Australia

I had the most vivid dream last night:
I left LA in a storm, not rain or wind, but an emotional one
like when you storm off because you are angry at a person or a situation and you want to make sure everyone knows it, and they feel bad, and miss you, and really want you to come back and they will do whatever will make you happiest, or at least that's what you're hoping for...
like that, I got in my car, and then I got off an airplane (jump cut I guess, remember, this is a dream), and I was in Australia.
I wasn't jet-lagged because the travel was instantaneous.
I had only a small nap-sack and no plans or expectations whatsoever. I saw all this lush greenery, sort of sloping levels, and you could walk along switchbacks and have this great view and there were only rugged, interesting people passing by-- like I have seen at Macchu Pichu, or in Haleakala, and I had this feeling of intense excitement but also sadness, because in the dream I had to get back to LA. To go to brunch. That was literally what was pressing on me to leave. I felt that I had only the amount of time it would take me to make my way from the top of the plateaus along the narrow paths to the ocean down below. A man approached me and at first I thought he was trying to sell me something and I was dismissive but then he was very kind and wise and he understood my parameters and my predicament. You see, I have always wanted to go to Australia, I used to be obsessed with it, and I recently got invited to go, and I didn't go, and that is not the kind of decision I would have made a few years ago, I would have gone, and it is interesting how things change, but it is powerful for me to be aware of these changes at least...
So, anyway, this young man showed me a way around my problem, we went into a tunnel in the side of the slope and there was a whole world in there. This stranger was my guide and my friend. We had an incredible adventure and for much of the time I stopped thinking about time and the boat I had to rush to in order to make it back to my home. To the people I love. So that I wouldn't hurt their feelings or something Which is funny, because of course most people who really love you really only want you to be happy. To feel free and safe and great.
So, the dream ended with me trying to figure out what to do, if I should stay, or if I should get to the boat. I felt more than satisfied but then I kept asking myself-- what am I really rushing back for? What is there waiting for me?
I woke up at 5:30 with lots of crust around my eyes and wanting to fall back into it, to find out, to be there, with my friend and all that Australia represents to me...

I wonder what would have happened next!

HOME

I am writing this in flight over the western states—not the Rockies, but the places where crossroads look like new geomtric forms—straight and simple in their exactitude. It is such a clear day I almost feel like I am flying free, with nothing separating me from the vastness and the gravity. I feel my own weightlessness though.
I was away. I went home to Boston and also to Cape Cod. I spent most of the time in Wellfleet, which is a magical otherworldly place. It feels like you might be at the edge of the world, which is kind of funny since apparently the Pilgrims first stopped in nearby Provincetown on their voyage but, finding it too rocky, … they continued on to Plymouth. (Why don’t they spell it Plimoth like they used to?) Wellfleet was also home to the first translatlantic radio broadcast, in 1906, by President Teddy Roosevelt. The name is most often assumed to be some version of Whale Fleet, and from 1670 to 1740 there was an active tavern in Wellfleet of which a few artifacts remain. It was probably a magical, nutso place back then too, since whalers would come in after weeks at sea seeking, well, I can only imagine the most debaucherous versions of human interaction. That was on a place called Great Island, which is the most pristine of beaches and sadly, a large-bird graveyard. If its got to happen somewhere though I can think of worse final resting places. During his presidency Kennedy actually made the Cape Cod sea shore a nationally-protected park… so, it is especially lovely.
Anyway, a few highlights of my time:
There is a swamp which you can access at Marconi Beach which is the playing field of all Cape-area frogs and fairies… Grimm’s Tales crossed with the Lord of the Rings and you are starting to get a picture… there is a wooden plankway low and unobtrusive but making it possible to wander through. It brought me back to my days in Brooklyn/Paradise doing Gale Gates et al’s performance installation of the Divine Comedy. [Always a great place and time to return to in my mind—I think the performance is enough fodder for even one-time viewers to have images to last a lifetime. Big ups Gale Gates!]
A sunset party in Truro at one of those ten little grey cottages you see in all the paintings and photographs. When you stand at the top of the dune you really have the sense that life has not changed in these environs for at least 50 years. Simple and still and the ocean being enough to entertain indefinitely. [Thank you Jessa and the Bomb Shelter for being such a fine meeting place]
The play MOJO at the Wellfleet Harbor Actor’s Theater (WHAT). Personally I think Adam Harrington stole the show… so what if I am a bit biased. I saw it 3.5 times and I got more out of it each time. By the third time the interesting and sometimes awkward threshold/device of theater was gone. I was transported and engaged and cared deeply for the characters and their suffering and their livelihoods. Adam Clem (as “Baby”) was also a standout for me, capable as he was at capturing his character’s vulnerability and bullying sociopathy. The complexity of his eye movements, (not when he was looking at things, but when he was thinking about things, or remembering, or listening), reminded me of the Wooster Groups’ Kate Valk—and for me, she is the top.
Mac’s Shack, and the Harmon Gallery, food and wine and art, in this case, with family and friends. I especially enjoyed the Martini glass appetizer filled with tuna and avocado, tomato, and with homemade tortilla chips. If you go there—you’ve got to try this. I don’t really eat fish and I just couldn’t resist—which is saying a lot!
[there is a Madonna video on the airplane system and god, is she in good shape. Inspiring really. And Par Cours—it looks so fun and easy—ahh, an illusion I’m sure]
Then, in Boston:
I went to the Codman Academy graduation and it was probably the most inspiring experience I have had this year. The school was started by my mother, and just finished it’s 7th year. It is in Codman Square, Dorchester, in Boston. There are too many moments to share here but as it is also the MOST-documented school in America if you are curious to learn more there is no doubt a bevy of media sources available for your perusal. One tidbit I have returned to in the past few days though was from a teacher’s speech to the class—though it actually highlights words from a student. The teacher spoke movingly about one particularly hard day hours before the then-juniors were to begin performing their original hip-hop opera called “Diallo.” Students didn’t know their lines and were disappearing in droves to get their hair braided or get pedicures! Aaron said he was losing it, yelling, probably waving his arms, when he felt a hand on his back and a quiet voice whispering to him… “Aaron, love yourself. Love yourself.” Ahh, a lesson Aaron had been trying to teach the students over the four years he spent teaching them Humanities. Clearly, he taught them well. They spent the first minutes of each class meditating and the graduation was no different. He led them through a meditation asking them to ‘close their eyes, and feel this moment. Feel the warmth and love and support in the room. The pride. The glory. This was the moment of their high school graduation.’ You could have heard a pin drop despite the entire Huntington Theater being packed to the gills. [I wish I had thought to meditate at my own graduation—I might remember it better!!—but I will use this as an opportunity for the future. Sometimes it is best to just be still a moment and take it all in, isn’t it??]
Teacher and students alike were crying remembering the hard time and the brilliant ones and I am confident they will be in touch after Aaron settles into his new home in the monastery he is leaving for. When he came to interview six years ago my mom told him these kids would be his “Zen Masters.” He didn’t believe it then—but he has found this idea to be quite true.
Sitting by the pool with my young cousins Maggie and Lucy and their babysittee, Isabelle, … talking about “puberty.” Unbelievable. Lucy has to do a project interviewing her parents “about when they got their puberty,” and puberty was defined to Isabelle as, “what happens when a popsicle melts” (Maggie) and “what happens when you get older” (Lucy). The setting sun was dancing on the water and the conversation was but a quick interlude between handstand contests, noodle floating, and lifeguard-chasing.
There is nothing like getting away, or, going home. Sometimes these are the same thing, sometimes not. The idea of home changes as I get older and living 3,000 miles away. I am lucky to feel at home in many places and travel so frequently between them.
Thank you to everyone who made my travels so rich.

Adam, Meg, Moriah, Chris, Steve/Windwalker, Sarah, Jeremy, the Harringtons, the Collins, Alex, Elsbeth, Charlton, Tracey, Julie, Sarly, Jessa, Kevin, Risher, Andrew, the cast and crew of MOJO, Codman Academy, Maggie, and Lucy.

as Borat says, "I liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkke"

I saw an amazing play yesterday called "Yellow Face" by David Henry Hwang at the Taper in downtown LA. It dealt with issues of race versus culture, identity/ethnicity politics, racial profiling, wrongly accused scientist Ho Min Lee, Jonathan Pryce's portrayal of the Vietnamese pimp in Cameron McKintosh's Miss Saigon, the case around Hwang's father and the Far East Bank... and it was funny, sad, sharp and electric. Very exciting and potent theater.
Also, I just read a remarkable screenplay, "Kinsey," ... remarkable most especially because of the subject matter and the actual source material Bill Condon weaves into the writing. The book, called "Kinsey: Public and Private" includes newspaper articles from the 1940s and 1950s responding to Kinsey's research and various publications, actual interviews with subjects, biographies of Kinsey, general historical context info, writing by leading sex and gender-research specialists, and more. Fascinating.
I highly recommend checking out both if you can.

Kids-- put some tacks or bottle caps on your shoes

"I mean, are having little bubbles in your shoes really going to make you jump 6 inches higher??! I don't think so!"
A kid, who is probably at least 30 now, said this in a video called "Buy Me That!" The teacher I am subbing for left this for the 6th grade Journalism Elective class and I loved it.
I heard horror stories from circa 1991 12 year-olds who had gotten hooked on New Kids and DJ Jazzy Jeff 900-numbers... Seriously, actual 11 year-olds were talking about how they got "addicted to 900 numbers, like you'd get addicted to anything else... It started with 2 or 3 calls a day, and then, I just LOVED it, I was making maybe 20 calls a day, spending hours on the phone!" One girl talked about how she "found out later the first minute was 2 dollars, and each minute afterwards was 45 cents." She had been "hooked for two months." Fortunately, her "mom called ATT and they took it off because they felt bad and they understood." FOR REAL?? And my parents thought it was bad when I talked to my friends or BOYS on the phone!

I heard kids talk about how Pogo Balls were in fact not all that easy OR FUN to play with (contrary to the advertisements), how it would be pretty hard to "dance like Paula Abdul in those Reeboks unless you put tacks or bottle caps on your shoes or something" ...

AMAZING!

Anyway, then the current 6th-graders and I had a pretty honest discussion about advertising and how "everyone is always trying to sell you something" ... especially when you live in LA and the tension of commerce vs. culture is so blurred anyway.
I tried to emphasize the importance of not being passive to the media's influence on you, but instead really observing it and trying to think objectively about how and/or why they would be targeted to buy a certain thing. It's crazy because I think about how intense the world we live in right now is-- with the opportunities for access to INFINITE amounts of information, with the realities becoming more and more widely-understood about our environment and the negative impact we are having on it, with the extremely confusing conflicts/violence going on in the Middle East, in Africa, in cities AND suburbs across the U.S., and I am just floored that so many kids seem to care SO MUCH about clothes, shoes, cell phones, ipods, jewelry, and other material stuff... and seem so disengaged with the rest of it.
Anyway, I think a good place to start changing that is with teaching kids to ask questions, to challenge what they are being told, and to encourage them again and again to think for themselves. It really would do them and the world so much good!

I went to return a book to a friend last night and found I had dog-eared several pages. Growing up in a book store I learned at a young age this was not the way to treat a beloved book. Nevertheless, sometimes i just can't help myself. I re-read the pages I had folded over and found the passages I had responded to so deeply. There they were, just waiting for me to find them and immediately I felt all over again the intensity and emotion I felt the first time through. I responded to them I guess because they reminded me of myself, or moments in my life, or feelings I have felt, and the author was able to express the feelings so precisely, so simply. So much so that for me it is almost like a religious experience. When I experience some piece of art, play, dance, music, poem, prose, person, nature, or more recently-- athleticism, a wonderful calm comes over me and I feel a light inside. I don't know what it is exactly, but it is magical.
This whole blogging this is very much of an experiment, a work-in-progress, and I am figuring out just what I'd like it to be through the writing. I like the idea of sharing something I found wonderful though, putting it out there, into the greater consciousness, like blowing the feathery seeds off a dandelion never knowing where or what they will bring... into the wind.

Here are the passages:

She was lucky enough to find a furnished apartment on a short-term lease in a pleasant, tidy little building on top of a hill on the outskirts of town. The view was superb. Nearby was a place where she could practice piano. The rent wasn’t cheap but if she found herself strapped she could always rely on her father to help out.
Thus Miu began her temporary but placid life in the town. She attended concerts at the music festival and took walks in the neighborhood, and before long she’s made a few acquaintances. She found a nice little restaurant and café, which she began to frequent. From the window of her apartment she could see an amusement park outside town. There was a giant Ferris wheel in the park. Colorful boxes with doors forever wed to the huge wheel, all of which would slowly rotate through the sky. Once one reached its upward limits, it began to descend. Naturally. Ferris wheels don’t go anywhere. The gondolas go up, they come back down, a roundabout trip that, for some strange reason, most people find pleasant.
In the evenings the Ferris wheel was speckled with countless lights. Even after it shut down for the night and the amusement park closed, the wheel twinkled all night long, as if vying with the stars in the sky. Miu would sit near her window, listening to music on the radio, and gaze endlessly at the up-and-down motion of the Ferris wheel. Or, when it was stopped, at the monument-like stillness of it.
p.145
We each have a special something we can get only at a special time of our life. Like a small flame. A careful, fortunate few cherish that flame, nurture it, hold it as a torch to light their way. But once that flame goes out, it’s gone forever.
p. 178

Sputnik Sweetheart
Haruki Murakami

birthday in new york city

Tuesday I was walking through Bryant Park in the morning, perfect light, blue sky, warm, everyone frisky and jumping...
WHEN

I heard a bird calling behind me
louder and growing closer, it being a park, I was not so surprised but then it came swooping by me.
It wasn't a bird at all but a man who must identify as a bird. He was making different bird sounds-- different frequencies, quiet and soft, and then once in a while flapping his arms. Quite beautifully actually. Long and strong arms and he would arch his back and stretch his neck. His dreads bouncing and cascading over his shoulders or resting in absolute stillness. Sometimes he stopped still standing on just one leg, the other leg bent and folded into his standing leg like a flamingo.
He meandered through the park and I followed him. All who experienced the bird man shared smiles and laughs, or glances at least. I heard three different people say aloud: "Only in New York."
So true.

Happy Birthday it was.

may days

For days Alice sick with a fever STOP
Went to camp nurse for rest STOP
Didn't turn out so well STOP
Now hard comb and head burning shampoo STOP
The bed had lice but she's feeling better START



the school infirmary really did give me the willies. Wool blankets hard as brillo pads.
And did you hear about the poor acrobat in the Mexican circus? He fell in the middle of his act. Right before the Ringleader said something like, "now, boys and girls, with just the slip of a wrist or the snap of a rope, what you're about to see-- it could be fatal." Hopefully the "Ahhhhhhh" in a on-the-edge-of-their-seats-EXCITED way was the last sound the man heard, and not so much the sadly clairvoyant introduction.

RIP all the ones we've lost in flight