The Beautiful Answer

Two years ago, something major happened in my life. Today, after Pilates and a manicure, after some work and returning emails and reading a great new book I found, I wanted to be quiet for a bit, and just let the events of the past two years wash over me. 

I realized I’m happy to be here. 

I realized I’m happier to be free of whatever was holding me back. 

I realized I’m so grateful for my life that I could cry sometimes, at how fragile our existence is, and how seldom people seem to be in touch with that fact. 

I realized that it’s not up to me what they know or don’t know. I just hope they know someday. 

And I realized that whatever happens tomorrow, it’s gonna be cake compared to where I’ve been. 

What is it about baseball games that tosses personal space out the window? Sure, you’re crammed in next to strangers, most of whom are eating and drinking to excess, seemingly without notice of, say, the thousands of other people around. But that doesn’t mean that if you have to bend down to pick something up, you put your entire ass in my face and then on my arm as you move around to find whatever the hell it was you dropped in the first place. Believe me, I would move if you asked me. I’ll probably have to go to several years of therapy to get over the ass on the arm thing anyway. 

I joke, in part, of course. But the thing that remains is the lack of personal boundaries. What is it about being in a crowd that tosses these societal niceties out the damn window? Do we feel that we have to be seen more if there are more people around? Or do we forget that there are thousands of breathing beings of our species right fucking there next to us as we get into the event we’re there to see? 

I have no idea and, to be honest, I don’t feel like reframing it right now. The game was good — I could focus on that — but even as we were walking away from the park, I kept thinking, “Did that guy have no idea about personal space, or did he feel it was some sort of rare gift to share his butt with me?”

True mystery of the universe. But probably one that’s better off not being solved. 

Why is it that you’re doing something enjoyable — watching a baseball game, say — and then there have to be those guys who can’t keep their mouths shut, try to pick fights with pretty much anyone walking by, and actually manage to make alcohol and its consumption look uncool? Why do they always have to know nothing about the sport in question, and make your viewing of same so annoying that even though you’re a peaceful person by nature, you consider doing them harm, or actually kind of root for someone to give them the beatdown they so desire?

Reframing them didn’t work the first few times I tried. How do you reframe idiots, after all?

I tried meditating, letting them go, working with my breath. Then I had a thought. I’m an energy worker, damn it. Why wouldn’t that work in this instance?  So I glued their mouths shut, energetically of course, and it took about five minutes before they stopped talking altogether. 

A little while later, they left, and almost everyone in our section started cheering. The rest of the game was uneventful — it ended in a tie — but it was way more enjoyable. That and Buster Posey’s homer made even the Biggest Douche tolerable. 

I never get used to living in a desert. Maybe it’s that L.A. hogs most of the state’s water, receiving it through miles of pipeline even from Nevada, and other reservoirs nearby. But once you leave the edges of the city, you’re in straight up sandy, scrubby desert, where the horizon stretches out endlessly flat and close to the ground. 

Our trip to Scottsdale was easy, even on three hours’ sleep, and soon (could it really be that last fall was only a few months ago?) there was baseball. It was boiling hot, with only a few scant breezes, but the baseball … the baseball. It was a sight to behold. The Giants almost caught up, but they dropped the game by a run — the offense was pretty anemic. 

Tomorrow’s another adventure, with hopefully more sleep behind it. More baseball, more lemonade and sunblock. What a great country we live in, with all this fun to be had. 

Those days right before you’re trying to blow out of town are always the most hilarious. They’re the ones when every friend who’s moving calls at the last minute for some help, or they lose your clothes at the dry cleaner, or you get a flat tire — you know, the stuff that takes up your time and drives you crazy in slow motion. I had my own version of that today, with small annoyances, things that took longer than they should have/could have, and just the regular all-around craziness that is my daily existence. It always makes me wish that I could idiot proof my life in some way. 

Not that I’m complaining, mind you. 

I get to go out of town for a few days to do some business (checking out a local theater venue and talking to them about staging my play PUNK ROCK MOM when it finishes with its world premiere in Baltimore, and yes, checking out some spring training baseball. I’m a huge Giants fan, and have been for the past 10 years or so — back when they sucked, back before the torture and the World Series win — and have been going to spring training for 6 years now. There’s a lot of hope packed into those few days in March each year, and a lot of fun to be had. 

So it’s always with a grain of salt that I take these minor annoyances. They try to knock me off my game, but I’m back on it pretty soon. They try to make me forget that I’m lucky to be able to do what I do, and go where I go. They try to pull the wool over my eyes, that stress or rising blood pressure is more important, more worthy of my attention, than the fact that I’ll be in a car soon, coasting through the desert and watching the sun rise over that moonlike landscape. 

Silly rabbit. You’re not gettin’ that weak-ass shit by me so easily. :) 

Though I live in self-involved L.A., I mostly manage to avoid that part of the city. I’m lucky to be in a multi-cultural area, where people of all kinds live together, work together and interact. So when I have to go to the West Side, as it’s called (anything west of, say, Hollywood to most people), or even the dreaded Hills of Beverly, it’s done with some trepidation. 

Today, I had to go over there for an appointment, in a penthouse no less in Beverly Hills. The view was nice, albeit a little smoggy, but I was reminded of why I love this city in ways no one who hasn’t lived here can. The others in the meeting were mostly emaciated, insecure people seeking the approval of others through constant mentioning of designer brands and claims of world traveling and cosmopolitan living. Now, some of that may be true. But I’m always pretty suspect of those who seem like they’re trying to convince you of their worthiness. Just be yourself, man. Relax. 

It had me thinking, on the drive home, about what it means to have. Sure, if you look at it the way the Buddha did, having means that anything — shoes, a home, and even your fucking life — are all impermanent. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy it. If you want designer shoes, or a fantastic bag, and you work hard for it, by all means, beautify your life in that way. But to think that it makes you cooler, or somehow different from other people, is ridiculous. And to assume that somehow the act of having makes you exempt from the facts of life — immense joy, awe, sadness, tribulations, suffering, sickness, happiness and fulfillment beyond measure and death — well, you’re kidding yourself in a big way. 

To me, the act of having had to be reframed over many years. I felt that I had to justify any item I had, even my own lasting happiness, for fear that it would be taken away. Now, I’m older and hopefully a tad wiser. I’m happy I live in a world where someone, a designer, takes great pride in craftsmanship and quality. I’m happy that I can work hard and buy beautiful, lasting things for myself or people I love if I want. And I’m happy, too, that I can buy nothing at all sometimes, because I am enough. 

My mind’s been blown again, this time by Tom Shadyac’s documentary called I Am. It tells the story of this former Hollywood insider (he directed Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, Bruce Almighty and The Nutty Professor, among many others) and his injury (not to mention near death) which led to questioning the way his life had always been — moneyed and still not happy. 

The film simplifies its quest by asking two questions: 

What’s wrong with the world? 

How can I change it? 

Two profound queries, no easy answers. See it immediately, if you haven’t already. 

Ever notice that the more you can’t do something, or you’re not supposed to, the more you want to do it? Take meditation. You’re meant to quiet your mind, watch your thoughts, maybe return to your breath every time you notice your attention straying. Hopefully, you’re spending some quality time turning your awareness inward. 

So why is it every time that happens, your nose starts to itch something fierce? Or your leg falls asleep, or you literally cannot stop thinking about what you’re going to have for lunch? A few minutes ago, you were fine. But now that things are quiet, the completely ridiculous thoughts are marching forward to take over your consciousnes. And that’s all there is to it. 

I thought a lot about the itch today. The need to keep scratching, even though that may not be the best thing for us in the long run. I thought about it as I was meditating, and again when I was standing behind a little kid on an escalator. He couldn’t stop his leg from moving, or his teeth grinding, or from pulling on his mom’s leg. He was like a little meth addict wanting … I don’t know, something other than what he had. 

I thought about it after I hung up the phone with a client who just wants what she wants, and isn’t about to be dissuaded from a reality that doesn’t serve her highest good. She just wants it, and will keep scratching until it bleeds.  My sadness and continued advice may or may not ever get her to see it in a different way. 

Maybe the itch never goes away. Maybe it’s not supposed to. We can reframe and meditate and chant all we want, and maybe that itch will keep being there until we’re savvy enough not to react to it. That would be a truly beautiful world, wouldn’t it? 

Maybe it was a sub-plot on tonight’s Up All Night, but I can’t stop thinking about classic rock this evening. For the guy on the show, it was Bob Seeger’s “Night Moves.” For me, it’s a song I don’t even know the name of, with the lyrics,” When the wall, comes tumbling down, when the wall, comes tumbling, tumbling …” 

I don’t know who sings this song, but I’ve learned to heed the call when the universe sends signals like this. Those repetitive thoughts that won’t leave your mind? In my experience, they’re something your guides want you to focus on. Those feelings in your body, of wanting to run, jump, sleep or even burp? Something your guides want you to consider doing more. 

You know what? I just realized I think John Mellencamp does that song. Weird. I don’t like, or even listen to, his music. I don’t own any of his tracks. I think the song’s about change, though, and things not being as they’ve always been for the guy in the song. 

Sounds good to me. Though I’m working harder than I ever have, and have no immediate end in sight, I’m happy to be doing what I’m doing, and grateful for my continued days on this earth. Tumble them down, universe. Do that shit. 

By now, everyone knows the phrase “what goes around, comes around,” meaning that you better watch your ass, because what you do to others may come back around and be done to you. Not that that seems to stop most people. They do crimes, cheat on each other, and  seldom recognize themselves in the mirror afterward. For along time, I thought it was my business to somehow fix that, or try to heal it. Now I see that people have to heal themselves, or want to at least, and all I can do is help them find the way. 

For me, this feels like a huge freedom. I was taught to perhaps take on more than my share of things, until I was carrying the weight of the entire world on my back. I stopped watching the news, because it had the power to haunt me late into the night. I stopped sleeping when I was a little kid because of all the scary things coming through the television at me. I didn’t really undertand any of them. But I knew they could get me, and they could hurt me. 

I know lots of people who still feel this way, but I don’t, not anymore. When I visit other countries, I see the way they present their news, as information. They don’t live in fear all the time, and I imagine they see that doing so would only foster the cycle of going around and coming around, where no one wins, and everyone dims a little bit, and loses some of their magic. 

Over the past day or so, I keep thinking about those drawings we did in junior high art class, drawing in perspective. There had to be a vanishing point, the point where our vision converged with the horizon line. No matter whether we were forcing the perspective, the line always had to end up getting skinner and more slanted as it moved away from our eyes. 

I suppose issues are like that when we release them. They move away from our sensory apparatus like the Doppler Effect, making that whizzing sound and then decreasing in volume and intensity the further we move away from them. The part I love is when these issues, whether they’re bad memories, painful wounds or just dings to our self-esteem drop over the horizon line. When they effectively become the Vanishing Point we’ve all been trying to recreate. 

If I’ve learned anything in keeping this blog and doing my daily practices, it’s that the eye lies. What we see with our eyes is not necessarily what’s going on, nor does it accurately reflect what’s happening in our hearts. But if we’re patient, and put in a little more awareness each day, the heat behind our issues drops away first, like the stages of a rocket flaming out. Then they move to that line the eye can barely see, decreasing in intensity, losing power, flickering out.

I feel one of those happening for me now, and it’s amazing to be on the inside of it. 

First interview for the book is officially here — well, tomorrow, that is. I’ll be speaking with Shelley Overton who has a great online radio show called AstroEnergy. We’ll be talking about Searching for Sassy, astrology (I’m sure) and some other spiritual topics.

If you’re interested in taking part, or calling in with a question, the link to the show is here. Depending on where you are, you’ll have to adjust for your time zone to hear the show live. Or, I’m sure it’ll be archived after tomorrow. 

My thoughts on interview season, as I’ve already come to call it? Upbeat, ready to get in there and talk about the book and things that are important to me in the spiritual realm. It’s a strange, funny, moving story, and hopefully people will find something to connect to in the narrative. If nothing else, it celebrates the differences we all carry, and flies the freak flag high for those of us with unconventional paths. 

See you on the interwebs! 

You ever notice how you try to control things, even little things like when you get somewhere, only to find that you have no frickin’ control over anything? Sure, those times are annoying as hell. But they’re also pretty cool. They’re reminders to look at our expectations, which are engaged pretty much all the time. It’s just that we don’t notice it, so our expectations seem real, like they’re supposed to happen because we want them to. And leave it to some small snafu — a bill not getting delivered on time, a check bouncing, a car cutting us off and causing an accident — to make us realize we have very little control at all. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating for car accidents or check bouncing. I’m not saying they’s fun or desirable at all. In fact, they suck. But they tend to come into my life when I most need reminding. Pay a little more attention, they say. Keep your hands on the wheel of your life. Hold on, but not too tight, as you direct your course. 

Inevitably, the universe is bigger. It’s going to win most of the arguments out there. The trick is to stick with it, setting a strong intention for the future, while staying wildly and innately open to whatever comes next. Not easy, to be sure. But rewarding? It doesn’t get much better when you slay all the odds and make it happen just the way you wanted in the first place. 

Most of the time, spiritual people are trained to stay in the present moment, or return to the present moment. And after 16 years of meditation, I’ve engaged in quite a few of those. Taking it into “real” life is a bit harder, though, and by doing it again and again and again, I’ve learned that there is no now. Not really. 

Even having the thought “present moment” means that it has already passed. It’s history, part of the fabric of your memories, and you can’t get it back unless someone invents a time machine in the near future. 

Today, I stopped trying. I stopped trying to get back to the present moment. I let it go completely, and then I could feel my shoulders dropping, and the stress leaving me. How could I spend 16 years trying to find something that was never there in the first place? Pretty trippy, but also very true. 

When I came back to the very next moment, whatever that one was, it was fine. My mind wandered again as I drove to a store and then the art museum to see the new Ellsworth Kelly exhibition. I brought it back, and then I brought it back again, along with my consciousness. I brought my awareness into the museum with me, and I brought it back as I drove home. And this tiny, very real revelation felt like a sonic boom in my life. I was in such a state of shock that my car veered into the yogurt shop before I knew it, and well, you just have to get some when that happens, right? 

So much is manifesting for me right now that it’s almsot embarrassing. I never planned to have a book out this year — it just kind of happened that way — and then I never planned to win the Hay House Pitchfest in New York, or have a play of mine staged in the Baltimore area. I never planned to be on a book tour this summer, but that looks like it’s pretty likely to happen. 

In other words, I don’t plan my life according to what I want. Not always, at least. I plan it by what I like to do in the moment — write a book, write a play, help people heal — and then see if I can’t do something a little more with that. Sometimes, time seems to bunch everything together like this, so everything is happening all in one year. It can be stressful. So I like that I don’t operate from a place of want all the time. That’s sad and lonely place that I used to have as a kid a lot. 

Now I’m working on accepting, getting I guess you’d call it, and seeing how that feels. Some days, it feels ridiculously luxurious, an embarrassment of riches. I’m booking a lot of print and radio interviews for the release of Searching for Sassy, and getting ready to talk about myself non-stop for a few months. Lots of people love that stuff. Me? Not so much. But since it’s part of getting, I’m going to practice with it and see where it goes. 

The next stage is having, and seeing what that feels like. I assume a lot of things about it, what it might be like, what it might feel like. How having might be like acting as a guardian or conservator of whatever it is you’ve received. Money, position, status, an item of clothing, an award or honor, a book deal, a relationship, a responsibility. All of them come with the idea, for me at least, of respecting them and being grateful for the having part. 

So, some thing to think about. Some stuff to practice with as I make my way into this next uncertainty. I’m not afraid. Not at all. Instead, I’m excited by what I’ll find. 

Short post tonight because I’m tired and happy and wish I had more hours in the day to feel this way. So much of my life is spent on personal work that it sometimes feels like a second or third vocation. When something actually clicks, and I act out of a newer, healthier way without having to think about it, it’s pretty amazing. 

The other times, I have to remind myself not to bite the hook, not to go down the dark trails with people who on a good day have no idea what they’re doing. So I did that today, without thought, and I didn’t have to think about it. And when I realized what I had done, just acted in a grounded yet compassionate way with someone who lives to provoke and create drama, I just shook my head at my desk. 

Shit. Is that actually possible? To practice something so many times that it becomes a healthier habit? Malcolm Gladwell says in Outliers that in order to become an expert at something, you have to do it 10,000 hours or more. While I can’t say that I’ve done this that many times, maybe I have. I bascially lost count a long time ago. 

So why not me? Why shouldn’t it be me, who put in this much work, who receives the benefits of my own adjustments?

You know those people that no one wants to be around, and yet somehow they’re everywhere? I like to call them the Negatives, because no matter what you say, they always find a way to make things not work out? They love to rain on parades, especially if they’re marching in them, and to find a million and one reasons why It’ll Never Work Out. I actually find myself becoming sunnier and sunnier around these folks, until I’m exhausted from trying to balance out their darkness. 

Anxiety has a way of doing this to people. From our distinctly American way of seeing the news (fear), the economy (more fear) and all the big things of life like health issues, family, retirement and Social Security (major uncertainty there), we aren’t really trained to deal with the stuff we can’t see, feel, control or quantify. Instead, we’re conditioned to keep fearing more, so we drive the financial and social agreements we’ve set forth. 

Without getting too conspiracy-ish about it (those are boring anyway and, yes, fear-based as all hell), it’s enough to make you want to climb the nearest mountain or join the nearest ashram. And maybe those aren’t terrible ideas. But for the rest of us who choose to remain behind, maybe there’s another way. Rather than becoming one of the anxiety-prone or the discontents, maybe we can sit with our feelings, not to disregard or even chase them away. Maybe just the act of witnessing what’s really going on inside us, without judging it or comparing it to whatever everyone else is going through, we open up a new dialogue. And if someone is listening, doesn’t that mean that we’re being seen, heard and valued for all the right reasons, at exactly the right time? 

By now the phrase “put a bird on it” has become semi-ubiquitous, thanks to the hilarious show Portlandia. But today, I thought to myself, “What if we took that a little out of context, replacing the middle finger for the bird, and tried it that way?” My mind is strange. It comes up with these things on its own sometimes. 

What you’d get, I imagined was something along the lines of F*uck It: The Ultimate Spiritual Way, by John C. Parkins. If something bothers you, you say fuck it and move on. If something really bothers you, and you can’t seem to let go, you say fuck it again, and try to let it go. Eventually, you’re either laughing so hard at whatever it was that had your attention, or you’re at least thinking about letting it go, which is better than not. 

That had me thinking along still another line. What if we took it another step and said to ourselves, “Any time anything bothers me, I’m going to flip it the bird. Only I’m going to imagine a little bird sitting on my finger that flies away as soon as I do it.” That would really make me laugh, and probably dissipate any negative emotion that had arisen.

It may not solve the problem at hand, but it would be working overtime to reframe pretty much anything that had gotten on my nerves. And that, my friends, is true beauty. 

You know those days that kind of shoot past, and you realize by the end that you haven’t looked up at the sky at all? It could be raining outside, you have no idea, or it could be sunny and 80 degrees. Today was one of those kinds of days. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing a lot more of those kinds of days in the near future as well. 

Book marketing is going very well. I’m getting some great reviews and quotes, which are all very kind. I’m booking tons of print and radio interviews, and have a few sites wiling to excerpt the book near the launch date of April 24th. 

All I could use now is a huge shot of energy. All right, all right. I know. Writing a book is a huge burst of energy. It’s way closer to the birth process than most people realize. By the end you’re torn up and ready to go fetal for about a month. But then comes the marketing part, which is more like a marathon than a sprint, and you have to talk about yourself (writers aren’t by nature like that, at least not most of them, myself included) for a long time, a few months at least, and more if you’re really driven, as I am. 

By the end you need a vacation like you’ve never needed one, and you don’t want to even hear your own name for like 6 months. I work out a lot anyway, usually 5 times a week, and I mediate each day. I try to work in a fair amount of yoga and Pilates into my workouts, because I get bored easily. So I guess the tiredness I feel now is my wake up call. Time to get your butt in training lady, for this marathon that feels like a sprint. 

Getting some sleep early tonight. Gotta expand that sleeping zone so I can stay rested and ready. I feel so much going forward, and want to be as ready as I can to face the fun stuff ahead. 

One thing is certain. After my Karuna Reiki certification this past wekend, a few things have started immediately. One is that I feel lighter, freer and more compassionate. I’m pretty happy go lucky anyway, fairly optimistic, all things considered. But I also feel … I don’t know how to say it … maybe destined? I feel in touch with what I’m destined to do in a brand new way. 

I’ve always shied away from that term. Part of me doesn’t even believe in the concept of destiny. I’m a big “we’re all in charge of our own destiny” kind of person, who doesn’t believe that reality is fixed in any one point. Part of me can’t accept that everything has been mapped out for us. I don’t find it comforting at all. Mostly, I find it scary and dehumanizing. 

But that has changed a little in the past day. In feeling lighter in mind, body and spirit, I see more clearly what I need to go. Where I need to go. Who I need to be doing it with. Not that I experience a huge amount of confusion. I tend to follow the energy as it moves. But any cobwebs up in the corners of my reality have been swept down. 

From here on, it’s up to me to use that inner clarity to bring some light into the world.