pressure. I know it sounds dry but I am excited by such things. We talked about quality of touch and transition, how to shift hands so the client doesn’t feel your hand leave the body. Then there was palliative anatomy which has been a passion and my foundation for everything.

At one point, while demonstrating with both of my elbows and forearms doing their thing in our subject’s lower back I almost belly laughed out of happiness. It is true that I love my job more than most people enjoy their hobbies, but I rarely get to share that with anyone. I am sure that my clients are getting satisfaction from what I do and that they feel and appreciate my happiness but it is not the same. To bring someone back stage and share my beautiful tools and tricks pushes it over the top for me. I feel like I have found a secret trove of endless treasure and am as excited as on Christmas morning watching others unwrap something really good.

Even better, my colleague was still excited when we finished and booked another session. It is true one man’s treasure is another’s trash, and that some if not most people don’t care about all these inane things that fascinate me. That just makes me all the more ridiculously happy when everything does line up. To the god of this bountiful universe, thank you.

Ridiculously Good

I have been exclusively devoted to massage as a profession for over eight years now. I have been using first cold press 100% organic jojoba oil for about three years. It was just in the past year that I noticed jojoba has a smell. I was cracking open a fresh gallon of it and gave it a sniff to make sure nothing was amiss. In that moment I was struck by the smell and it made my mouth water. Since that moment whenever I consciously breathe in that aroma I am moved in a pleasurable way. The first time I tried a jojoba from a different farm it just made my heart race instead. Subsequently my mouth has watered almost every time.

I have been wondering about this reaction. Jojoba is supposedly eatable, at least for wildlife. I have tasted it and it is unremarkable at least for now but then again I thought it had no smell for years. I don’t think it is a hunger response. I think it is a Pavlovian response to my work. I love my job so much I actually salivate when I smell the oil I use to massage. If it was just the oil then I would have salivated the first two or three years when I was sniffing it. It took years to build the association.

I think it is a pretty sound argument. But if it is a Pavlovian response to giving a massage then why don’t I salivate during the massage? The truth is I might very well be salivating and just not be aware of it because I get so focused on my work. Additionally salivating is a parasympathetically driven neurological response and massaging is a sympathetic nervous system activity. And as every good student of anatomy knows the two systems are reciprocally inhibitive and so the act of massaging would suppress salivation.

And so it is a little embarrassing that I love massaging people so much it makes my mouth water. I’m not entirely sure what to think about that. The truth is I always feel better after I give a massage regardless of how I feel before. I find my work deeply satisfying and fulfilling on a physical, emotional, and intellectual level. It’s good living. Is the cumulative effect of years of this kind of work responsible for the association that makes my mouth water? It apparently is. Apparently my life is that good. Thank you.

Update

After having written this I started to pay attention to my mouth while I worked. Turns out I salivate all the time. I asked my mentor (while she was working on me) if she salivated while she worked and she said she had never thought of it but yes she was salivating at that very moment. I asked her if I should wear a shower cap and she laughed. She doesn’t know why that happens either. She seemed to think it was a physiological phenomenon as apposed to my psychological theory. It was comforting to hear that I’m not the only one. It makes me feel like less of a freak, or at the very least that if I am a freak I am not alone. And who knows maybe everyone does this and just never notices or talks about it. I will have to start asking other therapists.

Best Use of Life.

So the big news is my Sister adopted five children from the Bronx and moved to Plattsburg. The kids are from two family groups but from the same foster home and are to each other the only family they have. Barring any breakthrough in stem cell research it is highly unlikely that two of the boys will live past their mid thirties, maybe a third less than that. It won’t be a graceful decline either.

These small people have seen too much of life already and not enough of the world. No one knows all of what they have been though, though from what I can gather it is more than I can talk about. Even just what is obvious, that they were orphans; that they don’t know where their parents are and if they are safe or not, is an awful thing. The kids age from 10 to 4 and have every reason and right to be so angry and upset. They are not able to talk about and maybe do not even understand yet why they feel as they do. It is clear though that they are feeling something overwhelming and acting on it.

I went with them and two of my sisters to the Adirondacks to wait at the lodge until they could move into their new home. Dave had to finish the week of work and I was his stand in. The week was so unbelievably intense for me. No one believes how it was at the beginning. I would cry at night. I cry even now just thinking about it. Weeks later the kids are still adjusting to a positive discipline system and the idea that they are safe. It is a wild ride.

Additionally, my sister who was my best friend, teacher, and benefactor in so many ways over the past nine years has left. I’m just starting to feel that. People have asked me if she is equal to this. I believe she is. It is not that she is saving these kids, but she is making it better than it was. And her husband Dave is unbelievable. Normally it is the woman who is more devoted to the children. And the kids are responding quickly and positively. I could not be more proud of all of them. Thank you.

Paris

I just got back from Paris. I think this may be the first real vacation of my adult life. I don't have anything profound to say about it. I will say that if you do go there, pray that it does not rain every single day of your vacation. That being said I did get to see a rainbow over the River Siene while kissing the woman I love. If you would like to see me kissing the woman I love with a rainbow and the River Siene then please take a look at my photos. http://picasaweb.google.com/johnellsworth/Paris2008 I don't deserve this but am enormously grateful. Thank you.

Beautiful People

I spent Christmas at Annie's ancestral home. These are pictures of Annie and her parents from the trip. Annie makes art. Her mother makes honey. Her father makes pies. I really like these people. I think they are beautiful and that their lives are enviable. I feel that I am improved for being in their company. I have for a long time fantasized about living in the woods, chopping wood and carrying water. I tend to make my life more complicated, weighing everything down with unnecessary significance and do not feel happier for it. Maybe that is why I like the meditative nature of my work so much. Almost everything else I do in the city seems like distraction. There is a Zen saying, "Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water". The wood and the water are not the magical components to better living, it's how you perceive and react to your life. I think Annie is good for me. She is smart, sexy, creative, caring, and open. Most significantly I find myself not enticed to complicate my life in her company.
Last night I was in a room where someone shared a saying, "Don't just do something. Sit there!" I know I can warm a bench very well, but it is not reacting or distracting I want to integrate more. I feel the universe or god or fate supporting me in this endeavor. All the beautiful people in my life are like angels helping me cultivate my happiness and peace.
Thank you so very much.

It is so Good

Around nine years ago I was introduced to a form of dance called Contact Improv (CI). The dance has many manifestations but where I studied it was mostly about listening. There is often no music during the dance so that you are not distracted from your partner. I learned a lot from practicing this form of movement with others who were from the same school. After a semester of training I was invited to attend a weekly jam. A yoga studio had given a key to the CI community and every Thursday night people would gather and dance on this cozy out of the way floor. I would be stretching and warming up and I would become aware of another person moving in relation to me. They would not exactly mirror me but it was clear that they were dancing to my movement. If I was ready I would start reciprocating and if I wasn't the dancer would move on into their own space or into another's. If we fell into step, or into the space left by the other's pause we would often dance together for a considerable amount of time.
If at any point there was physical contact a commitment was made to maintain that contact. Lets say I touched someone's hand with my ribs. They would not pull away from my ribs nor I from their hand. If they moved I would follow them, and if I moved they would follow me. The point of contact was not locked, my partners arm could roll along shifting from the hand to the wrist all the way up to a shoulder, or perhaps it was I who was rolling my ribs up the others limb. It was often imposable to tell. The end result would often have the two of us shifting our weight from our own feet to the others body and back doing rolls and lifts, diving to the floor or spiraling up onto each others torsos.
There were few rules but one of them was that you could not forcibly lift or climb up your partner. Vertical travel happened fluidly by giving and taking weight and rolling the point of contact. One night I found my self effortlessly floating up to the shoulders of a small older woman as she spun around the room, only to come back down rolling off of her body from her hips and her body followed mine effectively lifting her back up into the air as I found my own weight with my feet. It was an amazing sensation like flying and cuddling and getting a massage and reverse wrestling all at once.
One night I was on someones back with my eyes closed and my arms and feet up in the air. In this one moment I felt something else take over, or rather I felt my self surrender to the moment, moving without thinking but feeling my body respond to the possibilities. It was such a wild and pleasant sensation that it has inspired many facets of my life.
When I moved to New York and studied to become a massage therapist I decided that I wanted my work to incorporate the fluid grace and peaceful resonance of my dance experience. It proved to be a profitable goal as I enjoyed my work in ways and to a degree as few others seemed to. 99% of the time I felt better after work than before no mater how I felt going in. It was wonderful and I was thanking my lucky stars to get to do what I did but it ever quite equaled the experience of the dance.
Just in this past year I have finally crossed that line. It was on a sunny afternoon with a man who I had been working with for almost two hours every week. We had established a surplus of trust and mutual appreciation that allowed me more freedom to exceed my analytical, anatomical training. It was not exactly like the dance because massage is a one way touch only where dance is more give and take. And yet as I was working, hooking the neck in the crook of my arm, rolling the head.... at this point to describe what was happening to my satisfaction would take paragraphs to cover seconds and would involve a lot of anatomy and movement notation. Please just trust me that some how there was a smooth deeply connected transition from one side of the body to the other that left me out on the end of my clients arm like a bird on a string with that same surrender to the moment following the possibility of the movement. And it felt just as good to me as that transcendental moment from almost a decade ago.
And from that moment forward my work has in some ways and times surpassed my wildest goals. And it seems more often than not my clients are happy with my work as well.
Thank you.

Blow

The other day a client noticed a scar on my forehead and asked me where I got it. I said from a blowtorch. She nodded approvingly and said "I figured with you it had to be something like that." There are a lot of aspects I could focus on regarding my skin being pulled off my head by the searing brass. Firstly, it was a completely avoidable accident and I have no one and nothing to blame but myself. Secondly, the demonstration I was performing was well received in spite of the burn. Finally, and this may be a bit of a reach, I feel like there is some species of integrity demonstrated by my client not being surprised. This is the feel good I want to take forward from the experience. I like that I am the same person in front of all people. I see people who I imagine wear a mask of professionalism or coolness to fit an occasion and I understand. I am just so happy that I have been blessed with the kind of life where I don't have to pretend. Thank you.

Annie Varnot

This is a picture of Annie Varnot. She is my lady. This is my favorite picture of her. I don't like this image because of it's quality or because it is flattering. It is actually pretty miserable on both counts. I like it because it is endearing. It shows the genuine openness in such quantity and quality as to make Annie exceptional. Annie is real in real time. She is honest and kind and capable.
All of my life I have sought out relationships founded in a codependent dynamic. Even when I was lucky enough to find someone healthy I would try subconsciously to bring out the codependency. One time I asked Annie why she treats me so well. Her reply was, "You don't let me treat you bad." This was a victory for me. In the past I would try to make the other person happy or solve their problems in the hopes that they would some how reciprocate and take care of me. I know that sounds wrong and even imposable. How could I know what someone else considers a problem or how (sometimes even if) they would like to make it better. And how could they possibly know what I want? It is so much better to just ask directly for what I need and give only what feels good to give and not what I think will in the end result in someone taking care of me. Now I take care of myself first get to enjoy Annie as she is.
Like I said, Annie is real and in real time. It may sound simple but for me it is a feat. I am proud of Annie's career, her art, her practice, her strength, and endurance. But most of all I love her real time honesty. Her bounteous overflowing compassionate heart isn't bad either. Most importantly I love that I have progressed enough to appreciate her. I feel lucky. Thank you.

Easy

Last night I was massaging a couple. I have been working with them for almost a year now. I was working on the husband and it seemed at first mechanical. It was a strange feeling for me. I was detached from the situation my body pushing through the motions. It was not bad but my mind was searching for a focus. And then I considered the divinity of the person in front of me. Suddenly the situation became rich and wonderful. I felt an energetic depth to the body I was working on and my mind fell deeply into the labyrinth of muscles and fibers. I was also in awe of the human goodness radiating from this person.
I have had days where I was more or less aware of the fullness of people but it never shifted so suddenly or dramatically for me. My work, life, everything is much more rich and delicious when I am paying attention to that boundless light which permeates everything. It is good but there is more.
This couple I have been working with have a daughter who recently turned three. She had been asking and asking if she could have a massage. Last night her mother helped her up onto the table for the first time. Her muscles were so small and fine it felt like when I work with my neighbor's cat. The mother and I both thought that she would become restless and jump off the table after a minute or two. Minutes came and went before the mother asked her how she felt. The answer I am afraid is beyond my ability to describe. I will do my best and hope you can imagine the reality. Ok so it was not so complicated. She simply said "It feels good." The important part that is hard to convey is how she said it. I was expecting her to play along and pretend to like it because it's fun to be like a grownup. The tone of her voice was instead most genuine and heart felt. It resonated from her small form and was reflected in her mother's face. I wish I could effect that depth of sincerity in my voice or better yet feel it in my spine. I do not desire to be younger and especially not that young. But there is a capacity for unclouded feeling and raw expression that I think is lost with time. I feel lucky enough to witness it.
I am grateful to the people I get to work with who make it so easy for me to see their inner divinity. It makes everything better. Thank you.

Cancer

So it seems like I have saved someone’s life because I discovered cancer in them just before it spread to other parts of the body. And then two weeks later I discovered cancer in someone when it was already too late.
There is a lot of anger and sadness and unfairness around cancer.
I do not want to say too much more in the interest of protecting the anonymity of my friends.
I will say that I myself have been humbled by the beauty of the human spirit in even the worst of conditions.
Thank you.

Reccommendation

I am in the process of moving to a new apartment. This is a complicated process involving an application package that includes everything short of a rectal exam. It was not as much fun as I had hoped. The good news is I got to see a letter of recommendation that feels great. This is the sort of thing that would have found its way into my original feel good file. Thank you my friend.

To Whom it May Concern

I have had the great pleasure of knowing John Ellsworth since 1996, when I was first introduced to him by his sister, my friend, Ann Ellsworth. Since then we have enjoyed a close friendship of our own.

John consistently exhibits the qualities of a good-natured, respectful, conscientious, and compassionate human being. Over the years, I have seen John successfully establish himself in his education, training, and career as a massage therapist. It is a profession that he pursues with enjoyment, providing care to others in the very nature of his work.

As a shareholder in our co-op in Washington Heights, he has been a well-liked neighbor to his fellow residents. John has also been willing to take on responsibilities as Board President during some of the most transitional years that our co-op has experienced. As I have served on the Board with him as Vice President, I have recognized his ability to make important decisions, to lead with calm and confidence, and to be available during the extra hours that his office demands. He has led our Board through two demanding terms, when crucial decisions for the structure and financing of major improvements had to be made. In addition to this, his knowledge of the physical attributes of our building has been indispensable as we have instigated capital improvements and solved other issues that had previously compromised the quality of life for our residents.

I know John is eager to begin residency in your building, and I highly recommend him to be a shareholder in your co-op.

Micro Goodness

Yesterday I was at a friends birthday dinner. Across the table was a beautiful person. She was speaking enthusiastically about her job which she clearly loved. Few things are better than watching someone talk about something they are happily passionate about. This time there was something better. The subject of Bethany’s discourse trumped everything.

Bethany works for a nonprofit that gives $40 loans to people with no capital in third world countries. She specifically works with war torn countries where the loans help a region to become economically viable, and then politically stable, and then the chance of rampant violence goes down. The idea is if people can eat they will not revolt. If there is not a revolution less people get hurt.

There are a lot of responsible people with integrity and sometimes even a college education in this world who will starve and die with out a little seed money. People buy tools or bikes or supplies with the loans. This is not a charity. The people are charged 12 percent interest and the lenders do well. The default rate is only 1.7 percent. Compare that with Chase Bank in the U.S. that has a 20 percent default rate. Everybody wins.

Bethany spoke of traveling to Rwanda and attending loan meetings to help local Tutsi and Hutu pore work together in the same room to secure their future. She spoke of working with American Christian communities to try and soften some hardened opinions of the pore in this world.

The idea that Tutsi and Hutu are hungry and desperate enough to work together is astounding to me. The idea that there is a practical and proven way to enable people to take care of themselves and in turn become the stable blocks for rebuilding a country is amazing. And people are making this happen. And the Christian Right, most of which I believe would do good even to unrecognizable distant pore, is learning about it.

I know this is not the answer to all of the world's problems but it seems like a really good start. Thank you so much for making this world better.

Pit of Darkness

“Out of the night that covers me

Black as the pit from pole to pole...”

That is the start of “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley. Henley was on his deathbed and abandoned by his family when he wrote that. I identify with it but I have only been in the subway. In some ways it’s worse than a dark pit. My bike was in the shop for general maintenance when the technician working on it left BMW and my bike got lost in the deep recesses of the dealership basement. A few weeks previously a truck ran a red light and I failed to avoid the collision correctly. I ended up rolling around on the ground with 500lbs of steel between my legs. I’m ok but I have been avoiding exercise while my legs heal.

I think I was in a pretty low spot anyway but being banished to the underground and not being able to exercise was just torture. Well my legs have healed to the point where I can run without pain and my bike is back and better than ever. It feels so good. I’m still not at the top of my game but the bike is helping. My receptionist once gave me a novelty thing for my birthday that said “Have you ever noticed that you never see a motorcycle parked in front of a psychiatrist’s office?” The truth implied in that question has become strikingly apparent to me. I was taking a lot in my life for granted. Riding my bike feels like flying. The sun is so warm and the world is so beautiful. I am so glad to be free of that dark pit under the city. I am so glad spring is here and that I get to see and glide through so much of it. Thank you.

Olive Oil

The other day someone who gets a LOT of work said I was like a Julia Childs of touch. I had no idea who this was. I looked it up and it turns out she was a popular chef whose kitchen is on display at the National Museum of American History. The complement felt so good I let it soak in for about thirty minutes. Then the next day I forgot my oil for the first time ever and had to use olive oil out of my client’s kitchen. What is my subconscious doing to me? It turns out the olive oil was fresh and surprisingly worked wonderfully. I’m a bit of a coinsure of texture and it felt great. I would put that green bottle up in my top 3 oils if it I didn’t think the smell would be distracting. I know I’m sounding like a nerd now but it was good, I had fun, and I feel appreciated. I told my sister and her husband and got teased properly. What more can I ask?

May All Beings Be Happy

Kiss me on the face. Love me with lion throated intent. Press my face into the crown of your hair, the warmth of your neck. Hold me like a fine, soft rabbit pelt. Wrap your fingers like wet leaves against my skin. Pull me to me knees and up with your eyes. Kiss me warmly. Press me with your patient hands. Push me down and breathe with me. Love me like I was your very own. This is all I ask. That is a lie, but in this moment it is all I want. Even in this moment I know that it is not what I need.

I have been dragging on the bottom for quite some time now. I feel like if I were to die tomorrow that I would not be ready. This is an unusual place for me. I feel desperate. I feel like if I do not sit down on my zafu and zabuton (bean bag and a dog bed respectively) and drop my eyes I will become lost. It seems that my soul will be consumed by a raging hunger that is not me and does not serve me. When I do not have my fancy cushions I find my self sitting on my legs until they are cold.

My friends have offered to medicate me with all manner of useful things from prescriptions to filling the want I mentioned first. I know it might be the leg up I need but I am hopeful of my own leg. I feel like I am making my way how ever small it may be. I have been running distractions all my life pushing to change my reality. I am tired of the distraction and exhausted from the push.

It is only after trying to have my way by force of will all my life that I have come to see it’s futilely. I once thought it would better to die then to surrender my will. I was afraid I would lose my self if I let go. Fear has kept me from seeing another way. Recently I found someone who was a social activist and yet had serenity. He had wants but they did not rule him. He was effectively changing his environment for good and yet he was not distressed by the frustrations.

I want serenity. I want peace. I want to want. I want to make a difference for good in this world. Apparently I can have it all. It is only a matter of detachment. I am not talking about the cold reclusive kind of detachment. There is room for passion but not possession. There is room for want but not for craving. The trick is to appreciate things for what they are in the moment. No more or less. To do so only invites suffering. It is this suffering that I am feeling.

I don’t know much about all of this. I know that when I meditate in this particular way I feel permanently altered. The meditation is called Vipassana and is taught by S. N. Goenka. I don’t know the philosophy very well, but the meditation is aimed at retraining the mind at a subconscious level. It makes all kinds of sense in a purely neurological way and is hard as hell. It is the most effective thing I have found to alleviate physical and psychological suffering. I had my first experience with this just over a year ago. I will tell you about it soon. I am just now embracing it because I have found the desperation to drive such a difficult undertaking.

It is clear that my suffering is a gift that will help me train to live a different kind of life. I did not want to work for a better life before because I was happy. And now I get that better life I was too lazy to work for. I have heard that life can be a cruel school mistress but I find her loving even at her worst. Thank you.

Gabriel

My sister Marie and her youngest Gabe are in town. I love them. I took a few days off and went with them to visit our aunt and uncle in Delaware. There was a canoe in a small pond brimming with trees. A small bat circled the pond with us. We ended the night sitting around a little fire circle. My Aunt and Uncle are so easy and uncomplicated. I think I would like some more of that in my life. Thank you to who ever is putting all of these beautiful people in front of me. I love you.

Giants

I don’t know so much about music. I listen to very little of it. I think it is a wonderful thing and a powerful thing but for some reason is not a very large part of my life. Once when I was nineteen I listened to the same album over and over again on a 13 hour car trip. I had other tapes in the car, but the one in the deck was keeping me awake so I felt no need to change it. The album was Flood by They Might be Giants.

When I was leaving for my two year mission all of my home town guy friends came to my house, some for the first time. It was a strange day. I was leaving in a way that was different from everyone going to school. There would be no return or even phone calls for two years. All of these big men were standing with me in my back yard in a poignant moment of silence. And then suddenly we were all singing this song “Birdhouse in Your Soul” from that album. It was a precious moment for me.

At the end of my two year mission I found myself tired to the bones. My will had been exhausted. My last companion was an aloof nerd who reminded me of how I imagined my father had been on his mission. It was hard going a lot of the time. We were very isolated and when we fought there was no escape. We had to live and work together every hour of every day. In spite of all of this he became my friend. Every single night we would kneel, pray, and hug each other before we went to sleep. There was something beautiful about that. It felt genuine and earnest even when we were raging at each other. Singing secular songs was forbidden, but at the very end, on a long drive my companion and I sang that same song together. He may have been the only one in the whole two years who knew the words.

When I reentered the real world I found my Flood tape cassette had broken. I know most people would have just gone out and bought the CD but that is not my relationship with music. A decade went by and then just today I watched a documentary about the two founding members and singers in the band. It was wonderful. There were such great smiles on these men and on the people who were with them. They manifested such a beautiful friendship and work. They were so enthusiastic and happy about their craft. Somehow knowing the people behind the music added richness to my memories.

Thank you my friends. Thank you all who have such smiles in you. I want more of this.

Make it Right

It has been over two years since StoneSpa closed. It closed rather badly with less than a days notice and bounced paychecks. The owners disconnected their cell phones and the lawyers were unfriendly. Our personal effects and tools were kept behind locked doors and used as a form of what felt like blackmail or just plain theft. I felt betrayed. I would find myself getting angrier than I should be at little injustices in my life because this larger one had gone unresolved.

Recently I went looking to make this right. I was eventually contacted by the owner of StoneSpa. She called me and gave me the whole story. She answered all of my questions and gave me everything I asked for that was in her power to restore. It was not the perfect resolution but it went a long way for me. I believe she genuinely wants to make peace and gave me what I wanted to move forward. The good news is I should be able to reunite with a lot of my old clients and help the rest of my coworkers do the same.

There was recently a little spa gathering at a hookah café. It is surprising how well everyone is doing and how much more enjoyment and admiration I get from and have for them. I don’t know if everyone else is evolving, or if I am evolving or if it is just a fondness born of absence but they all seem so beautiful to me. Yesterday I got a message from Mari, a wonderful coworker and my first big meditation inspiration. It had been years. She sounded so good it was like sunlight singing in my ears.

This life I am living. It is not so bad. Thank you.

Flourish

When I started working at StoneSpa my first trainer was a woman named Mina. She demonstrated basic stone work and then mentioned flourishes as something we would just add as we went. I wanted specifics. I wanted to make the end of a stroke smooth and elegant. Mina flatly rejected my request and told me I would just figure it out. Seeing as how flourishes are the superficial fluffy part of the massage it has not been a priority for me. There are moments though like transitions where nothing else is going on. I try and do something with that wasted moment. I am about to tell you of the most recent refinement to my ankle flourish. In real time it can take as little as two seconds. On paper it’s not so fast or fluid so please feel free to book yourself a demonstration or just skip to the next entry.

Several months ago I stumbled upon something that felt really good. What I had been doing when I came down the leg to the foot was to separate my hands at the very back of the heal and send one flat hand back up the calf only to slow and engage popliteus at the back of the knee. At the same time my other hand would slowly descend into the soul of the foot mating my palmer concavity to the ball of their foot, slowing and engaging in sync with the hand at the back of the knee. This in itself was a very happy discovery for me two or so years ago. As the top hand was preparing to come back down the thigh the bottom hand would slide further down the ball of the foot rotating so that my thenar eminence (the meaty part of the palm just under the thumb) would hook under the toes. The thenar eminence and then thumb (sometimes trailed by the tips of the first and second fingers) would drag across the grove between the ball of the foot and the pads of the toes. At the end of this business with the toes the bottom hand would change directions again only higher with the eminence crossing the sole just above the ball of the foot. I would match again my palmer concavity to the ball of the foot, pressing into the distal part of the arch with the base of my palm. By this time my top hand would be back to the foot and I would sift gears and send both hands back up the leg.

The improvement was a simple a subtle thing but it took me months and months to lock it down. As the bottom hand was coming up from the toes I would not revisit the ball of the foot but continue up the arch to the heal sliding my thenar eminence between the calcanius (the bulbous bone of the heal) and medial malleolus (the bony bump just above your shoe line). At this point the top hand has come down the leg and matched the exact same position on the other side, just under the lateral malleolus. If the timing is perfect the enveloping sensation of my hands in this little hollow of the ankle allows the top hand to pause and fluidly change directions joining the lower hand as it progresses. The eminence of both hands continue into the hollow on either side of the Achilles tendon and up onto the calf. Once up on the calf the hands fall back into the valleys just above the heal and while falling back they roll over into fists. Then they would start back up the leg providing a striping bilateral compression supported mostly by my metacarpals.

It’s a wonderful move. I love it. The timing of meeting up just perfectly at the ankle was so elusive for me. I can’t imagine anyone else having this much trouble with it. And to be honest I can’t imagine any of my clients noticing or caring if I do it or not. But it does make a difference. That extra bit of continuity helps the body relax and let go. Which is the whole story for some people and for others it allows me to go deeper with out them fighting back. I love the way it feels. I love doing things well. I some times find myself walking down the street lost in thought over the texture of a muscle and how I would meet it with my hand.

This is my life. I can’t imagine anything better. Thank you.

Sunrise

This morning just before sunrise we were on the roof of my sisters building. There were seven of us having a little religious ceremony. I say religious but everyone’s religion was different or was not at all. And yet everyone presented something beautiful. Jo sang. Dave read from the big book. Kat read from a smaller book. Ann and Daisy played recorder.

It was twenty-six degrees. I had just gotten off my motorcycle and was cold to start with. It had even snowed a little on the ride down. A few clouds were still reaching over the city. At the moment of sunrise we could not see the sun. A wall of sky scrapers completely obscured the event we had waited for. But then the undersides of the clouds turned the faintest pink and then glowed warm. The side of the Empire States building lit up and fiery light started shining though reflected by so many windowed cannons.

We took a moment of silence, standing in a close circle as much for warmth as for anything. Across from me Daisy was looking up at the sky but her eyes seemed to be focused on something even more distant. I don’t think she was thinking about religion. Daisy is one of the most unusual people I know. She has a boundless high pitched energy that never seems to come down. This energy is so pronounced that almost everyone at some point remarks on it. I live at such a lower and slower pace that I seldom feel comfortable really looking into her face. In this moment of stillness on the rooftop I looked into those eyes and they were so full of gratitude for the beauty and brimming with hope for this world. Hour by hour, day by day, all her life she seems to sing this same song with out pausing to draw a breath. Even in the moment of silence that same energy was pressing out of her.

I don’t know why Daisy is like this. I don’t know where or why or for how long she will be this way. Part of me believes that she will take that same look in her eyes all the way to the grave. She says words like wonderful and fabulous often. She wants everyone in the world to have everything they need to live well. She is so happy and grateful. I would be suspicious of such a strange being but I have looked into her eyes. I just want everyone to know that such a person exists and that she is genuine. Hers is not my way in life but it makes me think to see hope so beautiful. Thank you.

let go

I could have gone my whole life with out ever having a colonic. It’s not the sort of thing I would search out. I didn’t see any medical benefits to it and didn’t have any medical problems to begin with. That being said I would like to think of myself as a brave person open to new things.

Over a year ago I had my first colonic. I tried it mostly out of a respectful interest in my new office mates. The person working on me was masterful, skillful and I felt like I was in good loving hands. I didn’t notice any significant effect in any aspect of my life. I could see how it would be helpful if you were under various types of physical distress ranging from constipation to things as exotic as say, malaria. And yet I felt nothing.

Over the next year I had a handful of sessions. I came to appreciate that things were going on that I never felt before. I would feel intense heat and sometimes nausea with an acidic release. I would feel worn out and then I would feel lean, clean and perceive a mental clarity resembling a cold bright morning after a hard rain.

Two months ago I decided to get a session from everyone in my office. I just finished with my seventh therapist a few days ago. My intent a year ago was simply idle curiosity. This time around I wanted desperately to feel and clear the emotional burdens that were interfering with my life. I wasn’t sure what they were but I knew something was amiss. Please forgive the automotive analogy but I had plenty of fuel, the road was flat, and my tires were good but I was getting really bad gas mileage. Something was eating up my emotionally efficiency.

All seven of my therapists were surprisingly grounded in their work. I know these people outside of their work and I was honestly surprised that how deeply some of them shifted for my session. They used warm towels, essential oils, a species of reflexology and shiatsu as well as several other ways of touch and energy that I don’t have a name for.

It was clear that they were not working on me, but with me. This was not a quickie lube oil change. I felt like there was a respectful dialog going on inside of my body that my therapists were supporting and mediating. I was in the most vulnerable position I could imagine. The worst thing that could possibly go wrong was already happening. At the same time it was so safe, nurturing and supportive. I felt like I was being witnessed without any defense or pretence and I was still ok. I was safe and the touch was still solid and supportive. Fear doubt and shame disappeared as I just breathed and felt the sensations of my body. In this very unusually Xanadu and reprieve from my life I felt free to be honest with my self on a level that I would otherwise not even be aware existed. During the sessions I didn’t have any profound thoughts or insights. I would just feel. It seemed ethereal sometimes. I would since the burning heat in my chest that I had never felt before except in my colon during an acidic release. Some times I would feel a pain in my chest and eventually even in my face. I would almost always weep. I would just sit and breath with the sensation sometimes practicing vipassana. All of this was happening as I was releasing and being held in the hands of wonderful people.

Eventually I started to have insights when I would wake up the next day. There was a major betrayal in my life twelve years ago that had been so painful that I would avoid the memory at every turn. I had never understood why it had happened. And then I woke up about a week ago with all the dots connected in my mind. It had been a misunderstanding that broke a floodgate of fear. I had been so emotionally decimated that I had been unwilling to look back clearly to understand. And now in understanding I feel a decade of mistrust sliding out of my body like sand through a colander.

Recently I woke up after my last session with another insight. One of my partners in this life had engaged with me in treating each other very badly. I had searched and pondered over how I had come to hurt someone I loved and finding hollow measures that treated only symptoms. And then the insight came. There was a moment where I did not take responsibility for myself and clashed starting a landslide of pain. The moment never ended because I always blamed her for a species of betrayal. It was the end of trust for me and ultimately the end of the relationship. I had looked at the moment several times before but suddenly the moment was unclouded by blame. The way I wished it had gone no longer seemed like an insurmountable summit of will but just another swell in the sea of life.

I know insights are not the whole story and that if I have learned anything it is that I will have to face the same things over and over until I master them. Hopefully I am getting closer to what I want with every try. I feel encouraged. Understanding, if not the cure is still a very important and fundamental step.

I want to be courageously honest with myself. I want to own all of my reactions to this world as if I had control over each of them. I want to have that simple but elusive sovereignty over self so that I can make each reaction a choice and not just a Pavlovian response. I want it a lot. It feels like a good hunger. And thank you to everyone who is helping me. Thank you. I am so grateful.

Steps

I have heard a lot of disparaging things said about 12 step programs and the people who use them. I have never really understood why one would look down on another human, much less a human trying to improve. About twelve years ago I was impressed by the peacefulness and humility of a man who was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I acquired their big book and was surprised at how well it spoke to the virtues I admired.

Practitioners I observed subverted their ego in such a way I had never seen before. They seemed committed to surrender. I know that sounds like a passionless, pale, uninteresting life. Who would want to just roll over and let go? Who would not stand up for themselves to battle every challenge in life and hope to win their way? The answer is simple. People who have defeated their egos and can move though life with out depending on victories for happiness.

It seemed to me that mastering your life was more desirable than trying to master every situation. The problem for me was that it appeared to take a titanic force of will. I imagine two types of people willing to embark on this path. There are monks who devote their lives to the effort. And there are people so desperate that there is no alternative. I lacked the discipline of a monk or the desperation of a nonfunctioning alcoholic. I still lack these things and yet I do not have all that I want.

I want to live life with honesty, integrity and ease. I feel like I have happiness, bounty, love, and all sorts of wonderful things but I really want the absolute integrity. I am not looking for perfection but I don’t want to squander my life and my love (or that of my friends) with self deception and distraction.

Last night I tried a 12 step program for the first time. That is to say I went to one of their meetings. It was simple and straight forward. The program, as much as I could see of it, seemed just as fruitful as remembered. There will be a lot of reading and work. I plan to assimilate as much as I can.

The quality of the people in the room was immediately visible. This particular meeting was all men, and several of them shared with the group for up to 4 minutes. They were not profound or eloquent. Their lives were not exceptionally virtuous. And yet I have never felt so free from judgment in all of my life. And everyone was speaking truth. Not absolute truth, or even the whole truth, but their own truth. They owned their actions and feelings taking full responsibility for their lives. It was beautiful. This is what I want. I want to be honest with myself. I want to let go. This seems like a safe place to start.

Whiteface

This past weekend I went up into the Adirondacks with Ann, her husband Dave and their dog Charlie. They have a cabin there we call the lodge. It is a beautiful place. The plan was to hike up a mountain called Whiteface with the aid of crampons and ice axes. The night before we were going to go up a foot of snow fell. Ann talked me into snowboarding instead of mountain climbing. It was the only sane choice but I teased her for being a pansy just the same. It had been twelve years since I had been snowboarding and my body took quite a beating as I tumbled down the mountain. But the snow was forgiving and eventually I found my way through pleasing gliding turns. It was a perfect day for snowboarding and almost equal to the satisfaction of hanging out with my sister.

One night a neighbor and local organist, Mary Lu, came over to the lodge and had dinner with us. Mary Lu is an easy, peaceful, interesting, and uncomplicated (in the most flattering way) person. It is hard to do anything but enjoy her company. After dinner she and my sister sat down at the piano. The feeling they generated was so good. If you would like to see a video of it click, http://www.turcica.com/vid/marylu

Thank you.

Birthday Book

When I was 19 years old my father turned 60. For his birthday my sisters collected stories about him and made a book. Just recently my sister Ann asked me to extract some files from some floppy disks found at the bottom of a file box. This contribution to my father’s birthday was among them.

I was a very different person at the time. So was my father. I was about to leave on an arduous but successful two year religious mission. My father describes his sixty year old self as something akin to a mean spirited jerk. I would say our relationship was strained. I feel like we have both grown considerably since that time. But even then there were moments when it was clear that we loved each other. This was one of them.

DONOHUE PASS

Ever since I became a boy scout, my Dad and I would go on fifty-milers. I remember all too well my first fifty-miler. I was too weak and my back pack was too heavy. All along the way, Dad would take things out of my pack and carry them himself. Eventually I couldn't even carry my pack. Dad had to carry it along with the help of Peter Weiler.

As the years went by, both Dad and I grew stronger and wiser about back packing. On my last fifty-miler, two weeks before I left home, I realized just how special my Dad was. We were climbing up Donohue Pass and I made it to the top first. Coming back down, I found my Dad and I asked if he wanted any help. He said no but after a great deal of persuasion, he let me take his pack to the top.

As we sat there, breathing the thin air, trying to get oxygen, we didn't say much, we just shared a feeling, a very special feeling, that Dad and I did the best we could to help each other through life.

Just as everyone was about recovered, I got a crazy idea. Looking over I saw a snow melt pond, a humongous bank of snow dripping into a little, two foot deep pond. After a little persuasion I convinced Dad to go in with me. I'll spare the details about how cold the water was. But as we walked from the water back to our company, our skin still burning from the cold, I felt an enormous amount of pride and love for my Dad. As our company shook their heads at us and told us we were crazy, we just smiled. No, we did not watch football, or baseball, or really much of anything. But we were real men and what's more, we were Ellsworths. And in the mountains, we would always be together forever.

Love After Love

Hello. I love you my friend. My friend Chris sent this poem to me. It speaks to me. I have in the past put into the mail love letters I have written for myself. My letters are encouraging, loving, supportive, and tender. Often my journal entries are part love letter to myself.

I have a robust external emotional support network. External validations are almost always available, sincere and meaningful. I am so grateful for this and yet I wonder if it does not make me lazy. Why should I love myself if others are willing to do it for me? The answer is intuitively and viscerally clear but still hard to articulate. I am not going to answer the question but simply set out to love myself more. I love you my friend.

Love after Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


~ Derek Walcott ~

(Sea Grapes)

Single

I am single now. Many things have happened recently that have no place here. Breaking up is hard to do even when it goes well. This was not a graceful break up. I don’t feel comfortable talking about Rhiannon’s experience but I regret the pain I have caused her. I said it was not graceful but it was clean and fast. As I look at pictures of her I feel only love and appreciation for her wonderful, beautiful being. She has forgiven me already for ending things. She understands and loves me.

You might be wondering why I broke up with her if she loves me and I love her. There was no infidelity, no blow out fight, nothing like that. I felt unappreciated and taken for granted. I did not feel equally yoked. It became clear to me that I had set up and was fostering this dynamic. I am ashamed by the term codependent. I have thought of it like a malignant cancer of the heart and now I believe it applies to me. By the time I realized what I was doing I was already depleted. The rest of the story is a matter of details.

And now for the happy part, I have been loved well and deeply and it has opened me and changed me in a way I can only be grateful for. Although I am responsible for suffering I have been assured the suffering has not negated the good. I know change is a process but already I feel like what I want from life has changed. There is a magic closeness that I feel in a codependent relationship. I’m guessing it feels powerful and deep because I learned this in my early childhood when I was first looking for love. I am giving up on this feeling of connection.

My goal is to become the partner I want and enjoy my friends as friends. I’m looking at codependence anonymous. Hopefully you will be hearing more about that. I want to be free. I want to be honest. I want to enjoy people with out feeling responsible for fixing them. This is not the fairy tail future I envisioned but I hope it will be even better.

I love you John. Thank you for not giving up.

Beacon Biker

This summer I rode to Bear Mountain. As I pulled up to the top we saw a beautiful bike. It looked old and rugged and seemed to have a bear pelt where the seat should be. I’m usually not big on how bikes look but prefer to focus on how they function. This bike functioned well. It would take the rider from point A to point B. It was not fast or intrepid but it seemed to radiate pleasure.

And then I met the rider. He had all the best attributes of his bike but only more so. He lived in Beacon just up the river where he had a machine shop. What ever this man has I would like more of it in my life. I hope you find him half as pleasing as I did. If you want to see him better just click on the photograph. Thank you.

Car Ride

Last night I had a dream. I was on my motorcycle holding two water glasses in one arm while driving down the road. I saw a familiar car in front of me. It was a red convertible Volkswagen beetle. It was so old it did not have seat belts or a gas gage. When I saw it my heart lit up like a child’s face on Christmas morning. It was the car my next door neighbor drove when I was growing up.

The driver’s name was Don. He was the vice president of some big silicon / pharmaceutical giant. I had not seen him for years and years. In the dream he asked me if we could talk and I wanted nothing more. We pulled down a small road where we could park and walk along the quiet lush green shore of a small lake. The phone rang and I woke up.

Don had driven me to school almost every day in elementary school on his way to work. Some cold mornings his car would not start and he and his son, Greg, and I would push start it. Greg was about 7 years older than me and a lot of his old clothes ended up in my rotation. Riding to school with Don was the majority of my contact with him. We didn’t talk much but he was friendly and school was an unfriendly place for me. I sort of adopted him as a godfather.

When I left home for my two year mission in Canada he almost cried as he told me how I was in a way fulfilling his wish that one of his children would go on a mission. He gave me a leather laptop case to use like a brief case. He told me to call him if I ever needed anything. It was a precious moment for me. He had written his phone number down on a card for me and every time I held it I was comforted. I needed and leaned heavily on the memory of my silent ally. Phone calls were strictly forbidden with only two annual exceptions.

When I returned to normal life it was in another part of the country and I have heard and thought little of this beautiful old man. I wish he were not so far away so that I could walk to his house and visit with him. Clearly my subconscious is hungry for his wisdom. Perhaps I will call him. He may not know me so very well and our lives have parted for a long time but it is good to know that some where out there a good man has love in his heart for me. Thank you my friend. I love you.

Giving Crystal

I was sitting on the cold cement walkway. I was leaning against the side of the shop building and surrendering to my sadness. It was the last day before Christmas break and I had no one to talk to, no one to say good bye to, and no one to see over the break.

I was a sophomore in high school and I was coming down off my second love interest since I was in 4^th grade. It had not gone well for me this time either. It had gone considerably worse. People told me that her new boyfriend beat her. I was never her boyfriend, or really even her friend, but my heart had gone out all the same.

I was painfully uncomfortable in almost every social interaction with my peers. People made fun of me and I found my self drifting to the edge of the crowd and beyond. On this particular day it was all I could do not to cry.

It was overcast and the only person I could see was an upperclassman walking directly toward me. I assumed that he wanted to get into the shop and was confused when he stopped in front of me. He had long hair that hung about his face. He looked clean and happy and confident. He said “Hay.” I said “Hi”. He knelt beside me and held open the mouth of his square cotton bag. He said “Take one.” I was afraid. I had never seen his guy before. This seemed like the “just say no” moment that Nancy Reagan and my church had been training me for. I didn’t say anything.

I looked in the bag instead and then reached in and took out a quarts crystal. It was the kind of thing that had been invaluable treasure to me when I was ten. I was looking at it and said “why?” He said in a warm, friendly, and easy voice “You looked like you could use it.” By the time I looked up to say thank you he was gone.

I asked around if anyone had seen this tall guy with the hair and the bag. Someone said yes, that he was visiting from another school. I never saw him again.

This stranger completely changed my life. I decided that when I grew up that I wanted to be like him. It was not a conscious decision but my hair grew long about my face and I became tall and thin. And most importantly I became kind, generous and happy.

I have told this story to several people along my way and I have been told several times that I did indeed grow up to become that stranger.

It is strange to think of it in these terms but I achieved my life’s work within one year of choosing it. I have a lot of shortcomings and the path of my life is just as long now as it was then. But I feel like the hard part is over. Please do not misunderstand. Life can still be almost unbearably hard. The grace for me is that I do not doubt my life’s work. It is my mission to love and to generate waves of kindness. It is pleasing. It is rewarding. And I am grateful for it. Thank you.

Ann

I have not said much about my sister Ann. I am so very pleased with her. She makes me feel lucky. Right now she is doing a really beautiful thing with my friend Jo. Ann is a really good teacher and she is teaching Jo everything she knows. And Jo is working so hard. She quit her job and is just buckling down and putting in the hours. It is a beautiful thing to watch someone throw themselves so fully into their dream. I took a super short movie of Ann and Jo after too many hours working on their project. If you would like to see it, click here. It is a beautiful life even just to watch and listen. I love you my friend. Thank you.

Course

I had a friend Mari, who was a massage therapist. She went and did this thing where you sit all day long, and don’t talk. A few years ago I got a massage from her after she had sat for ten days. It was amazing. The focus was unbelievable. The energy was unbelievable. I asked her about how she meditated. She said it was not like meditation and then walked away. She didn’t want to share, but she had spoken with her hands.

Grace, my new rock climbing coworker has done this same ten day retreat. I have not felt her hands, but she is very open to talking about it. The way she talks about sensation and patience and what she endured while sitting is a little bit frightening. The way she describes the power of focus and the exploration of the body with the mind makes the experience irresistible. I would like time alone to get to know myself. I am afraid that I distract myself, and tell myself stories about how the world is. As much as I love stories I think that there is something more to be had. I want this deeper understanding of myself.

So I signed up for the course. There is no warm up, no explanation, no trial time, you just go in and sit for the whole ten days. There is quite a wait list so it will be a while before I go. As Grace talks about it, I can see how it would be too intense, too personal for Mari to share with me. I am sure at some point, some where down the road I will have something to say about it.

I love you. Thank you.

Sole

I work intimately with a lot of people. This intimacy is both physical and emotional. I am not a cold objective observer in my work. I really do genuinely love and enjoy my clients. You might think this is unprofessional. And I am sure according to a lot of people it is. There are lot of massage therapists that wear white lab coats, and work from behind a fortress of mental and emotional boundaries. And I am glad that a lot of these people work this way because I think they would get hurt or things would get complicated otherwise.

This is not to say that my work is sloppy or with out borders. I am very attentive to the comfort of my clients. I am acutely aware of each deviation I make from a lab coat massage. I want my clients to feel as safe and secure as possible. Sterile and clinical work certainly has its place but I think it is too cold to really foster the deepest comfort. When you start from a secure foundation you can build anything. I feel free to push and stretch as long as that base foundation is there.

It is a beautiful thing. I love what I do. But at the end of the day it is always about them and never about me. Even when it is about me, like when I get a massage it is never about us. I miss the physical, intimate us. It has been a long time sense I have held hands with someone. I know that sounds like such a small thing, but it is an important thing.

Yesterday Anne, one of my officemates came into my room while I was reading with my feet up on my table. She laid down on the table and put the arches of her socked feet in mine. It was sort of like holding hands. Maybe better. We talked for a little bit and then I had to take my client. It was simple and light and easy but felt so good. Thank you my friend.

Laughter

Tonight there was a stone spa reunion party. A surprisingly large number of people showed up. These people were at one point my family. Most of the people that didn’t make it I have seen recently at other parties. I made some gallery and sailing and biking dates. I have walked away completely from so many communities. I have walked away from the people on my mission, from schools, my church and various jobs. It’s nice to have a community I feel comfortable carrying forward. Thank you.

Back Seat

When I was very small I had three much older sisters who lived in the house with me. I was so much smaller that they all took care of me. I have been told many times of how my youngest sister, Michelle at eight years old, would stay up for hours after everyone had gone to bed, just so she could sooth my colicky newborn self. She would tirelessly lull me to sleep in the rocking chair.

As time went on my sisters got boyfriends and then left for college. It was not long before I felt like an only child. I was used to interacting with people much older than myself and did not get along well with my peers. I found my self relating better to my friend’s parents than to my friends. Grownups were more interesting and for the most part more mature.

I was often lonely. I would look forward and bank on a future visit home from one of my sisters. They provided a sense of belonging, understanding, and companionship that I could not find anywhere else. As time went on they all got married and I saw them less and less.

I did eventually create my own network of support. I developed friends, and even adopted a girl about my age as a sister. I finally did flourish. I am still developing and creating a secondary family of friends. It is a good life, made richer by so many beautiful and caring people.

During the early lonely years was I was sustained mostly by the memory of my loving sisters. There is one memory that stands out which I would like to share. I must have been somewhere between three and five years old. We were on a car trip. It was the kind of trip where we would camp along the way. The top of our station wagon was saturated with boxes of clothes and camping supplies. The back seat of the car was put down so there was just one huge (to me) flat cargo space. All of the sleeping bags were unzipped and laid down flat. All of my sisters and my self were lined up like sardines with big heavy coverings on top and bottom.

The windows were rolled down, the sun was shining, the air was cool and refreshing and no one was talking. It was so rare that all of my family was all together in a moment of just being instead of doing. There was no fighting, there was just belonging.

It is a truly beautiful, wonderful memory. I am in the process of creating that sense of peace and belonging in my own body. I hope to feel as loved and as at home in my body as I did in that memory. Strangely enough this seems obtainable to me. I feel lucky to be here. Thank you.

Left Right

My sister Ann got married a few years ago. She married a federal agent who responded to the 9-11 disaster, and later deployed to Iraq. Her marriage makes an interesting story. She commissioned my friend Jo to make a song about it. They are currently in Vienna together working on it. If you would like to hear what they had before they left click this link turcica.com/jo/leftright64.mp3 It is a little bit painful but real and ultimately feels good. I’m very proud of both of them. Oh yah, it's 20 minutes long. Thank you.

Laundry

I have a picture for you. It is of my laundry. I find it pleasing. If you click on it you will see it in more detail. I'm not sure why anyone else would want to do this, but I do, and so I'm sharing.

El Presidente

The other day I went to an annual shareholder board meeting. I don’t like board meetings. I’m not much for paper work or conference rooms but this meeting was for the co-op that I live in. The previous board president had sort of bullied some people around and ended up ejecting my sister. The end result for me is that I now live much further away from where I work.

The representative of the sponsor, the one who was selling the building to individuals and still controlled the majority of the shares had just died. I figured I had better go and see if I could keep things from getting worse.

They got better and then they got worse. The old board president resigned. That was good. The new board president was me. That was bad. My sister was sick so she didn’t go to the meeting. I called her from a cab afterwards to give her the news. She did not believe me. I handed the phone over to the new vice president who happened to live up stairs from me. Ann knew this woman and knew that I knew her and so she didn’t believe Lisa either. Ann kept laughing and saying it was really funny. We had to give the phone to Farah the new secretary who finally convinced my sister.

My sister's reaction was not a huge show of confidence. And this is more than understandable. Imagine Ted Kosinski as president of a parent teacher association and you get the idea. I’m not saying I’m a Unabomber, but if you take a way the lethal bitter hatred then you can start to see some similarities. I spent the next couple of days in a kind of aw. I couldn’t believe what the shareholders had done. I kept thinking if they only knew who I really was then they would have preferred I skip the meeting, and now I was the president.

It turns out that the job is not so bad. It is a lot of work. There is no pay. There are a lot of people making privet appointments so they can tell me not to trust a particular person or people. It sounds so very serious and always ends with “Do not, please do not tell anyone I said anything.” I have a feeling as time goes on people will ease up on the cloak and dagger act.

There have been two really good compliments that have come out of this so far. The first was from Farah who lives a cross the hall. At the handover meeting she said “John, this place is so clean, it looks like nobody lives here.” Now a normal person might think that this was not a compliment but a statement about how sparsely I decorate. I have had some rather impressive possession containment issues in the past that have made most of my apartment impassable. People have compared visiting my apartment to camping, or visiting a storage locker. It was sort of a beautiful thing to see it swing the other way. I took it as a compliment.

The second compliment came from Lisa. It was after our first board meeting. She told me she was really impressed with how I handled the meeting and kept things on track so that everything was covered. She told me she was confident that the building was going to be taken care of and that I was doing a good job. I have known Lisa for a long time and know she is not one to pull punches. This means that I can trust her compliments to be more objective and thereby more meaningful to me. It also means that she was not confident before this time. I got a little bit of everything from her. A little bit of humility, support, and encouragement. It’s a good mix.

I have a feeling this job is going to be good for me. And it will arguably be good for all the people who live in this building. It is a good life. And amusing. Thank you.

May

When I worked at stone spa there was one receptionist that always made my day better. Today is her birthday. This is what I put in her card.

Tiffany,
You are a beautiful wonderful person. I am always pleased to have known you. I am sure you know how much I admire you but I will say it again because you deserve to hear it. I think you are one of the most pleasing people alive. You have the same energy that can hold together a bright sunshiny day. You have the smile of a thousand song birds. You have a presence and bearing that is peaceful, interesting, playful, inspiring, and secure all at once. Even on your worst day you are a being of beauty. I wish no greater gift for this world. I am so very glad that you were born. Happy Birthday.

Tiffany’s boyfriend is a massage therapist I used to work with. I think they are perfect together. I hope they get to grow old together. Mark is one of the few boys in this world whom I really like. There is something very refreshing and wholesome about him. Tonight I discovered that he has taken up playing darts. Between his darts and my drinking (not when riding) I have a funny feeling I will be seeing more of him. He might also end up riding my old motorcycle in the spring if it’s still around.

I saw Tiffany and Mark and a bunch of good people tonight at her party. I normally I think of parties as something to be endured, but this was nice. I would even say it was worth riding in the cold. It is a good life. Thank you.

Gabriel

My sister Marie came to visit. She was here for eight days. I hardly saw her at all. Ann and I split the air fair for her and her two year old son Gabriel. Ann took the week off from work to baby sit around the clock, and I covered Ann when she had to perform or teach. I don’t want to get into it but Marie has some pretty serious abdominal issues. I got her two privet Pilates machine sessions, three colonics, and a massage with yours truly.

She did nothing else. She hardly left the apartment. She went to no museums, no shows, and heard no music. Marie is my sister with 5 children who do home-school, raises 36 alpaca, and lives on an island off the coast of Washington state. It is a beautiful life but she was starting to wear a little bit thin. Ok maybe even critically thin. She needed some serious time off to restock and reorganize her life so she could take better care of my sister.

When I was a very little boy my sisters Ann and Michelle would torment me. I have no doubt that I deserved it but it always left me running to the oldest sister, Marie for protection. She left for college when I was 4 years old and got married shortly after. When ever I saw her we would run into each others arms with love shining on our faces.

One time when I was about ten years old I went and spent a few days with Marie. The illusion was shattered for both of us. It turns out we were both just ordinary people. Alright we were, and are still not ordinary but we are still very and often painfully human.

Marie is struggling with a lot of the same issues I am. We both need to step down and focus on ourselves more. It is a little bit harder for Marie because she has so many responsibilities. There is not much anyone person can do for another in this area. The best Ann and I could do was to create a little sanctuary for her. It was kind of sweet and beautiful for me to help create a safe haven for the guardian and protector of my childhood.

Gabe was another feel good on this trip. It seems to me that all of my nieces and nephews are smarter than me. They talk sooner, read more, and communicate better and in general just burn brightly. Gabe is perhaps the exception. I don’t mean that he is any less smart than the rest, but he talks a lot less. I would stand next to him at the playground for hours. He would mostly just look at things. Ever once in a while he would look over at me and say “Hi Uncle John”. And I would say “Hi Gabe.” And that was that. He seems so very observant, attentive and peaceful. I have no idea what kind of life he will have. I suspect it will be a rich one. I love you my young friend.

Sea

When I worked at stone spa I had a lot of fun. One night it snowed 18 inches during my shift. We closed early and raided the stock of liquor in the basement. I was not drinking but it was a fun atmosphere. People took long warm baths, and generally did what ever they wanted. I gave Tiffany and Phil Thai massages. We had an out door garden and I did a full body naked imprint in the snow. It was invigorating.

As the months went by I only became more comfortable in that space. It seemed that almost everyone was my friend. Walking through the doors was like swimming in a sea of love. No one told me what to do. I loved my clients. I loved the other therapists. We would stop and massage each other as we passed in the halls. We were very physical. There was more spanking and pinching and hugging and body contact than I would have ever imagined in any work environment. And it was all respectful.

At one point I was booked to do some work in a room that did not work so well for me. I went to my boss and said “At this point in my life I only want to do things that are fun.” He said ok and made the necessary changes. That felt really good.

Granted there were misunderstandings, and little hang-ups here and there, but for the most part it felt like I was walking on clouds and surrounded by Angeles. I’m not saying my coworkers had halos over their heads. When I think of angels I think of beings that are strong and powerful and beautiful.

At the time I write this it has been a long while since I have remembered some of those smiles. It is good for me to visit that time. I have truly had a rich and beautiful life. Thank you.

André

This is my new roommate. He is 5’2” and has a flexible spine. This is an unusual feature in realistic, plastic, minimalist roommates.
The day I brought him home everyone I met had something to say. I live across the street from an elementary school. As I was pulling him out of the back of the car a mover was unloading a truck. He turned to me and said “That’s going to the elementary school right?” I was a little bit embarrassed and said “no, it’s going to my apartment.” It didn’t seem quite enough of an answer so I followed it with “I’m a gigantic nerd.” The mover was a big man. Both big and man in a way I will never be. He said to me “It’s all right, in some way we all are.” It was really a very sweet moment.

As I was pulling my thin man up to my building, a couple walked by. He said “Hay, couldn’t you find a better date?” I wanted to call back and tell him he was just jealous, or that I had to start some where. I was too amused though and only managed a “No, but thank you.” When I got into the elevator my next door neighbor stepped in with me. I had not met him yet. This is not unusual in this city. He was very interested. He asked about its gender guessing it was male. I said “Yes, the angle of his inferior pubic rami are less than ninety degrees.” He was pleased that I knew my new friend so well. He invited the both of us over for drinks some time saying his wife would love to meet my friend. I said something about my friend not being able to hold his liquor very well but thank you. All of this was a lot of fun and friendly and left me feeling really good.

I hung him next to my book case in my bedroom. I like looking at him. It is handy to be able to turn away from my wall charts or books and find the matching attachments on my friend. It works out that he is right next to the door of the room. I pass him every time I exit the room. Some times I stop and touch him. I place my hands on his ribs or his face like I would a client. I know what is under my hands when I work, but it is still interesting to see what it would look like deep down.

The interesting thing for me is that this skeleton feels like a person. When I place my hands on him I feel that same internal shift and compassion and resonance. This is a little bit disconcerting. I started to wonder if so much of what I feel is just my own projections. Am I really feeling my clients at all or are we just triggering each others expectations?

I wondered where the sensations come from. I seriously started to doubt the subtleties of my perception. And then it occurred to me that plastic man was not just a representation of an average skeleton. These plastic bones were cast from a real person. Or rather they are from the dead parts of a person. Some how this is a reassuring thought to me. I feel better knowing that I am responding to not just familiar looking castings, but real and very accurate representations of a specific human.

I don’t know how this all works. I don’t know or have a vocabulary for the things I feel. I don’t know where these feelings come from. The underlying emotions are compassion and love. Maybe there is just an excess of these things, and they spill over into my mind like the memory from dreams when I wake up.

When I do feel these things, this energy with my clients it is a different story. It is clear that I am not generating the experience. And I have to say it is a very intimate experience. I have a hard time imagining something more personal. Again, I am not sure what it is specifically. Perhaps people show me an inner divinity, or a soul, or a sovereign will. It is beautiful thing and commands all the respect and attention I can present.

I feel very lucky to have the job I do. It feels like a privilege that must never be taken for granted. Thank you.

Stand

Last night over dinner we were telling stories. There is one story I am particularly proud of.

I was in a car, sitting on the center armrest/console because there were not enough seats. It was uncomfortable. The rest of the seats were over filled with very large and strong 19 and 20 year old men in suits. I did not know anyone in the car. All my worldly possessions were in the trunk of this car. It was a six hour car ride, there were four hours more to go. I would be spending the next six months constantly living in very close quarters with these people.

I would be in the same room as one of them constantly with the bathroom privacy as the only acceptation for days and weeks and months. There would be no breaks, no days off. If I wanted to leave the apartment this one assigned person would have to come with me. If we were in a grocery store, we would always be in direct eyesight of each other. What I could do with my time, every 30 minutes of every day would be even more restricted.

There would be no radio, no movies, no TV, no unapproved books. There were only seven approved books. There would be no physical contact with females, no personal phone calls. No personal anything. I would be allowed to call my parents two times each year, once on Mother’s day, and once on Christmas. I had 20 months more to go.

The last two months had been very hard for me. I did not get along with my last companion at all. Every word out of his mouth, every expression across his face was painful for me. Nothing could be done. It was one of the hardest two months I have endured in my life. Sitting in this car twisted and uncomfortable was the greatest release and freedom. I was breathing so much easier.

And then the conversation in the car turned. People started talking about fags. At one point the zone leader said “I think they should line up all the queers and shoot them.” With out missing a beat I said “Then you would have to shoot me too.”

The slice in the car was absolute. Something was horribly wrong. There was a very intensive screening process to ensure that no gay people would be any part of what we were doing. People often talked about stories where someone was discovered to be gay and what happened to them. It usually involved fists and boots and a dishonorable ticket home.

I was prepared for this. I had done my home work. Finally the zone leader, Elder Hunter, asked “Elder Ellsworth. Are you saying that you are gay?” His words were flat even and clear. There would be no mistakes. “No.” His tone did not change, “What did you mean by that then?”

I was on trial. I felt like I was addressing a hushed court room. This was going to be my one and only statement. I quoted Dallen H. Oaks, one of the hardest most respected and highest leaders. I cited the month and year of the publication, leaving no room for doubt as to the authenticity of the message. It was a message of love and support for those people who are drawn to the same sex. It went on. I went on.

I am generally a people pleaser. I like to avoid conflict. I would go so far as to say that I am sometimes spineless. But that day in that car I made a stand. And I am very proud of it.

I was accepted because there was no alternative. And soon I was accepted because they thought I was good. I don’t know if I changed any minds, but none of them ever again said a disparaging thing about alternative lifestyles in my presence.

It feels good to do the right thing.

Resolutions

My new year’s resolution for 2006 was to start drinking. Before now I have never had a drink of anything with any alcohol content. Ever. Not even a sip. I’m still a little bit uncertain as to why I want to do this. There are a lot of contributing factors. The first one that comes to mind is peer pressure. I know that sounds like a horrible reason to start drinking.

I believe there is a bonding and trust that can be formed over a drink that can not happen any other way. I think this peer pressure is not so much about conformity as it is about community. I think I am ready to step out of my reclusive seclusion and look around.

I am also interested in giving up control. Social interactions have never been an easy thing for me. I generally like uncomfortable situations because they are challenges and I like to push the limits of what I am capable of. It feels good, but it is not a genuine comfort. I would like to ride the wave peaceably with out feeling compelled to control it. I suspect alcohol will soften up my ability to direct an interaction (or pretend that I am directing it) so that I will have to resign myself to interacting like a normal human. Right now I often end up playing the roll of a maternal alpha male like some sort of sheep dog. I’m sure this is all about insecurities from childhood. I want to try something different. I’m not saying alcohol is some kind of magical elixir that will resolve my neuroses. I just want an excuse to step down.

I have started with hard liquor. I have been sipping straight whisky under the tutelage of Mossy. I have to confess that it was more tasting than sipping. It is a strange thing to get used to. Last night was my first real drink. I had half a shot of Kettle 1 vodka. It took me about half an hour to get it down.

I felt flushed. I felt a small burning in my stomach. I felt a slight soreness in my throat. I felt a deep and subtle tension in what I approximate to be around my temporal meninges. I could feel the taste of it flush back against my tongue like when I can taste the blood thinner they inject me with while extracting platelets. I felt a slight acrid burn on the side of my tongue that lasted for hours. Four hours latter I could still taste it in my mouth and smell it when I inhaled deeply through my nose.

I felt slower and more lucid. I tested my reflexes with a bloody violent video game with Mossy, Coco, and Dreamy (we were all having dinner at Mossy cafe). There was no noticeable change in performance.

There was a difference in how everyone at the table looked at me. There was one less degree of “other” and one more helping of “we”. I think it was a significant shift. I don’t plan on drinking a lot or often. I only drank last night because there was snow on the roads and so I didn’t have to ride home.

I’m not sure if any of what I have said so far is a feel good. I think it is just different. When I was a teenager I remember looking for a particular taste. I had thought maybe some bitter or pungent herbal tea would satisfy it. It never did. Last night that one loose end finally fell into place. I don’t think any great pleasures will come from this. I don’t think any great answers will be found. But I have discovered another way to explore my body and how I see this world.

Grace

A woman started working at the office where I rent. Her name is Grace. She seemed nice. One day I was giving a link to a web page to her and another woman at the office. The root name of my site is turcica.

Very few people know what the word turcica is about. It is short for sella turcica, which is the name of a feature on the sphenoid, a bone on the floor of the cranial cavity. It is significant because it protects the pituitary gland. It is arguably the deepest, most secure, and safest place in the body. Even with this explanation most people will just look at me like I am crazy.

After reading the word Grace turned to me and said “Turcica? As in sella turcica?” I asked if she was a doctor, premed, or a therapist, or studied the movement of cranial bones. It turns out she was simply interested in the body. A long conversation followed. It turns out she is a lead climbing, Vipassana practicing, anatomy freak. I have a feeling I am going to learn a lot from her.

Grace likes the body so much because it is all she has. Every thing else is just subjective perception. I’m not so sure I am ready to give up my attachment to my subjective perception, but I am wildly interested in being able to see it and give it up at will.

I think I have in front of me the makings of a wonderful, beautiful, friendship. I sent my oldest sister for a treatment with Grace today. They loved each other. It turns out Grace is more than just nice. She is really very good, and kind, and proficient, and enthusiastic. I turned 31 a few days ago. Grace gave me some candles and a very small wooden box. It is the type of box that I have admired since I was five years old, but only just now have a use for. In side the box was this note.

John.
Happy Birthday.
I am very happy to know you
May all the things pleasing to you be on your way
-Grace

Thank you Grace. Thank you my kind and nurturing world.

Intimacy at Work

I recently started working with a new client. I was a little bit nervous at first because he was presented as a very important person. He comes from a different culture and I was cautious. I did not want to offend, and I was afraid I would not be comfortable if I learned too much about him. I am after all a radical feminist and gay rights activist. He seemed very polite and I thought it might just be a front, that he was also being cautious.

Over the hours spent in his presence I have observed him interacting with other people. He seems to have a kindness and sincerity that is so constant that I would normally suspect that it was an elaborate performance. I am beginning to think that this man is the real thing. That he really is just a good and kind person.

His ten year old son often comes into the room while I am working. I was surprised and then pleased that his father valued time with his son more than the quiet of his massage. His son would ask me math questions, and then karate questions. “Can you do a head stand?” “Can you do a head stand on someone’s back?” Eventually he started asking about beating people up. I think this is normal for a ten year old studding karate. What surprised me was how he followed up on my answers. “What is Ego?” “What is integrity?” Suddenly we were talking about moral philosophy. I was impressed with the depth of his interest.

What surprised me more was that his father was comfortable with this conversation. I felt wildly flattered and respected because he allowed me the honor of talking about such important things with his young child. I felt in that moment that he had accepted me, and welcomed me in a very profound and intimate way. His son left and came back in pajamas and fell asleep in the guest bed next to the massage table just so he could be close to his father. It was a sweet and beautiful thing.

I think I might have the best job in the world. Thank you.

Uli

The other night as I was leaving work I had the most beautiful exchange. There was a woman standing just to the side of the revolving doors. She looked like she was waiting for someone to come out of the building. It was dark and her face was warm from the lobby lights passing through the wall of glass. She looked like a mother and happy and secure. In her arms was a person with fine blond hair and bright attentive eyes. The eyes were a sold and clear blue framed in a slightly pleased and pensive face. I think she must have been around eighteen months old. She was turned out from her mother’s chest watching, or waiting. As I walked past I smiled and nodded at the mother. And as my head turned I connected with her daughter’s eyes. It was the shortest of exchanges but it felt so good. I love beautiful people. There was something in the face of that little person that I want to emulate in my life. She reminded me of my niece Ann at that age.

My sister Michelle pulled a new person into the world. Her name is Uli. I am very excited to get to know her. If you would like to see pictures of her please go to turcica.com/uli The photographer is my father. The old lady is my mother. The man is Bruce and the brother is Satchel. I am very pleased. I am sure you will be hearing more about this family. To those who find these entries on this blog, I love you. Peace.

Rami

There is a receptionist where I work. She has been there a long time. The woman who hired her is no longer alive. The owner and other people who have been in the office a long time have tried to get her to get on their table to receive work. I have offered her a free massage and she declined saying that she didn’t like massage. But she is loving and supportive and everyone loves her and wishes they could support her more. This is the kind of place where I work. Yes it is a feel good to walk through the door.

The other day Rami came up to me and told me that she was in pain. The pain was in two places in her back and radiated down her left arm. It woke her up at night when her ibuprofen wore off. She was worried that she was having a heart attack because the pain went down the left arm. Her chiropractor was on vacation and she didn’t know what to do. I think she must have been in a very bad way to approach me.

I think she is also very modest or shy so we kept her clothes on, sweater and all, and I just worked on the back of her neck and a few spots in her back for about twenty minuets. The last five minuets were the most basic and simple of energy work. The kind of thing I remember from my childhood. When I was done she stayed on the table for another ten minuets unable to move. She said her fingers and toes were not responding. I talked her though it helping her take advantage of the deep rest and stillness of her body.

When she did get up she said her arm was fine and her back was ninety percent better. I got a call this morning thanking me and telling me that she was able to sleep through the night. I am so flattered that she invited me to work on her. I am also so grateful that I had something worthwhile to give her. This is what I want to be doing with my life. This is what I am doing with my life. I am a very lucky human. Thank you my sweet kind and generous universe. I love you too.

Think on These Things

The time has come to clear my mind. Comb out the knots in my neurons if you will. Ultimately I hope to be able to do this by being very still. For now I will try to fall onto an older larger synaptic path. I went and opened my big black book. It has been several years since I last went looking there. This is what I found.

Finally, sisters, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.
Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed bout to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.

This passage is affirming to me. It makes me feel like there is some underlying integrity or virtue at the base of my mind. It makes me feel like my writing here is not selfish or small. It is good to smile in the face of beauty. Thank you my friends for being beautiful. Merry Christmas.

Out for the Hollidays

I saw this little internet movie tonight.
It's nice to dream.
Merry Christmass.
http://www.atomfilms.com/contentPlay
/video.jsp?id=home_christmas&preplay=1

Surmounted

My friend Raquel recently taught me some advanced hula hooping. It was a lot of fun and felt so good. It is not simply about gyrating madly trying to keep the hoop up. The idea is to move in sync with the hoop so that the inside is pressing evenly and consistently around your waist. There is something comforting about this constant moving contact. The adult hoops are a lot heavier than what I experienced in fourth grade. It is almost like getting a massage. I leaned how to lift it from my waist over my head and back down with out breaking rhythm. This is going to take a long time to it just right or to even make consistent. I spent a lot of time working the hoop from my neck. I would roll my head so that the hoop pulled along the base of my scull and under my chin. That felt really good. It was a little bit painful when it flew off boxing my ear or smashing my glasses into my face but it is well worth it. I felt longer and taller and thinner and stronger and slightly like I just walked off of a boat on the heavy seas. My goal is to be able to dance and move around in rhythm with out disturbing the hoop as it flies around me. Some day soon I will make a hoop of my own.
That night Raquel told me a story that feels better than hooping. She was walking along with some friends and a man walked past. She felt a little something about him. They walked back and forth for a few blocks catching up at intersections, slowing down to look through windows. She let him go on ahead, and talked with her girlfriends about him. She has a friend who had walked up to a stranger in a business suit and asked for a hug. The man turned and gave him a really good solid warm hug. Inspired by this Raquel excused herself from her friends and ran two sold blocks to catch up with her sidewalk stranger. She said she finally got behind him, panting and out of breath, only an arms reach away, and then surmounted her fear. She reached out and taped him on the shoulder. She just started talking, she invited him to have tea with her and her friends or at least walk a little way together. She has been seeing him for over two months now.
I am wildly impressed. I am inspired. I wonder how many beautiful things in my life I have let walk away because I was afraid of being foolish. Pride is nice but at the end of the day I would gladly trade it for a smile. I’m probably not going to go running people down on the sidewalk because I am big and hairy and I don’t want to genuinely frighten or distress people. I do feel encouraged though. I will reach out more. All I have to lose is my pride. And there is the world to gain. I’m not looking for a partner right now, but there are so many ways to connect and feel nurtured and supported and loved. I feel loved and supported by Raquel, the man who held the door for me this morning, and the security man where I work who gave me his little nod of approval. It feels like the world is so generous. I am so grateful. Thank you.

Thanksgiving

I’m back. Thank you Clew and Seabiscuit for the support and good wishes. I have a lot of catching up to do, and on a lot of projects. It may take some time for me to get back into writing here. The feel good I want to share just now is Thanksgiving. I have a lot of pictures. If you would like to see them please go to http://picasaweb.google.com/nrlodge Life is really very good. I will try to write more of it down. It is a beautiful world and there are so many beautiful people and things in it. Thank you. Peace.

My Horse

This is my horse. If I could afford a living one I might just fall in love. As it is I’m pretty close to my ride. I am a lucky person.

Serious

I have a web site. On the home page there is a picture of me. It is not a picture I find particularly flattering. It is none the less enjoyable. When you move the mouse over the picture the image changes to another of the same nature. There is something about it that is deeply pleasing for me.

I called my mother and had her look at it. She laughed solidly for several minuets. When she laughs my mother is completely present. It is a good thing. The picture above is of her and my father. They are standing in Ann’s bath tub in the kitchen. I like this picture of them. Somehow life is better when it is not so serious. Thank you.

Shannon

Last week Rami slid a note under my door. One of Anne’s clients wanted some work when Anne was done with her. I set up for another client and then went to check with Rami. On my way to the desk I passed Anne’s next client sitting in the waiting room. His name was Shannon.

I walked past a few times nodding politely every pass. He was not reading or what ever it is people do in waiting rooms to distract themselves. He just sat there with his wrinkly skin and wide eyes. His eyes were not bulging or straining and yet they were more open then mine could ever hope to be.

He looked comfortable and attentive. He was aware of the room like a pool of water is aware. There was nothing assertive or searching, and yet he noticed the slightest breeze returning my nod. Eventually his eyes arrested me and I was standing before him. He had stopped me but in the same sort of way that a beautiful sunset will. He had made no gesture or indication but was simply open.

I felt like I should say something. I said “So, you come here often?” I know that is about the most pitiful way to start a conversation but he took it in stride, “Ten years now, every week.” He is an actor and director from Québec but has been in the city for the last thirty years. This led to where I was from. He wanted to know what I had been doing in Canada. I told him about my mission and my leaving the church. We talked about politicks and sexual orientation. We talked about the office we were in and the family of people who shared it.

We had only talked for about three minuets but it felt like he was the kind of friend I would climb a mountain or die with. He was stable. I want to say that he was grounded but his spirit was too strong and supple and light. He was serene. He stood and I wanted to hug him. I let him go to the desk instead.

My first mentor David Latimer had died in his seventies. It occurs to me that I did not know how I wanted to grow old past that. I would be more than happy to grow old and powerful like Shannon. I think meeting him has changed the course of my life. I’m not saying that I am going to be an actor or even grow old, but I would like to emulate his beautiful strength. Thank you.

Green Ninja

I was riding up 87 on my way to the Adirondacks when I saw him. He was dressed all in green sitting on a green ninja. His suit seemed very serious. It was not leather but a high grade of synthetic. He passed me and I followed him.

It unusual for me to travel on the highway with a strange vehicle. I used to do it years ago out west. On the lonely highways I would pace with another car. Late at night hour after hour I would follow or lead my anonymous companion. It was comforting and secure. There is safety in numbers when avoiding the predators lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce with their glaring lights.

On the motor cycle the predator is not the patrol car but ever single other car. It is like swimming bare skinned with giant sharks. Even a brush of their scaly hide is enough to make you bleed and then it is over quickly. I almost never pace with unknown motorcycles because they usually move too fast or too slow. It is pure folly to go faster than you are comfortable with, and I do not want to intrude on the Sunday rider in the slow lane.

The Ninja was just slow enough for me to pace with. Two motorcycles together create a much larger presence than two apart. People see the one and then are more likely to see the other because the possibility is already in their mind. I hate to think of this in combative terms, but it is unlikely that anyone would kill both of us and then they would have to deal with the other one. We were commanding al little bit more respect than we normally would. People gave us more room following at a greater distance.

We gave each other at least as much space as we wanted from the cars, hoping to remind them of what they learned decades ago when they got their licenses. There were a few moments though when we were riding side by side. I wanted to look more but the road commanded most of my attention, more so when in tight formation. We looked each over quickly. He nodded. I nodded. A moment latter we shifted into safer more defensive positions.

It is strange to me that I am so confidant that he was male. These heavy coats flatten breasts and hide curves. There are not a lot of feminine options in the high end of serious riding gear. There was no way to tell by sight and smell was laughable not an option. It was in the subtleties of the movement. I really like androgynous people. I like it when people dress in a way that dose not command association with a particular gender and all of the boxes and chains that come with it. Even though I have my preferences I try to respect when someone is dressed in the costume and trying to play the part of a particular role. However, when people are very ambiguous it is usually their movements that tell.

Living on the fringe as I do it is uncommon for me to have a good peer like respectful interaction with someone so clearly masculine. As far as I can tell no one male has posted to my blog. In the real world I enjoy manly men but never feel a solid connection. Most of the time I am grateful for the distance but sometimes I miss the sense of a comrade. It was so good and nourishing for me to connect with this stranger.

It is a very exclusive club of people who take the time to dress up so completely for the sake of safety. There are even less people who ride fast in the cold cold air. Last night I was in a taxi going up the west side highway. I was tired and satisfied after a good day of work. It was dark and the water was coming down fast and hard. I looked out my window and there was a bright yellow rain coat and pants sitting on a motor cycle plowing a trench in the storm. This person was truly androgynous to me. There was no discernable physical form and there was absolutely no emoting. Before I rode I would feel bad for people riding in the rain or laugh or think they were stupid. Last night I saw this person and could feel their concentration radiating out and pressing against the outside of my cab. The rider seemed to be navigating by sure force of will. In a moment the motor cycle was gone and there was only the sound of water splashing onto the floorboards and heavy drops assaulting the car. There was no connection with the wet rider but I feel less alone. Thank you fellow travelers.

Sensual

A lot of people think the word sensual is a euphemism for sexual. This is completely understandable. It is the way we hear the word used most of the time. It is not how I use the word. I think good sex should be sensual but it is not always this way. A good sensual experience usually has nothing to do with sex. Sensuality is its own animal and I want to talk about it.

I have played in the crashing waves of the ocean. I am not talking about the waves that fall on them selves, or the thin tongue of water that laps at the shore. I am talking about the kind of wave that makes sand out of stone. I have stood in this mortar along with the sharp rocks and shells and have felt the pestle of an entire ocean. It was a warm and sunny day with a sold, comfortable and clean wind. The water was bracing and the force of it could easily knock me down. The cold reached all the way through my body constricting and flushing all my capillaries washing not only my skin but the belly of all my muscles down to the bone. The sun softened and fed me pushing warmth back down into my chest as the water retreated. The foam was soft and the flurry of sand in the water was scouring. The jagged footing softened and opened my feet leaving me to walk home on what felt like tender sponges. Straining against the waves exercised my will and endurance completely. Laughing and yelling with my friends into the foaming roar opened my throat and belly, freeing and feeding my soul. This is what I mean by sensual.

The sensual can be gentle like warm rain embracing me as I walk home. It can be the song in a friend’s voice as they welcome me. The deep deep rumble in the ground as a train courses beneath my feet is sensual if only I am willing to feel it. Some thing as simple as sunlight on my face or wind caressing my ears can be deeply satisfying in a very sensual way.

Even my amateur meditation can be sensual. As my mind calms and the clutter of distraction clears I gain awareness. What I am aware of is myself. Just sitting can be very sensual. Some day I may feel something altogether different. When I pray I feel another part of me active and working. I don’t know what this is but to feel that part of me can also be sensual.

My work is very sensual. I feel people. On a good day I try and feel them in the deepest sense of the word. There is no easy or simple way to tell someone this with out them thinking about sex. The world is full of hidden treasures and pleasures. More often these delicious experiences are right in front of us, in us and happening to us. All we need to do is notice them to harvest the enjoyment.

There are sensations that we do not seek out because we would prefer ones more comfortable. Even these less than desirable experiences can be richly rewarding if we feel and embrace them. Today I am in aguish. I can feel it deep in my face and in my chest. It is in the back of my throat waiting to cry out. I feel it. It is stirring and provoking me. I feel productive and fertile. Anything might grow out of this place that I am in.

When dawn does come as I know it must, I know how it will feel. The first rays of light will be like soft kisses. The sun will be warm and embracing. The sky will be bright and full of promise. The stillness in the air will be charged with the weight of the beauty that will unfold and which I will be powerless to resist. This is a good life. I thank you for it.

Contact

My teacher was a wise and sassy woman. The class was long and we came back every week. She started us out with simple exercises. She put us in pairs and had us mirror each others movements. First I would follow my partner’s movement and then she would follow mine. And then we both pretended to be mirrors at the same time.

I have always thought that there was something unnatural about two mirrors facing each other. The image is repeated over and over getting smaller and further away with each transit through the glass. There is almost always a slight imperfection in the alignment of the reflectors bending the eternal tunnel to one side or another only to disappear behind a distant frame. When the alignment is perfect the first image blocks the rest of the images. Both of these possibilties are disappointing for me. There is a promise of eternity but it is never delivered.

These problems are resolved when the observer becomes one of the mirrors. I have another problem with mirrors. They never reflect perfectly. There is always some light lost as the photons scatter or absorb in the glass or sliver. If you could point a telescope down this endless tunnel you would eventually see darkness. In my fantasies it is the opposite. Light would build and get stronger with each exchange creating a world of energy from which new and unheard of things are born.

The dream is possible if the mirror is also a flawless source of focused light. I know there is no such thing as flawless. However if your mirror is constantly changing and very close to flawless then at some point those very flaws will align to create a moment of perfection. And in this moment how ever brief sometimes something is created.

I am not suggesting that anyone can become perfect or even close to it. But if a person is focused enough then it is possible that the self will diminish to the point where space is created for something that is. If this focus is on dynamic reflection and that reflection is returned then there is always a possibility how ever small that a sea of light will form. The room is not brighter because light is only a symbol. The sea that forms is made of awareness and concentration that is open and void of self.

I have felt the spray of this sea. At one point I was supported completely off the ground by my partner’s back. I do not remember my partner at all, whether it was he or she, large or small. I only remember listening with my skin, balance and breath for the subtlety that would open possibilities. And then there was a moment of movement where I was governed by something altogether new and beautiful. I moved gracefully, perfectly, and in absolute connection with my partner. I know it sounds small but it was one of the best things that have ever happened to me. I do not expect to ever feel that way ever again. The hope of approximation is enough. Thank you.

sun moon stars rain

anyone lived in a pretty how town by e.e. cummings

I fell in love with this poem a long time ago. I did not understand it. I simply loved the sound, rhythm, and pensive depth of it. One year a teacher told me it was a love story. And then I did not want to understand it. I felt that understanding it would taint it with meaning and diminish its beauty.

I memorized it and kept it in the back of my mouth. I knew some day I would come to understand this poem but I held off as long as I could. I lived with it intimately but never looked at it directly. I came to understand it after I broke up with Jess. I thought the love story was an unhealthy one. I who grew up with out borders was reeling from the painful consequences. I needed time for the world to revolve only around me.

Ann pointed out that maybe the poem was about a healthy relationship. She was implying that I was unhealthy and she was right. I was where I needed to be doing what I needed to do, but it was wildly unbalanced. A little over a year ago I came to think it was a healthy love story. It is only today that I identify with it. As an aside, it is only just now as I write that I see how closely it parallels “Annabel Lee”.

I admire “anyone”. He is so healthy and engaged in living. I have always thought this. I only ever had issue with “noone”. She did not seem to have a life of her own and was too focused on "anyone". Just because cummings dose not give us her back story dose not mean she does not have one. I had been subconsciously projecting my own back story onto her.

I finally have enough of a personal foundation that I can afford to be “noone”. It is a wonderful and beautiful thing. I don’t need “anyone” to reciprocate because I am selfless, quite the opposite. It is because now there enough self to begin with. It is a rich and bountiful place to live from. I really enjoy being “noone”. I wonder who else I might be as I grow up.

Thank you e.e. cummings.


anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Box of Love

Anne is a beautiful woman. She was sad because her boyfriend broke up with her. I think she also felt excluded from the other dancers in the MFA teacher office. Michelle said we should do something nice for her.

I went out and bought the nicest box of tissues I could find. I opened the box very carefully so that it could be glued back together as if it had never been opened. I laid out individual tissues and had everyone in the office write loving or inspiring things on each one. I harvested about seventy thoughtful tissues. I wrote the rest of them myself. I then spent one long night very precisely folding each of the two hundred and fifty sheets back into their original interlocking pattern. I put the box back together and left it on her desk with a note that read “Love inside. Use as needed”.

I felt so deliciously mischievous and sneaky. Who would ever suspect such a treasure could be hidden in a sealed box of Kleenex. She loved it. She would pull out a tissue when ever she wanted a little boost. She taped her favorite ones on the wall next to her desk.

Things became complicated between Anne and me. I did the best I could by her. It was horribly insufficient by even the most generous standards. She wanted me to fill a deep need in her life. I knew pretty soon that I was not the man in her dreams. There was a short and shameful time where I didn’t tell her. When I did end the relationship I did it wretchedly. I wish I could go back and love her simply and supportively with out getting her hopes up.

I know regret is not a feel good. I know this is a sad twist to a beautiful thing. But there is a feel good here. Anne did eventually find what she was looking for. And even though I was unable to go back and try again I did at least learn. I never had to make that mistake again. I am now stronger, braver, and more responsible. Life feels better. I think it will only continue to get better. Thank you.

Love Tent

When I first met Chris I was not impressed. I thought she was one of the pretty people. I don’t take issue with the fact that she is so attractive. I rather enjoy it. What turned me off was that she was trying to be pretty in the conventional since. This is wildly uninteresting to me.

It did not take long for me to discover there was more going on. Chris was changing. This is always attractive to me. She was unearthing herself out from under who she had been told to be. She is still changing and it just keeps getting better. She inspires me.

It seemed to me that we served as confidant to each other. One day early in our relationship I passed her in the hall and she was sad and said she couldn’t talk about it. We talked about so many things I thought something serious must be going on. I thought I was a safe corner for her to let go in. What ever was going on was clearly beyond the protection of my comfort.

I had a key to her office because my sister Michelle shared that office along with seven other people. It was a small room crammed with eight desks, acoustical ceiling tiles, florescent lights, and industrial carpet. It was not a privet or even remotely comfortable place. I knew just what to do with out even thinking about it.

I went into the office in the middle of the night. I created a network of dental floss runners along the ceiling. I hung panels of large white tissue paper from these lines. I carefully lined up sheet after sheet until I had completely enclosed the corner of the room that held her desk and chair. I left a little opening near the wall so she could go in and out. I made a wall mounted halogen light and put it in the top of the corner. I hid the light behind a wide sconce of the same white tissue. The result was a soft white glowing cocoon.

High above the desk I hung a single sheet of tissues paper. In thin red ink it read “I love Chris” six times. I put a pot of white daises on her desk along with the most delicious juicy apple I could find. On the out side of the enclosure I hung a little sign made of the same paper that simply said “Love Tent”

I knew very well that this was for my own benefit. The pleasure and excitement was almost unbearable. I felt like I was five and it was Christmas Eve. I imagined how Chris would feel walking in and seeing it. What could be better? It turns out Chris loved it just as much as I hoped she would. Thank you so much Chris. Thank you for letting me become a part of your beautiful life.

Chris is up in the air right now while engaging a critical summit in a nonconformist and integral way. She is so much larger than the crux that I can feel nothing but sweet pensive anticipation for her unfolding life. I told her I was so excited for her that my pompoms were on fire. She liked that. She told me that if I wanted support she would ignite the bleachers.

Thank you Chris. Thank you most bountiful universe.

Laughing

A few years ago I got a phone message from Genevieve. It went something like this. “Hi John, I really need to talk to you about something. I’m considering something very big and I just need a little input. [silence] Ok, actually I know what you would say and John, thank you for being such a good friend. I really appreciate your support. You’re great. I love you. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
That right there is a feel good. That a she knew and trusted so completely that I would support her is a sweet and tender thing for me. Some times I love someone and they don’t feel it at all. For a friend to feel it so completely that they can use the support so in my absence is more than I could ask for. What better use is there for love?
A few days later I found out that Genevieve was quitting her job, giving up her apartment, and going to hike the Appellation Trail. For over five months she walked over two thousand miles from Georgia to Maine. She would call every other week or so telling me the address of the next post office near the trail. I would mail her freeze dried soup, dry seaweed, film, and other supplies. She would mail me her undeveloped film.
I met Genevieve about five years ago. I fell for her on sight. I loved her fiercely. The nature of my love has changed but I have never stopped loving her. She is beautiful and precious to me. After she got off the trail she moved out west and struggled for a long time.
I just talked to her last week. It seems for the first time in years she has all the wheals turning at once. She is happy. She has good work. She is in love (he is too). There is plenty of room for things to get better but it’s hard to argue with happiness. It’s hard to describe how much pleasure I felt at her good news. The laughter and light in her voice was like a long warm shower for my soul. I did not realize how concerned I had been for her and for how long.
We spent a few minutes on the phone verbally petting each other. My happiness at her happiness meant so much to her and just went on and on into a bright beautiful laughing embrace. Thank you laughingbird. I hope it only gets better. I love you.

See of Smiles

When I was nine years old my last sister moved out making me an only child. Every time a child left home I got moved from one room to another, my parents absorbing the new space. My last move left me sharing a room with my father’s office. There was a hanging wooden partition between his desk and my desk. It provided the illusion of privacy but we could hear each other completely. I lived in silence listening to his side of phone calls. At one point I decided I wanted to talk to my friends on the phone with out having to crawl into a closet first.
The result was a wall of hanging carpet. It was brown and about three quarters of an inch deep. It was the biggest cork board ever. It was not long before I started pinning things up. In high school I shared a darkroom with a friend. I had acquired equipment and he had a basement. It was a perfect match. I had a long lens that burned a hundreds of feet of film for me. I hung a huge collection of candid pictures. It was almost exclusively made from my friends and people I knew. Strangers, movie stars, and singers were all just uninteresting images to me. For me a photo was a reflection of personality and not an end in it's self.
Every day I would look at this sea of faces several times as I entered and left my room. Some days the people would look better than others. Some times people looked beautiful and happy. Some times people looked dark, cynical and less than attractive. It was not long before I realized what was going on. The pictures were not changing. It was just my perception.
This was one of those lessons that are easy to understand but hard to fully accept. My own mood was strongly coloring the way I saw the world. This perceptive filter was surprisingly strong. I was immediately humbled. My understanding of people and how I read them was now suspect. I also felt empowered. I felt like I could create beauty.
I know people are different from pictures. I know people have their own wills and sometimes will not be swayed. The rest of the time how ever subtly people do change.
I don’t know how much of this change is just my perception. I know sometimes people smile back just to humor me. Some times it is even in a sarcastic reflection. It’s not that I walk out the door thinking I am going to make everyone happy. I’ll take what I can get. On a good day it feels like some people genuinely sway. I know it is cheesy and over stated but smiles are contagious. Kindness is infectious. And love begets love.
I am inclined to feel a little bit shallow and plastic for believing in this so strongly. This is after all the kind of thing you would find on a motivational poster in a break room under florescent lights, or in the office of an elementary school counselor. It dose not work all the time and god help the foolish John who tries to make someone smile who has no business smiling.
I have to say that in spite of all this, over the years I have found that it works. I can make the world a more beautiful place. This is not purely an altruistic or selfish endeavor. Every one wins. I might just be in my own lonely world looking at a wall of pictures but it feels real and good to me. Today I am in love, and almost everyone out there is gorgeous. Thank you for smiling back.

Weather Witch

This morning the west side highway was shutdown for a vast bicycle ride. It was a little spooky. A steady stream of silent elegant vehicles had replaced the SUVs. I was going to pick up some H&H bagels for my sister Michelle before she flew back to Colorado and I just couldn’t get there under gas power for love or money. I walked past a carwash on eleventh and all the employs were just sitting on the curb watching the bikes roll past for hour after hour. A cool, quiet (no cars), bright, and clear morning with friends and warm bagels is a wonderful way to start the day. There were also cappers, lox, vine ripe tomatoes, and red onions, and cream cheese. It was an exceptionally beautiful morning.

Latter tonight I got a massage from my mentor. It was beautiful. She absolutely did me right. Fay has been suffering and smoldering for months and months and is just now free. She has been on and off with a man that wanted her to change. She is doing some drama therapy and or workshop thing and it is working well for her. She said she was looking more at herself and less at him. She was so bright and open and beautiful. Some times in the spring I see the bright new leaves growing on the tips of the branches and it stirs me. It is a fresh wide-eyed and wonderfully attractive look. It feels so good to be in the presence of a friend who is growing out of a dark and cold season.

After the massage I was faced with the biggest brightest and whitest moon. It looked completely full. It has rained all last week and the water has scrubbed the sky completely. It felt like I could feel the moon directly. There were a few light tuffs of cloud trailing the rain and they framed the moon with a dark unrest. It was the kind of moon that might reveal a score of witches flying on some hurried errand. The wind was gusting up to forty eight miles per hour. That is a lot of wind on a motor cycle. Just sitting at an intersection my biked rocked so much it felt like someone was climbing on.

I love riding my motor cycle. I particularly love turns. I love feeling the bike grab the road and pull me out of my inertial path. I love swerving side to side going down a steep hill. It feels like skiing over moguls. After the apex of each little turn the bike sinks down on its suspension only to lift and twist landing in the opposite direction. I love the gentle acceleration out of a turn. I feel like the bike is a beast with a mind all its own defying physics as it pulls me tighter and tighter only to release me into easy freedom.

Tonight the wind was turning for me. When in motion the tires slide sideways with the gusts. It feels like the bike is jumping back and forth. Through of some wonder of aerodynamics and a high center of gravity I don’t fall. The gust pushes the bottom of the bike to the side and ends up leaning me into the wind. The wind turns me like a weathervane automatically correcting for the lateral jump. It is a little bit frightening and very exciting.

The wind was blowing so hard tonight that it became something else. I felt handled. I felt like wispy sprites were tugging at my sleeve. I felt not the Siren’s call but her fingers caressing me and luring me down into the pavement. Each time I was pushed and pulled my bike would intervene and put me back upright and in the center of my lane. I was going slowly and giving myself plenty of room in all directions. I felt tested just the same. It was a most sensual and serious and beautiful way to ride. It felt like a dance. It felt awfully good. I love this life so very much. Thank you.

Sparks

The day after I dropped my keys down the manhole cover I was riding to work. It was early in the morning. It was raining. I was in a rotary getting onto the west side highway. I was almost out of the turn, straightening out for the onramp. I was feeling self conscious. I was going slower than the traffic and part of me dose not want to be in the way. I cranked the throttle three sixteenths of a turn.

My rear wheal completely lost traction and stated crawling out to my right. It was over right there. More throttle only would kick my back end out faster. If I let off the gas and the tire grabbed again the bike would try and pitch me forward and off the bike. I suppose there is a remote middle ground. If I had let off just enough so that my tread could sink through the water, but not so slow that I had complete traction I might have righted myself. I hope I never get another chance to try it.

I was leaning inside and I just went down. I was wearing my full leather with padding over my knees, hips, shoulder, back, elbows, and forearms. On top of this was my thick orange rubber suit. It seriously felt like I was laying down into a bed.

I always thought that if I went down I would crawl out and get on top of the bike. It didn’t work like that at all. I was glued to the seat. I have never felt more connected to my bike. This is not such a bad thing. At high speeds, sliding on my side would let the bike’s suspension protect me from the curbs and cars.

I think I slid around ten feet. My freeway bar was kicking up sparks. I love sparks. This was not a shower of sparks but more of a light spray. It was like wildflowers of light and heat were flourishing from the bowels of my bike. It was beautiful.

I stopped, crawled out and hopped back on my bike and went to Ann’s house. I was sure that I had eaten through my rubber and torn up my leather. When I was able to look things over I was surprised that my rubber had not sustained even one scratch. Ann said it was a testament to just how slippery the road was. The only damage was a small scuff on the outside of my left boot. My freeway bar was not of the quality I had wanted and it bent over. Better freeway bars arrive this Friday. I think a better bar would have kept the bike off my foot.

I iced my foot and rested it. My client had called and canceled. Today the foot feels fine. The transverse arch is a little sore but it gets better by the hour. I don’t think I could ask for a better lesson. If I had gotten away any easier I’m afraid I would be tempted not to learn from the experience. For the record I would not have been so aggressive if a car was right on my tail, if I was going faster, or if I had a passenger. I try to pick safe places to try scary things.

I am sure there are several lessons that I can take from this experience. There is the obvious riding lesson of maintaining traction. Also, every extra minute I spend putting on more leather and protection is worth months of not having to heal before I go back to work. More importantly I think is the lesson of listening to my own pace. It is a bad idea to speed up to appease the car behind me. I think this is a beautiful lesson that has relevance in the rest of my life. The night before I went down I had dropped my keys through a manhole cover. I have to wonder if I was subconsciously trying to keep myself from riding in the rain. I think I should listen to myself more, if only to keep my keys from disappearing. Then there is the lesson that is the first thing any rational person would point to. Don’t ride in the rain! Some days I don’t feel up to it and I take the subway. But I have to say, I know the risks, it has been a good life, and I’m not ready to step down. It is good to live free. Thank you.

311

The other night I went to Ann’s house for dinner. As I was dismounting I dropped my keys down a manhole cover. They were my only set. I was almost happy about it. Here was a problem I could do something about. It was really very satisfying. I considered magnets on stings, fishing hooks and lines, long thin curtain rods with safety pen barbs lashed to the tips. I imagined using long heavy crowbars to lift the cover. I called the city’s information help line (311). The department of environmental protection was there to help me. My sister was having friends over for dinner and we excitedly played with the options. My down stairs neighbor (Mossy’s) house guest from England was in on the excitement providing the flashlight. In the end a coat hanger and a flashlight was all it took. I was almost disappointed it was so easy and over so soon. I called 311 again to cancel my request for a crew to lift the plate. The woman taking my call was so genuinely happy for me. I think in some way or another everyone has been in this position. It is a warm and helping world I live in. Thank you. On top of all of this, dinner was delicious. Thank you everyone.

Flush

I am in love. I often feel that moment of falling. I feel my heart tighten and my breath shorten. I feel my lips fill and my cheeks flush. My body is covered with waves of warmth and unrest. I want to hold the smooth trunk of a cool tree in my arms. I want to role around in the grass arching and tossing. I want to snuggle down into my comforter only reach out in uncontrolled stretching.

The funny thing is there is often no one I can pin the feeling on. I am just in love. Maybe life is really just that good. Maybe I am receiving the anonymous love from people from faraway or from another time. Maybe it was that smile on the subway coming home to roost. And then again I could just be sick with a pleasant sort of nausea. I like the idea that it is my nature to be in love. Some people have a good sense of humor. I think I have a good sense of being in love.

I like that the feeling can come to me independent of other people. It reminds me that I am whole. This is not to say that I would be happy in isolation. I love to love. I think I would suffer horrible discontent if I did not have a way to love and receive love. As it is I feel like I swim in love. There is a man who waves to me when ever I see him on the street. There is a woman in my building who always smiles at me. Even the super loves me. I know it’s not a romantic, deep or profound love, but it dose not take much.

Moonshine

I went away for the weekend. It rained hard. It rained so hard I could feel the impact of the drops though my thick leather boots. I was coming back from Farm and Family in Plattsburg. The store feels is as good as the name sounds. I had ordered an extra large tall Carhartt rubber jacket and overalls. I was decked out in .5mm (hefty) of bright orange rubber. It is a seriously pleasing look. Passing other cars on the highway I got a lot of looks and all the lips were open and happy.

On a side road I rolled past Poke-O-Moonshine. Poke-O-Moonshine is a cliff face about five hundred feet high and about a quarter of a mile long. It is a very serous dry, and ice climbing wall. The face was slicked black and the crest was enshrouded in a luminescent curling white cloud. The base of the cliff was hidden by a grove of hardwood turning all the bright and solid colors. There was not a ray of sunshine but somehow the leaves glowed all the more brightly in the mist. I felt like an echo off the cliff ridding down the road. My cloud white helmet, old red bike, orange suit, grey steel and wet black tires seemed to erupt from the mountain it’s self.

A little further on road the water came hard. I felt the press and roar of it. The world condensed to just me and the road. I felt for a moment like I was being tried. I was not found wanting. My tires were solid and secure reaching soundly though the frothing sheet of water. My visor was clean and shedding droplets faster than gravity. I was warm and dry like I have never been in such a torrent. And I was completely there. All of who I am sublimated into my frame. Thank you god.

Imperfections

It turns out that I am a snide dork. This is not what I set out to be. It’s not what I see when I look in the mirror. It is not how I imagine myself. But sometimes I see it in pictures people have taken of me. Sometimes it is even in pictures I have taken of myself when I’m trying to act natural. I have talked about it with people I love and they all agree. I am a snide dork.

I was at a dinner party the other night. There was another man there who was also a snide dork. People mentioned how the two of us were almost exactly alike. This is not an attractive thing. It is not something that goes down easy. It is not something that wins friends or influences people, at least not positively.

I like to ignore that I’m like this. I don’t have to look at it so why should it concern me? It turns out that it is good to be reminded. Apart from draining my aneurismal ego it also makes me look at love differently. Some times I forget just how generous people are when they love me. It is really a beautiful thing to stop and realize how abysmally human I am and how little it matters to my friends.

Thank you my friends who clearly see my flaws and love me just the same. Thank you kind world for reminding me just how lucky I am. I love you world.

Report Card

Amy wrote this in the comments section of my report card from my senior year in seminary. My parents gave it to me because it was such a nice thing.

I’m having withdrawal symptoms thinking about seminary next year without John – it will be very hard. He is such a peace-maker and brings so much love and wisdom to the others that I have come to depend upon him a great deal for the peace and good spirit in the class. I admire his creative thinking combined with his strong testimony and great faith. It has indeed been a privilege for me to know John in this context and I love him very much.

Thank you Amy. I love you very much as well.

Cat Call

A few years ago the time warner building was just a construction site. Construction sites in this city often protect passing pedestrians with large walls of plywood. The plywood is always painted the same strong color of blue. I like the new building with all its glass and its towers pushing into the sky. Sometimes I miss the blue though.

I was walking on this sidewalk of blue one day, completely lost in thought. And then I heard a cat call. You know that whistle from old black and white cartoons when a pretty woman would walk past a construction site. I had not heard that sound in years. I turned around and there were three big black mommas pushing strollers. The last one had turned and was blowing me a kiss. It made my whole day. It made my week. It still makes me feel good. Thank you hot momma.

I am totally fine with being the recipient of such attention. I am a little bit jealous though. I wish I could just whistle like that and make someone feel as good as that woman made me feel. Some times I wish I was a woman. When I was little I really wanted to be a woman. I remember resigning myself to being a man when I was around ten years old. I have since come to enjoy being a mole. I like the idea of subverting masculinity. I like to keep people guessing. Some people don’t want to be put in a box. I want to break down the boxes completely. I want this to be a world of just people. I want people to look at each other and see the individual. Changing the world is a huge project. For some reason I feel like I am succeeding.

Some days I still wish I was a woman. Some times when I am walking by a playground I want to sit and watch the little people. I don’t because I don’t want to make parents uncomfortable. I feel like I’m a black man walking into an expensive clothing store. Not welcome. Ok I really just want to play on the playground. I love swings and slides and towers and platforms and tunnels. I love the raw pleasure of children as they explore new terrain.

I played a lot with Satchel, my nephew in Colorado. We would go to playgrounds all the time. I always enjoyed it when another smiling parent would join me in the top of a tower some fifty feet off the ground (an exceptional playground from the 50s). Any man who is willing contort, twist, climb and crouch to laugh with their child is ok by me. Some times I miss Boulder and it’s sprinkling of conscious and deliberate people.

To all those people out there who are tearing up boxes, thank you. Thank you epically to those who help me feel loved as they teach me.

Blackout

About two years ago there was a blackout in my neck of the woods. I love blackouts. When I was little and there was a blackout everyone would stop what they were doing and we all spent time together. We would eat what ever ice cream there was and what ever else would go bad. We would sit around a candle or fire place and tell ghost stories.

When this most recent blackout happened I was living in midtown. The whole city felt like a festival. People were happy and kind. Everyone ended up on the rooftops to see the stars. I brought my sister’s Alp Horn up onto the roof and blew some long tones. Everyone in my building played it. The magic of the blackout is still there for me after all these years.

Before the stars came out I was flying my kite on the roof. This one is a nine foot delta. I’m not crazy about it but I can afford to lose it to the kite eating roofs with their parapets of doom. It was a beautiful afternoon. I love reaching into the sky with my slender strings.

Year Book

I have some wonderful high school yearbook entries. That is except for my senior year. My senior year my sister Michelle convinced me that it was bad to collect affirmations. I forget her reasoning but it made since at the time. I’m over that. I want people to rub my belly. I want to be told I’m beautiful. I want to have a stash of things that feel good. I want to feel like I can retreat into a Xanadu of love. This entry is from Kristen Andersen. Thank you my friend. I love you.

John! Thank you so very very much for all the love you’ve given to me. You are truly one of the greatest people I know. You are a “Best Friend” and a well loved Brother. Thanks for all the stories and all the poems and all the memories. I enjoy every flower you’ve ever given me as if I had never seen one before. I’ll never forget the Duck Pond with you… I’m so happy you came into my life. You, John, are one of the few people I can really speak with and do things with inside the church. I love to see your smiling face on Sunday mornings. Your handshakes and your hugs. I will always look up to you… (not just because you are so very much taller than me!)… But because you are truly one of a kind. I see so much of Dave Latimer in you. I love you, John, and don’t you ever forget that!! I’ll always be here for you!! Don’t ever forget that either. Thanks again for all your love and support! XXXXX Love always! Kristen Andersen! *peace sign*

Bitter and Sour

When I was growing up I had some neighbors called the Nabtis. They lived about half a mile away. The mother Pat, was American. The father Michael (pronounced Michelle), was Lebanese. I adopted them as a second family and ate dinner with them almost every night for a year. I am so grateful to them for their love and hospitality. They had several goats and chickens. When ever I got more chickens they would always share the order with me.

Michael was one of the most hardcore conservationists I ever met. He did not have a huge backyard but he had terraced it so he could cultivate the largest garden possible. One night on the road home after dinner I saw a random shrub whose foliage I recognized from the salad. I would never have thought such a tough plant had any business being in a human mouth. The man ate and used everything. He would eat mostly rotten and spoiled apples in front of me in an attempt to inspire me.

One day I was in the kitchen with Pat making some runny goat yogurt. She was telling me about when she first met Michael. She said she had never considered sour and bitter to be flavors. She thought they were just indications of spoiled food. She said Michael had taught her that they were real flavors and not unpleasant. She told me this as if it were a deep and profound secret.

I don’t know if she was only talking about food but I have found her insight to apply to all sorts of things. It is a rich world with many hidden pleasures. I am still discovering so many of them. Thank you my kind second parents. Thank you most bountiful world.

Noah at Night

This past Friday night I went kite flying. I went out to Liberty State Park in New Jersey. I went with Noah who is a good friend that I have not earned. The sunset was beautiful but the darkness was better. My kite was framed between the Big Dipper and the North Star. There was a beautiful close up view of the statue of liberty. Ok so it was her backside but it was still nice. Manhattan was bright and beautiful and seen from New Jersey better than from the apple it's self.

I love my kite. I have several other kites but I find this one most satisfying. I bought it as a work kite. It was to be a deployable leeward sail on the Split Rock in the event of engine failure. The kite is only about five by six feet square but it is very strong. I fly it on a five hundred pound cord. It would not be enough to propel the Split Rock but hopefully it would keep the bow pointed into the waves and keep us from rolling.

I was not crazy about the color of it until I thought of it as a Buddhist orange. Now it almost seems like a thing of spiritual beauty. I fly it with a two inch tubular webbing sling and a figure eight friction device. I have gloves just for line handling and a carabineer and cord I use to help land it.

I was laying on the ground with my head on Noah’s shoulder. I had the sling around my waist with the kite pulling up the river. Every time the wind would pick up it felt like my spine got a little longer. There were two men flying a stunt kite two hundred yards from us. I couldn’t see them in the dark but I could hear the buzzing sound of their kite as it occasionally went into a hard pull. There was no one else in the park. It is strange that there can be such beauty and solitude so close to the city.

The next day people commented on how much energy I had. I think flying a kite at night dose something exceptional for the soul. Having a friend like Noah is also good for the soul. Noah is more game then I ever was. At the same time she is willing to stand by me and let me have my space. Being in the silent (not a euphemism) company of someone who loves you is so healthy for me. Thank you Noah. Thank you gentle southeastern wind.

Lama Lama Duck

I was on the phone with Marie, my oldest sister last night. She has five kids, thirty-six alpaca and lives in a straw bail house on an island off the coast of Washington. She’s pretty busy so we don’t talk that often. Her youngest just turned two so I expect I will be hearing more from her as the demand on her attention drops below 28 hours every day. Did I mention she has chickens and a dog? Well I got a phone call and we talked for a few minutes before someone hit their head on something and she had to go.

It was so good to talk to her. We laughed a lot. She told me that my laugh has grown. She said it was deeper and fuller and more from the belly. This is good to hear. I think this is a direction I want to be going in. I love you Marie. I miss you.

Free Man

I had a dream last night. I was in a cross between a jail and a mental ward. There was a young woman in my wing who was suffering. I went and took her out of her cell and walked with her to the common area. She was telling me her story but she was distracted. I think she was trying to escape. She wasn’t ready yet. That is to say I don’t think she would have survived in the out side world.

We came across a security guard who was helpful. He had the gentle understanding mannerisms of an older Morgan Freeman. He moved the woman to a different room on a ground floor with a lot of light and windows on two walls. He explained he wasn’t supposed to have done this but that it might just stick. He warned us that she might be moved back to her old cell tomorrow but there was nothing he could do about that.

He stayed with us and talked and listened. I gave her some thermal underwear thinking that when ever she did get out, if it was any time soon she would need them. I thought that if she felt like leaving was an option that she might just stay a little longer. And if she left now she would need the warmth because she would be sleeping on the ground. There was a second bunk in the room and I thought about staying in it but she was using all of the space in the room for her thinking.

I went back to my room which was very small and I don’t think it had a window. I was table-spooning water out of the toilet to drink. I think some how it made it cleaner. Perhaps this was the reason I was locked up. The guard walked in and I was a little embarrassed about spooning the water and pretended that I hadn’t been doing it and he pretended he hadn’t seen. We talked for a little bit and that was the end of the dream.

What I like about this dream is how I felt. I was a prisoner/patient just like the woman but it felt like I owned the place. I was restricted and lacking authority but I don’t know what I would have done differently if I had been the warden. I feel that way about this life. When I work for someone it feels like they are working for me. In every day life there are all kinds of restrictions and I have no authority but somehow I don’t feel confined by it.

When I was a teenager my mother was complaining to my sister Ann about me. She said “It’s like John doesn’t think the rules apply to him.” To which Ann replied “Well… they don’t.” Thanks Ann. She’s always backing me up. I feel like some how I have learned a secret password that lets me move freely in this life. I’m not entirely sure what that password is but I want to share it anyway. I am so thankful for all the people who share it with me. It is a good life and I love it. Thank you.

Religious Experience

Some times people do not tell you what they think. This can be a really good thing. There are times though when it would feel good to know. One of my clients bridged this gap for me today. She said her friend got off my table and called her and told her that her work with me was like a religious experience. My client then went on to say that it was of the spiritual kind of religious experience and not the organized sort of religious experience. That’s a beautiful thing. I love the flattery. I love that what I do can be part of what this woman felt. I love my job. Life is really good.

ANNABEL

Poe had a hard life. He lived in poverty. The women he loved died. This was his last poem. Although this piece is about loss and grief it is also about the undying nature of love. It is a dark poem. I think Poe was genuinely sick. This poem is like the lotus blossom rising up from the dank pond of Poe’s life. If there must be suffering then at least I’m glad such beautiful things can come from it. Thank you Edgar Allan Poe. My lips love to make these sounds.

Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Something Bad is Broken

Two years ago I was happy. I was really happy. I was happy almost all the time. It was near euphoric happiness. After a few months with out a letup in the warm fuzzy feelings I began to wonder if something was wrong. I thought I might be going crazy. I thought maybe something was wrong with my endocrine system.

It turns out that life is just good. When I was growing up it was not ok for me to be happy. My mother had border issues and if I started to float up and away from her she would pull me back down. I learned the reflex that if I felt good I was being bad, and my guilt would bring me to a less than happy existence. I’m not sure when, where, or why this reflex broke but it has. Life is good.

This is not to say that I am never sad. I have my moments. They are getting less. The beautiful thing is that this sadness stands out sharply against the bright sky of my happiness. Most of my life sadness was just a darker shade of normal. There were happy moments but on the whole I would say the first two thirds of my life were a net negative.

I know that sounds grim but there is something to be said for getting that kind of sadness under you belt so early in life. When ever something does not go my way I have a hard time taking it seriously. I may cry. I may feel bad but I know so much worse. It’s like life is a child slapping my face when I have been in the ring with Mike Tyson for years on end. Deep down I laugh at my discomfort. I try to be dramatic about suffering because it seems appropriate. I just can’t get my heart behind the whole grief thing.

It used to be I could recite the poem “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allen Poe with knock out emotion. I was so raw that I could easily emote the suffering and loss nearly crying as I spoke the lines. It was a frighteningly powerful display of emotion. I still love this poem but I can not seriously grieve, not any more. Life is too good. Life is too beautiful. I thank what ever gods may be. Thank you.

Loud and Clear

In the course of my life I have sometimes been very vocal. During finals of my senior year I was kicked off the high school campus because of it. Although it wasn’t my goal I’m still proud of this. I had heard of people being kicked out of a class but never off the grounds. I was standing in the quad belting out long tones with several of my friends. We were aspiring to make fog horn sounds. We would fluctuate our pitch slowly listening for interference between our voices. Satisfyingly the peaks and troughs of our waves would fall out of phase canceling and then amplifying the sound. Our whole bodies would vibrate with the tone and then throb with the beats pushing against our faces and pulsing in our lungs. It was a beautiful thing.

Because there were several of us we were able keep going constantly inhaling in turns. The vice principle came out and had a word with us. She told us that she had gotten phone calls from three different departments (buildings) asking her to do something about the noise. God bless her she did not discipline us or ask us to stop. She invited us to go out well behind the school and keep going. It is good to grow up in California.

One day at lunch I was making a noise like something I would expect to hear from a gorilla. It was a loud and full and deep whooping sort of call. This little freshman named Ann Altstatt came up to me and asked me what it was. I told her it was my mating call. I was hoping my reply would fluster her. It seemed to work. She said “oh” and then sort of backed away. About five minutes latter I heard the same whooping call coming from across the quad. She totally got me. I laughed and blushed and was very pleased.

It turns out she had a crush on me. The rest of the year was a beautiful exchange of flirting smiles and hugs. She went a long way in making my life more enjoyable. I wish I could have known her longer. Where ever you are my friend, I love you. I thank you Wombat, for loving me so well.

Laurie

When I was going to ASU I dated this woman. I was struggling with the idea of going on my mission and she got caught up in it. I was struggling with a lot of things. I vilified her because I was uncomfortable with my self. I’m not saying that she did not have plenty of issues because she did.

It was not until I unearthed this picture today that it changed for me. I used to think that she was a bad and even a psychologically abusive girlfriend. Today I realized that most of my suffering was because I was a bad boyfriend/self-friend. I’m sorry that I have maligned her all these past twelve years. She was just a twenty-one-year-old opera singer from Texas.

I loved her. I needed her. We shared and did a lot of beautiful things. I have been uncomfortable with her all this time but today looking at this picture I see the beautiful person I saw when we first met. Thank you for loving me Laurie. Thank you for making my life so much more enjoyable. Thank you for bringing me into your home. I love you. I wish I had loved you more.

First in File

I went trolling for my original feel good file today. I didn’t find it but I found what I was looking for. I found the original of a poem about me that became the first thing in my feel good file. It was in an old envelope titled “the best thing anyone ever said about me” and also “the worst thing anyone ever said about me”. The poem was from when I was seventeen. The letter was from when I was nineteen. I’m not going to share the letter though I will say that it was from Rebecca Roberts and that I earned it. Rebecca has since forgiven me for which I am very grateful particularly because I did not earn it at all.

This poem is from Jaime. She was sixteen at the time. I still try to resemble this description and sometimes come close on my better days. Thank you Jaime. I love you.

He speaks without uttering a single word.
His eyes are endless caverns
Light brightly with emotion,
A window to his thoughts.
They grasp
From beneath a stray lock of hair.
He challenges no one,
Comfortable in challenging himself.
He exudes a uniqueness,
A confident sense of being solitary.
Loving everyone
But making you feel special.
No matter who you are
Or what you do
He will still love you.
He possesses a mysterious sensuality
And at the same time
Gives a comforting feeling of being a platonic friend.
You could imagine him easily
As both your brother and your lover.

He is a person I greatly admire.
He is John Ellsworth.

Write Back

When I first became a teenager I started looking up to the older kids at lot more. Kristen was one the darkest of these. She seemed like she might be a bad girl (for a Mormon) and she was struggling with it. My first significant memory of her is from a church retreat where they put us in the woods. We were divided up into groups and we shared things around a small fire. I don’t remember what was said which is good because it was confidential. I do remember being distressed that Kristen was struggling not with being good but with deciding to be good.

As I got older we spent more time together. Eventually I became something like a peer. There was a rule at church for youth dating. Ok there were a lot of rules. One of them forbid dating anyone who went to the same church as you. The thinking was that we were supportive and tight like a family and we couldn’t afford to have breakups. So I loved her deeply and platonically. It was precious to me. I would give her things, a dead flower, a small brass safety pin, something small. She would thank me and she would treasure it.

One day I took her to the duck pond. We went walking and ended up looking out over the wetlands. The tide was out revealing a few mussels pushing through large flats of slick thick mud. We stood there feeling the wind and watching the birds. I took a stick and wrote in the mud “I love Kristen”. After a while she took the stick from me and wrote “I love John” and then “write back soon”. I turned and hugged her and she hugged me and the sun was shining. I think that may have been one of the sweetest, most tender moments in my life.

Thank you.

Full Face

There is something beautiful about riding in the rain. It is very dangerous. Much more so than just riding a motorcycle which is already quite dangerous. And then there is riding a motorcycle in the rain at night, on the west side highway.

The secret is the full face helmet. That is to say the secret for enjoyment is the full face helmet. The secret for staying alive is parking the bike and taking the subway. I prefer to make peace with this life and then launch my little craft out upon the waves.

The sensation is amazing. It is like flying underwater while remaining warm and dry. It is sort of like a blind walk. My feeble headlight is refracted away by the oily water making the road darker than the sky. The mist kicked up by other tires obscures the road and coats my visor. The cars themselves almost disappear becoming mere bulbs in plastic housing. Even the river reflects nothing, blending into the air with a silent spray.

I find this isolation comforting and grounding. It is as if the world becomes a play of smoke and mirrors and the only real thing is John. I feel like a detached observer and yet somehow still in the middle of a crashing wave. In reality my life is about me and not about the world. Some times I get confused and distracted, referencing myself to the world looking for validation and comfort.

Riding at night in the rain somehow resets my scattered mind. There are few things in my life that will center me so completely. I wouldn’t want this every day, but when it dose rain in the darkness I become free. Thank you kind earth, for reminding me about myself.

Best Part

I dated Shannon Woodland before I went on my mission. It was one of the few times I dated a Mormon. Shannon had never seen an R rated movie. She wouldn’t come into my dorm room much less my dorm because it wasn’t right. She loved me but would have moved on if I didn’t go on a mission. As it was I moved on when I left for my mission.

Shannon was soft and gentle and pure. I wanted to empower her. I wanted her to be fierce and strong and wise. She appreciated my efforts but was happy with without them.

Her family took me in and it was a beautiful thing. I loved feeling like I was part of a functional family. I went with them to cut down their Christmas tree. We sang songs in the back of their pickup. One night everyone had gone to bed and I was alone laying at the base of the tree in their sunken living room. The walls were high and white. The carpet was soft and clean. The feeling was of a hearty healthy family. I felt so welcome, at peace, and content. This sensation is one of my most favorite memories.

One year after my mission Shannon flew out to visit me in Colorado. She wanted to know first hand that it was over so she could move on. I held her and loved her for the beautiful person that she is. I felt guilty because I had loved her and left. I asked her if she regretted her time with me. She said not at all. She said because I had shown her what love felt like she recognized it when she felt it with others. I can’t imagine anything better. Thank you for such a deep compliment. Thank you for taking the best parts of what I had to give. I love you Shannon.

Nick

One time I had a child. His name was Nick. We moved across the country together with his mother Jess. We played house for a few months. It was a sweet and precious time for me. I loved him. I read to him. I played with him. I spent time with him. I became his parent and I think he loved me. He was angry and fitful and I didn’t know what to do for him. I deferred to Jess who had spent all his life with him, but I wish I could have done more. I wish I knew more. Honestly I was in the middle of growing up myself but I did the best I could. My sister Ann said I was good for him and I think I was. It’s funny how I can do a miserable job but in the end help, how ever feeble is still help.

One day we were at a barbeque with Jess’s mother, Jess's ex-boyfriend (love of her life) who was married to her sister, his parents and I think his brother. All of these people had known Nick for longer than I had. Nick fell and started crying. Everyone leaned in reaching to comfort him. Nick fought though all their arms and into mine. I cry to think about it. I know it’s foolish to be flattered by a six-year-old but I was. I am. Thank you for accepting me. Thank you for showing me how it feels to be a parent.

Graphic Violence

I play bloody violent video games. I tell this to people and they don’t believe me. They think it is incongruous with the gentle loving nurturer that I am. The truth is I am angry just like every one else and maybe more than most. I also have plenty of that hormone which facilitates aggression.

I find that playing my violent games exercises and rewards my vicious self. I feel that this part of me grows stronger and is well fed and loved. I know this seems crazy and counterintuitive but it works for me. I feel balanced. I feel like that when I need to be completely present and loving that I can be. I suspect that if I did not rub the belly of the dragon regularly it would come looking for attention at all the wrong times.

I used to play a game called rainbow six three. I would work with a squad of other gamers to hunt down and kill an apposing squad. We would negotiate who had who’s back and which hallway with each other over little headsets on the internet. It was a lot of fun. I was lucky in that I usually ended up playing with some really mature good people. I remember laughing and laughing in the middle of the night. Big deep belly laughs about how someone got the drop on me. It was that good natured kind of game. Thank you to my distant friends with your crackly voices. Thank you for letting me unload a bucket of lead into your face and for joking about it afterwards. Thank you for letting it be ok.

Validation

I feel sometimes that I live a lonely life. I know this sounds silly considering how much I love people and how much for the most part they love me. Just the same I feel there is a huge disconnect with most people. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t enjoy spectator sports, I don’t know anything about music or celebrities, I’m not crazy about griping, objectifying women, or scripted affection. Politics, religion, our economy, and our social system are interesting but often depressing. Not to mention talking about it often brings out a lot of blind anger and intolerance. I want to understand and discuss these things and strongly. It’s just that alone it’s not enough to sustain a connection for me. It seems that this is what most social interactions are about. It’s not for me.

I am interested in something else. My life is about something else. The better parts of that life are written down here. I would feel uncomfortable and presumptuous if I invited someone to read this. There is exception but in general I don’t think most people would understand what I’m about or would be comfortable with it. This is why I feel so grateful to those people who see me as I want to be and like it. I am surprised at how much I am touched by stranger’s comments on this site. I was not expecting any affirmation but it sure dose feel good. It feels a lot better than I would have guessed. Thank you my kind, supportive, and encouraging accidental readers. Some how your anonymous understanding smile can shift a whole day into something altogether more beautiful. Thank you.

Mentor

David Latimer. This is a good man. When I went for my Eagle Scout interview I was asked what I wanted to do with my life after scouts. I said I wanted to be like this man. One of the regional leaders told me not to do it. He said it was too much. He told me to do other things and be happy. Hank, one of the other leaders asked me to step out side for a minute. After maybe five minutes they asked me to come back in and the man apologized for discouraging me. I would like to think that Hank knew who I was and thought I was up to it. Maybe he just saw that I was about to cry and wanted to give me a moment to compose myself.

Dave was a giant. He had the largest heart and the biggest smile, and somehow this gave him a presence that would fill a room with goodness when he walked in. When I was very small he taught me Sunday school. He told us that we should have goals. He asked us what our goals were. I think I was nine and didn’t have any. Brother Latimer gave me some goals to use until I got my own. I was to become an eagle scout, serve a two year mission, get a scholarship, graduate from collage, get married in the temple, hug my mom every day, ask my father a question every day, become the greatest teacher in the world if only for fifteen minutes, become a great father, and a great husband. When people asked me what I wanted to do with my life my answer was “Become a great father and husband.” This was my answer up until about six years ago, when I finally got some goals of my own.

Dave taught my class again when I was eleven. He would bring in people he admired and would interview them for us. Dave made fiberglass kayaks with the scouts and let me keep them in my backyard. He wandered though the woods with me explaining the plants and trees. He taught me about fire and his years as a forest ranger. When I was in sixth grade Dave would pick me up after school once a week and drive me to a scout meeting where he would train me by assisting him to teach younger scouts. When I turned fourteen he placed his hands on my head and ordained me to the office of Teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. This was something my father would have done, and I am so grateful to my father for letting me ask Dave instead.

Dave was dieing from bone cancer. He felt ready to meet god. I visited him at his hospital bed and told to him the goals he had given me when I was nine. I think he almost cried with gratitude. One Sunday he made it in to church and everyone knew it was his last time. It was like a funeral. The whole service centered on him. What he had done for me he had done for all of us. He seemed to have been a teacher to everyone. We sang his favorite hymn “Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel.” It was a song about doing good work. Dave’s life was good work. He was so generous and wholesome. I think everyone cried that day. Even my father who despised emotion was streaming with tears.

I won’t be following exactly in his footsteps. I miss that lost opportunity a lot. I just can’t swallow the sexism and anti-gay lobbying of the church that was his vehicle of kindness. I do think that someday I will become like this man. I want to become as generous and as wholesome. I want to become a giant of the soul like him. I want to help people like he has helped me. I want to enjoy life as much as he clearly did. I feel like I have the seed of a smile that may one day fill a room like his did. Thank you Brother David Latimer. Thank you god for building such a person and letting me see him.

Pleasure Past Pain

Robyn is not the softest person I know. She was dismissive of my Christian since of charity, of helping people, and doing good. She was ego centric and unpleasantly competitive. She acted as if she was entitled to every good thing that came her way. She was trusting of flattery and contemptuous of criticism in an almost cartoonish dichotomy. I was attracted to her because I mistook her megalomania for confidence and her immaturity for openness.

I was absolutely knockdown in love with her. I remember having invited her to a concert. As I sat there waiting, looking over my shoulder I relished the anticipation of her presence. She didn’t show up but I still enjoyed the fluttering expectancy. She was not interested in dating men and was actively looking for a woman. Here was someone who was not interested in me acting like a man. Considering I was not interested in acting like a man it seemed like the perfect match. The problem was it was only obvious to me. Thank you Robyn, for giving me a chance. Thank you for letting me explore love outside the narrow channel of hegemonic masculinity.

Robyn was remarkably bad at loving me. This turned out to be just what I needed. I was insecure and fragile. I was a hothouse plant needing to be loved in such a specific way, and withering at the least harshness. Robyn made it clear that she loved me, that she wanted me, but she was so amazingly insensitive. I was in awe that she could be so abrasive with out being intentionally hurtful. In the end I came to understand that she still loved me even though she was not always good at it.

I have missed so much love because I was so afraid of the smallest sting. It was like ignoring roses because they have thorns. There are a lot of caustic, bitchy, angry, biting people out there who love me. Because of my time with Robyn I can now receive that love. That is a lot of love in my life and yes it feels good. I feel stronger, more independent, and robust. And that feels best of all. Thank you Robyn. Thank you for loving me in spite of yourself. Thank you god, for giving me this lesson.

Foundation

Cora is one of the most amazing people I know. She had had more influence on my emotional evolution than possibly anyone else. I think that I have done a lot of growing and that I will do a lot of growing, and that people help me all along the way. I have made some wonderful insights and transformations. Cora’s love for me carried me through the largest of these.

I was a wildly insecure adolescent. You may think that I still am from reading this blog, but this is for bad days, and they all used to be bad days. I was painfully awkward. I had a good heart but lacked any confidence or emotional resources to do anything about it. I was depressed enough that I sometimes had to argue that I was not a danger to myself. Almost all of my feel good moments in this life came after I fell in love with Cora.

I felt like I could completely trust someone for the first time in my life. I shared everything with Cora. It was not always instantaneous but Cora understood everything. She still dose. She was my first girlfriend but it felt as deep and profound and what I imagined a good marriage would feel like. That bottomless pit of emptiness was filled with love. I was not alone.

I remember the moment we decided to go out. We were standing at the edge of the apricot orchard and the fields were full of the most beautiful stark yellow mustard weed. The sky was blue and I was in love. We would talk while driving in the Santa Cruz Mountains and along the coast. Our conversations have been consistently honest, deep, provoking, didactic, and deeply satisfying. We are both so exacting of each other in our communication that we come to understand each other, our selves, and the world in a way that I would have never found by myself. A lot of amazingly smart people have told me that I’m really smart, but it is never as much of a compliment as when it comes from Cora.

Cora is one of the bravest people I know. Her commitment to her moral integrity absolutely redeems, confirms, and defines my hope for humanity. I know that it is a big heavy thing to say and you may think that I’m stretching it for what ever reason. I’m not. It’s not that Cora is a Mother Teresa though she is compassionate. Her strength of character is about a commitment to the finding out what is right even if it means she is wrong. It is about her unwillingness to bend to what she understands, but her willingness to see things differently. She balances justice and mercy with all of her abilities which are substantial. She dose not back down. She fights for abused children and good parents. She is an attorney. If that is not a feel good I don’t know what is.

Cora has taught me so much, and given me so much. She has loved me unselfishly when everyone she knew said she should hate me. She understands me and stands by me and loves me. There is more and it feels good, but it dose not belong on this page. Cora is sexy and strong and smart and kind and good. I love her so much. Thank you for setting me up in this world. Thank you Cora.

Different and Strong

Abe was an accidental friend. I was trying to get his sister Olga to go to a dance with me. The story about that dance and Olga has taken hours to tell and ends more or less in disaster. I met Abe along the way. In the end Abe was so much the better friend for me. He was game. He was willing to put life on hold to walk and talk and play. It seems like most people fit these things into the little spaces left by what they should be doing. It was all of what I felt I should be doing and I was so pleased when someone else also thought it was a priority.

Abe explained to me that he was a different person than I was. This is obvious I hope to everyone. It was not to me. Between my mother and the church I had come to think of the right way being one thing and that it was for everyone who could aspire to it. I’m afraid that I was telling Abe what that right way was. I am so grateful that he loved me anyway and that he took the time to set me right. Granted I’m still learning this lesson, that people are different, but I had to start somewhere and Abe’s contribution was a huge chapter for me.

On a break from school I went home and visited my high school. The welcome I got there was such a beautiful thing. I was surrounded and loved and hugged by what felt like eight people all at once. On the fringe of this experience, in the quite just outside was Abe. I’m so glad I have this picture of us. Abe is I think five years younger than me. I may have tried to be a mentor but Abe was my equal and in the end I think the better teacher. Abe, thank you for loving me in spite of myself. Thank you for being strong and healthy and for standing beside me. Thank you for engaging in life. I miss you my friend. I feel that you have more to say, and I hope the world will teach it to me.

Smile

I do not completely understand my connection with Duane. We are both nerds. We lived across the hall from each other the first year of school. We were born on the same day of the same year. We are both off the grid a little bit socially though Duane would argue that I’m a lot further off than he is. He’s right. I don’t think we share any significant interests, hobbies or philosophies. We don’t talk much. Part of that is he lives in England. The other part is that we have nothing to say to each other. This is not a problem.

I’m not sure why but we love each other. Duane would be the first to point out that it’s not “that” kind of love and I agree. It feels like we are brothers who are also friends. We share a comfort and trust that is greater than the sum of what I understand. If I was falling I don’t think he would catch me. If we were falling together he would let me have a sip of his soda. I don’t know why this is precious to me but it is. Maybe it is because he would not share is soda with just anyone. There is something so innocent and genuine in his smile. Duane is married to a beautiful woman and they just recently had a baby boy. His happiness provides me with serious vicarious pleasure.

For the record Duane has literally caught me when I was falling more than once. And he has thrown me to the ground more times than that. Thank you Duane. Be well my friend.

Like a Human

I adopted a second set of parents. I loved them and they loved me. They were a large part of the village that raised me. I am so grateful for all of the energy and guidance and respect they gave me. I would walk into their unlocked house, eat their food, do their dishes and leave a note saying that I had stopped by. They had a daughter who was trouble, trouble in a disobedient non conformist sort of way. Naturally I loved the daughter.

One night I stopped by and Tiff met me at the door. She was freaking out. She had been grounded for no good reason and thought she was not going to make it. The distress in her voice was proof enough for me that she was starting to crack up. I told her I would take her to the beach and let her breath a little. She said that she couldn’t go because she was grounded. It was a school night, and even when things were good she had a 10pm curfew, it was 9:45. I went up to the woman I had adopted as a second mother and asked if I could take her daughter out to the beach. She was a staunch Mormon. Her daughter was 15 years old. I was a teenage boy. I had a beard, wore a wool green army blanket and Birkenstocks. I drove an old VW mini buss with a fold out bed in the back. Amy said “Bring her back before the sun comes up”.

I would like to think that this unusual decision on the part of a conservative religious mother was because she trusted and respected me so much. And I know she did. But to be honest I think she was also at her wit’s end and did not know what else to do. For the record I did my best by the mother, daughter, my Mormon God, and my conscience. It is an unusual thing for a youth such as I was to be treated like an adult. I am very proud that I had earned that trust, and so grateful to Amy and all those who raised me for giving me so many opportunities. Thank you Amy, for treating me like a human when I was still a child.

So Sexy

One of the receptionists where I work is named Pearl. A lot of my clients mention how pretty she is. She has to my untrained eye, a flawless body. She dresses where as I just put on clothes. She is fast and efficient and goes out of her way to be nice. She makes me feel welcome, wanted, and valued. One day I was washing my hands (up to my shoulders) andPearl was standing next to me making coffee. She turned to me and said “John, your so sexy. If I was a man I would want to be a John.” She said it kind of fast and I was a little taken back, so it’s possible that I misunderstood her. But I’m going to go with it. I know it doesn’t make a lot of since because I think we live in such completely different worlds but it felt good. Pearl, thank you for everything you do and are.

Wet One

Hello my friend, I love you. I have received a lot of help in my life. Some of it has come from toll booth operators. When I am sitting on my bike soaked through to the skin (toes floating in my boots), they are the ones that give me sympathy. They have let me do illegal things, let me go through with out paying, and given me encouragement. Tonight’s operator was no exception. I had left the house with out my e-z pass and so it was back to balancing on the oil slick left by other stopping cars. Wet leather gloves are like wet socks, hard to take off and much harder to put back on. So with my soppy mitts I was trying to dig into my sleeve pocket for my toll when the attendant offered to help me.
It felt a little bit like someone was performing surgery. There was something buried in my forearm and she fished it out, made change, tucked it back in and zipped me back up. Now that I think of it, it was sort of intimate in a beautiful and utilitarian way. She was also almost giddy with happiness and had an open smile which I find very unusual between lanes of traffic. She had probably heard a wonderful joke, or got amazing news, and probably is just one of those happy well natured people. People have done more for me on the road not the least of which is sparing my life. Thank you. But I have never seen anyone act for my benefit with more happiness. I know it wasn’t about me, I was just a pair of eyes in a white dripping helmet, but I enjoyed it just the same. Thank you my kind practitioner of happiness.

Gentle Man

Nancy is the owner of the office where I rent my room. Tonight after work she said “It is rare to find a man or gentleman who is as easy or as gentle as a woman can sometimes be.” She was talking about me. She said I was something really special and that everyone in the office thought so. The way she emphasized the word everyone I thought that she was going to say that everyone in the office was really special. Please forgive my XXL ego (insecurities) but I loved the surprise that it was about me. Nancy is all kindness all the time but even so it felt like I was sincerely welcome there. Nancy, thank you for inviting me into your family.

Love on the Road

I found this on my motor cycle after work. It was from my sister Ann.

Feel It

Raquel is hot but I love her anyway. She feels good but not like you would think. The first time I felt her was so delicious that I thought I would never surpass that sensation with her. We came close but I don’t think we ever did. Raquel was standing by the front desk of Stone Spa and I was standing by the door of my room in the hall way. There was a curtain of ribbons dividing the two spaces. I put my hand up to the curtain at the same time that she did, and we touched palm to palm, finger to finger through the ribbons. And it was a beautiful thing. It was like a perfect kiss with our hands. There was warmth and stillness and yielding and bountiful extension. For just that moment the world did not exist beyond the surface of my palm and I could tell she was there too. And just as freely and easily as we met, we parted. There was no heaviness to the experience, it just was, and with out meaning or implication.

Thank you my friend. I feel it.

Anchor in This World

I had a friend named Emily. I adopted her as my sister when we were in high school. I did my best to support her and to look out for her. She was emancipated from her family at 16. She asked me to give her away at her wedding. I loved her as if loving her was my most important job in this world. I know and knew at the time that this was more for my benefit than for hers. Just the same I am proud to have been able to provide what stability I could for her. I love you Emily. Thank you for letting me hold you when you were sad.

It Gets Better

This is a long story. I moved to Kittery, Maine, with a woman named Jess. She had a child who called me his parent. We were only together for a short time but we set up house and I fell in love. I had just left my church and the accompanying village that had raised me. I left school and my family as well. I did not realize it but Jess was my rebound relationship from my breaking up with all the life I ever knew. At the time I thought I knew what love was and love was the only thing I was sure about. It must be obvious that the relationship ended. It ended badly. We were both hurt and each of us wanted be the victim. I churned for months and months filling up journal after journal. I had done everything I was supposed to do and it still had not been enough. I felt lost and broken and betrayed.

The night that she told me to leave I left. I put every thing I owned in my little Honda and drove off. I had to wait until the next morning to close out my bank account before I left town. I didn’t have enough money to justify sleeping in a motel so I slept in the car at the side of the road. Sure enough at two in the morning a police officer taped on my window. It took me what seemed like five minutes to crawl from my nest of an over-stuffed car. When I finally handed him my drivers license he asked if I still lived at the address. I told him that I had that morning. He just looked at me and said “It gets better.” Those small words of comfort lasted me for months. Someone in authority had acknowledged my pain and at the same time promised relief. I was expecting him to rebuke me for sleeping on the side of the road and instead it was kindness. Thanks to the Man behind the flashlight. Thank you for being human.

It did get better. It turns out it was the best thing that ever happened to me. If I had not been scraping bottom I would not have noticed all the cracks in the foundation. It was so devastating and painful but I decided to scrap my paradigm of life and love and start over. That was just over five years ago and I still feel like and infant learning to stand for the first time. I know that I missed some spots and I’m still doing damage but this is such a huge step up. Life is so amazingly better than it was. I know that life will get even better as I come to understand more about it and about myself but I’m in no hurry. This course is delicious and the desserts will come when their ready.

Tight Spot

When I first moved to NYC I had a white Honda CRX. It was a small car with a bad universal joint that would clack loudly and continuously every time you turned left. I was staying with my sister and there was no street parking. Ann had a friend Jeff, who offered to park the car for me. If you are not from the city you will have no idea what this means. Twice a week at least you have to move the car from one side of the road to the other or you will get a ticket. So I drive out to Jeff’s house and give him the keys to the car and he said “Oh. It’s a stick.” Five minutes later he was driving a stick for the first time in his life. Jeff only drove it in first gear and only making right hand turns. He parked my car for months. I eventually got a place where I could park my car and discovered just how much suffering this man had gone though for me (and I could drive a stick)! Moving to the city was not a natural transition for me, people still stop me some times and ask me what I’m doing here. If it was not for the almost unbelievable kindness of people like Jeff I don’t know if I would have made it at all. Thank you Bread Man, you gave me a chance to make this place my home.

TED

This man is a feel good straight up. Ted shamed me into giving honest hugs (no back patting). Ted put my arm around my first girlfriend. Ted was going to marry me to the same woman some nine years latter. One day I was sad and Ted took me for a walk that ended at a giant eucalyptus tree. He put my arms around it and told me to feel it. I have had a fire at the beach and played naked in the crashing waves with him. Ted has very little in the way of inhibition and he has given me tremendous courage to be myself. Like Erin (best kiss ever) the simple knowledge that he was, was a comfort to me on my mission. I have not spoken to him in years and yet I count him as one of my most precious friends. He is supportive and comforting in a most passive and pleasing way. He's also really big, irreverent, funny and wickedly smart. I love the man. Thank you Ted for helping to mold me and love me out of my self.

God and Gratitude

I was talking to Chris the other day. She was saying how she was looking at what she had as apposed to what she did not have. Chris was restricted to bed rest for months and now she can walk around. She dose not have the same dancer ability that she did but she is able to teach and work and walk to the sink to get a glass of water. There are as she said a lot more of the things she can do, than things she can not. I was sort of having a hard time and Chris just put me right. It feels so much better to be grateful. This is one reason I like to believe in a god, with a god there are so many opportunities for gratitude. Ok so god has been replaced by the world or the universe or what ever lately. But it has been a good life and I would like to thank someone for it.
Thank you god.

Touch no Evil

Hello my friend I love you.

I was at Stone Spa when a client I had just worked on walked out of the dressing room and past me on her way to the front. She looked me hard in the eye and with out breaking step said “You don’t have any evil in you.” I think the feel good is obvious here. I don’t pretend to be responsible for her experience on my table but I was at lease able to get out of the way enough to let her have it. I’m not saying I’m that clear every day, I’m just glad to have been that open one day. I told my sister Ann about it and she laughed and said “Boy you sure fooled her!” Just the same it was nice to hear. Thank you kind Lady.

Best Kiss Ever

Her name was Erin. For starters Erin was and is amazingly hot. When I first met her we were high school freshmen. I was in awe of how beautiful she was and that she would talk to me. As I got to know her I found her to be a sage. If I could go back and live high school over I imagine I would be more relaxed. I would know what was really important and what was not worth getting worked up over. Erin was like that. It was as if she had done all of this before and just knew.

At the time I was a devout Mormon and was living a strict moral code. I felt that I was just living according to a list of things to do and more importantly not do. This structure was very helpful for me but I was so envious of Erin. She did not follow any list I knew of, and was according to my instruction, immoral. But Erin dripped with a since of integrity that I could not touch with my Mormon conduct. I looked up to her with respect and admiration. I weighed every thing she said seriously. I remember one day Erin had menstrual cramps. I had never seen her in pain before. She asked me to walk her to the bath room and once there to hold her. As I held her in my arms I kissed the top of her head. I still remember the texture of her hair on my lips and the warmth of her head. If I had not been so seriously concerned I would have been in heaven.

In my senior year I walked up to her as she was talking to her friends and I said “Erin, I love you”. She replied “thank you john” and turned back to her friends. A few days later I did it again, and this time she replied “thanks john, I know” before turning back to her friends. She seemed almost completely inaccessible to me. I graduated and came back to high school during break to visit my underclassman friends.

I saw Erin in the quad and said hi and invited her to come to the beach with me and some friends. She was usually game for going to the beach but had other plans. At the end of the day I saw her again in the quad talking to some friends. I walked up to her and said “Erin will you kiss me?” She said yes and we kissed. Her lips were so warm and perfectly yielding. It felt so good. It was so amazingly good. It would have been an amazing kiss if I didn’t have any feelings for Erin but I had plenty of them and it hit me like a surfable wave of bliss. I told her I had to go and ran away. That day was the last time I saw Erin.
During my mission thinking about her and how she lived a different life and with so much integrity was an incalculable comfort. I was alone in a sea of rednecks and just knowing that she was made me feel not so alone. I have had mind blowing kisses since then but none will ever take the place of those delicious lips that warm afternoon. Thank you Erin. Even now I take comfort and pleasure just by knowing that she is.

Insider Key

This is such a little thing but was so sweet for me that I had to write it down. That man at Nagle Hardware made me key copies for only one dollar each. The normal cost is closer to four dollars. I was making a total of 10 keys and it was just so nice not to be gouged. Ok it was more than not being gouged, I feel like someone was really doing me a favor today. Thank you mister hardware man.

Lesbian and Beyond

I have a friend named Phil. He said once that I was a lesbian. This feels so good to me because I have been trying for as long as I can remember to be free from my gender. One day I was giving a massage to one of my clients. I told her she was beautiful. She got it. This was such a feel good for me because I have been jealous of how free women are with affection. If a man tells a woman that she is beautiful he is hitting on her. If a woman tells a woman she is beautiful it is just that. That moment with my client I felt like I transcended all of it. I was not a man telling her she was beautiful. I was a whole person; spirit, soul, body, and fellow traveler telling her spirit, soul, and body that all of her was beautiful. And yes I was still a man, but the significance of that was as it should be and not inflated into the walking genital that the world seems to think I am supposed to be. Phil, thank you for seeing me as I want to be. And thank you my beautiful client, for receiving my love as I want to give it. I am so grateful for this that it moves me to tears. It may have taken me 30 years and have only been for a moment but I felt like I finally got a taste of my ideal world.

Kill for my Brother

I once knew a man named Tim. He called me his brother. As a pledge of his feelings for me he told me he would kill for me. He was completely serious at the time. I don’t think I was deserving of such devotion but it was humbling just the same. One time Tim and I had a fight. He was saying that Russians and Gay people were bad in a very profound way. We were face to face standing when we should have been sitting. I think we were both so involved that we were exchanging spittle. Latter he told me that he was so mad in that moment that he would have torn me up if he had not respected me so much. Tim was so much stronger, bigger, and madder than me that he could have easily stoped my life. I am so grateful that he loved and respected me as he did. I am still so flattered by the compliment. Thank you for loving me Tim.

Love in the Field

When I was on my mission I kept a journal. I was so alone and often lonely that I would start almost every journal entry with “hello, I love you”. I lost that journal several years ago but I want to remember that for page after page I addressed myself with “hello, I love you”.

Mossy Cafe

Bellow is a picture of one of the finest things I have ever put in my mouth. It is a tuna sandwich made by my downstairs neighbor Elisabeth Moss. This is not like any other tuna sammy I have ever heard of. Elisabeth who I affectionately call Mossy is also known as the Condiment Queen. She infuses her art with things like capers and hand sliced amazingly flavorful olives. She also keeps a jar of mayonnaise which automatically puts her on a level above me. She also keeps horse radish. I don’t know what to say about that except that it makes me want to cry with pleasure. I recently moved to Inwood and Mossy helped me move and what is more helped me unpack. If anything can rival a Mossy Café sammy it would have to be Mossy herself. Thank you Mossy.

Hello

I have some things to say. I will get around to saying them at some point. For right now I would like to show you a picture of an inchworm that is crawling on a log that is part of an unfinished band shell. The band shell is I think about 20 yards south of the lodge.