An Imaginary Tool

When I woke up this morning, I saw that I had typed this on my facebook status update on my phone but did not post it.

"I dreamt all night about my grandmother who passed away one year ago to the hour.. I dreamt that we had this week between Christmas eve to spend with her but then she got sick again. We spent all night trying to get across the world to bring her an 'imaginary tool' that would fix her, but then we realized that doing a dance for her would help about as much so we all sat in a circle and my mom danced for her until sunrise in a yellow print dress and it was beautiful.. Then i got an email that she died again this morning and cried ( I woke to alex texting me that he was going in for surgery).. Also, I had some kind of inception-style dream within a dream that my grandmother sent me a message to my family to tell them not to ignore the conflicts between them, and that allowing a family relationship to deteriorate was disrespectful to her.. Anyway sorry if no one cares about this and it's the longest status update ever, I'm just trying to write it down before I forget and this is the screen my phone was on."

Last Night You Saved My Life

Thank you to my partner and best friend Alex Incyde for reminding me of this passage.

The original quote characterizes 'the DJ' as male, but just for kicks I thought I would change all the 'he''s to 'she''s. You know, just for kicks. Enjoy!

"The disc jockey has been with us for almost a century now. In that time she has been ignored, misunderstood, despised, worshipped and adored. She has stayed in the forefront of music, twisting and shaping it into fresh forms, perverting technology and forcing from it stunning new sounds. She has conjured a series of novel genres in her endless search for material to keep her dancers moving. In the U.S. the DJ created amazing music, then the UK gave her a home and made her a star. She continued her magic and around her there grew a musical culture more revolutionary and more enduring than any before.

Having forged music more truly universal than any preceding it, the DJ is arguably a conduit for celebration and communion on a global scale. It's possible that the DJ is the ultimate expression of the ancient shamanic role; that the DJ is the greatest witchdoctor there has ever been, unmatched at shaking us out of the drudge of the day and into the life of the night.

Why do we worship at the knees of the record-slinger? Because she is occasionally capable of divinity. When it all connects in a club, there's nowhere you can have more fun.

'A really great DJ is capable of making a bad record sound okay, a good record sound great, and a great record sound fantastic - by the context they put them in, and what they put around them. How they steer them. They can do all kinds of tricks. A great DJ can make people spontaneously cheer just for a little squelchy noise. Which is quite insane really. A little noise like wha-wha-wha and people go, 'Yeeeaaah!' They can have people clapping along to a cymbal, just by the way they're bringing it in. When it's done well, it's fantastic. If it's done really well, it can be quite transcendental.'

It's a mystic art indeed. It seems so banal, but it holds the potential of phenomenal, inexpressible power. A great DJ can arouse more raw emotion in her audience than the composer of the most bittersweet opera, or the author of the most uplifting novel, or the director of the most life-affirming film.

When you're DJing and you're great at it, you're not playing records, you're playing the dancefloor. You're not just mixing tunes, you're mixing energy and emotions, mixing from surprise into hope and happiness, cutting from liberation to ecstasy and love. When it goes right, you're inside the bodies of everyone in the room, you know what they're feeling and where they're going, and you're taking them there. You're sweeping them off the earthly plane and transporting them to a higher place. You're moving their bodies and their souls with the music that flows from your fingertips.

You're putting them in the moment."

- Last Night a DJ Saved My Life, Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton, 2000

Hope and Fear

Here I am again. It's Christmas, again and I find myself reflecting like I seem to do every year on how much things have changed (and stayed the same). I woke up this morning with a weird sense of conviction that although life is about many things that change over time, and now was the time for life to be about coming together regardless of reason, or time.

The older I get the more unsure I am about whether Christmas spirit is about joy, or anxiety. I feel anxious all the time around this time of year, as if things are supposed to go a certain way and we are all expected to live up to an embodiment of joy and virtue and miracles that is impossible.

I watched a documentary recently about a family in 1956 who had won a trip to Disneyland called 'Disneyland Dream'. I was never alive in the 50s, but I feel like we live with its endless idealism and imagination and disregard for the imminent depletion and real limitations of things like resources, and class systems, and human compassion.

And it makes me wonder why, 50 years later, we guilt ourselves for not having the 9 to 5, the nuclear household in a suburban neighborhood, or the safe retirement plan and latest appliances. Have we not figured out that the life model of going to college and getting a great job and earning that promotion and being rewarded for our integrity is based on the conditions of an American Dream which has clearly crumbled at its foundations?

We don't have Norman Rockwell dinners. People die, and jobs are lost. And integrity is rarely rewarded. And this isn't a tragedy, or a failure anymore than waking up from a dream. Its just the truth.

This Christmas, my grandmother is not with us, and we are not what we once were. Uncles are sick, and injured and unhealthy and Aunts miss their mothers. The children have finally moved out in their near 30s after five years or so of suffering questions of self-worth and capabilities. We are not ideal. How could we have been? But we are a family, and together, we are happy. We are perfect.

If you asked me what Christmas meant to me, the only thing I could be sure of is that this is the time my family spends two weeks out of the year eating food and playing games together- and that's good enough for me.

The new year brings even more anxiety. What is going to happen to us? Will this year be good? Will this year not be good? Will we follow through with the promises that we make to ourselves and others? Is this the year that the apocalypse will come? Am I going to die in 2011?



I forget sometimes, that January 1 is just a day like any other day. It has no magical powers except that it is a poignant reminder of the mystery that is our future, and the uncertainty it brings. It reminds us how much we hope, and fear. My grandmother died on December 31, 2010 and a chapter began in my life that I never even had a concept of. I simply just could not imagine life without her, and here I was, and here she was not.

But then life kept going, and I kept breathing, and I was alive. In June my dear friend Josh died accidentally, and I did not know that I could hurt so profoundly as I did when I realized that he'd had hopes and fears too, and dreams and that we'd never grow old together and be able to look back with joy on all our mistakes and masterpieces.

I will always hold that melancholy in my heart. Tears of grief are hot tears and they tattoo our cheeks. Every time we look in the mirror we see their marks, even if no one else can. Every time I look in the mirror, I see my grandmother, and Josh. How could I forget them when they are me?

It was so unexpected. Life has kept going and I have found that it is even more beautiful than I could have possibly grasped ten years ago, or even yesterday. Every day, and I realize how blessed I am to realize this, that out of reason or time we find each other and come together… that out of reason or time we can't help but to help each other find ourselves, lost as we are… we come back changed to the places that changed us, only to find that they have changed too and all of this hope and fear filters through our minds and into our own personal histories… and eventually, some time between now and our last breathe, we will see what an epic tale it is, that your life is a timeless legend so perfect that you couldn't have imagined or anticipated it even if you tried.

Ignorance is Unnatural

"Modern man lives isolated in his artificial environment, not because the artificial is evil as such, but because of his lack of comprehension of the forces which make it work- of the principles which relate his gadgets to the forces of nature, to the universal order. It is not central heating which makes his existence 'unnatural,' but his refusal to take an interest in the principles behind it. By being entirely dependent on science, yet closing his mind to it, he leads the life of an urban barbarian." —Arthur Koestler

Get Your Mind Out of the Gutter

"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

- Sigmund Freud

Quis hic locus? Quae regio? Quae mundis plaga?

What world is this?... What kingdom?... What shores of what world? It's a very big question you're faced with. The *choice* of your *life*. How much will you indulge in your flaws? What are your flaws? *Are* they flaws?... If you embrace them, will you commit yourself to hospital?... for life?

[pause]

Big questions, big decisions! Not surprising you profess *careless* about them.

- Dr. Wick, Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen, 1994

let experience talk

"I should listen to all that you or anyone else have to say. Then I make up my own mind. I choose what I want to believe. And if I'm having trouble figuring out what the truth is, what my truth is, I ask questions, listen, and let experience talk to me."

- Victor L. Wooten, The Music Lesson: A Spiritual Search for Growth Through Music, 2006

Small Things with Great Love

“We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love.”

"Ask yourself, “Do I really love others as I have been loved?” Unless this love is among us, we can kill ourselves with work and it will only be work, not love. Work without love is slavery."

~Mother Teresa

Let Go.

"Let go of what your perceive as proper, normal or seemly behaviors. Surrender to your internal beat, release your natural rhythms, yield to your inner pulse, feel the surge and give in to the urge, go with the flow... palpitate, undulate, vibrate!"

- John M. Ortiz, The Tao of Music: Sound Psychology

En Route to Riverside, 11/8/10

I'm on my way toward somewhere I've never been.

The sky is overcast, white with cottonmouth clouds muffling the voice of God so he seems far away from us. The road before us, the sky and branches, the cars are grey and the leaves have already turned blood red and are dripping from the trees as they prepare for their annual demise.

Everything has fallen. It is fall, and everything has a downward direction. Some cells in my body are crying out little death rattles. Part of me is dying... but also, like the trees I am lighter now.

They have laid down their arms and given up on the sun. They have shed their delicacy and stopped reaching outward... declared abstinence from their tree sex and from their provocative adornments. It is almost winter and now they stand tall and naked, strong and brave in self-embrace. They are ready.

When things change like this, if you keep looking for beauty and inspiration in all the same places, you will be sorely disappointed. These days the beauty is in the letting go, and the death rattles, and the blood leaves dripping from the trees.

It sounds tragic, but as I write this the sun pierces its way through the clouds and bathes the mountains in a rare blaze of saturated brilliance. In its transient light, the forest is on fire- the cotton has been pulled from God's mouth and he is screaming and the fiery trees are screaming back at him in E minor, and it sounds sad, but also very pretty.

It was over before I even realized it. I'm not even sure if I remembered it right. I'm not even sure it happened at all.

White rocks, golden trees. Foggy mountains. Things which may or may not have happened.

A beginning, that starts with an end.

Strength

I find myself wondering tonight how many times in my life I have thought about what it means to be strong… and I'm thinking right now, that where you find it has a lot to do with who you're being strong for.

When I was very little, strength had a lot to do with letting go. I cried on my first day of pre-school when I had to let go of my mother's leg. I cried when the school year ended and I realized I would never be a Kindergartener, or a First-Grader, or a Second Grader ever again. I cried when I turned 10 and I would never have a one-digit age again. I was a sensitive kid.

I didn't cry when my mom took us away from my dad, and we moved half way across the country with our toothbrushes, our birth certificates and the clothes on our backs. I did cry when I finally realized, three weeks later, that we were never going back home to our family in Northern California.

When you're little, you don't think much about being strong… you only know that things are changing, and that it's hard. I cried so much when I was little. I think I might have cried every day, about every thing.

But as I got older, I started to understand what my mother had gone through, and how she had gone through it all in order to give us a better life. I started to realize how much it hurt her to take us away from everything we knew, and particularly how much it hurt her to see us suffer. So I tried my best, to stop crying so much.

I guess, this is where love and strength intersect. Humans do a lot of terrible things to each other, every day. But the times we do things out of love, we might realize we are also capable of doing things beyond reason… noble things. We are capable of so much, because of love.

When I got a bit older, strength was that which is firm, and unmovable. I thought about fortitude, and endurance.. I thought about stubborn determination and about things that would not break, no matter what. It kind of made sense.

But the thing I guess I forgot to factor in was 'time'…

… because with time, the rocks wear down with winds and water… fortresses fall and are forgotten… stubborn determination can bring senseless suffering… and you realize, that like a cancer, that sometimes you have to destroy the parts of yourself that are destroying you.

Then I thought strength is something else, it's something that is dynamic, and manipulates the tides of time like a sailboat uses the wind, that strength is dynamic and graceful, and navigates the seas of possibility. It's something you find in yourself that moves you through this world, you just have to find the right cross-wind.

But sometimes you wait, and the wind just never comes. Sometimes, you stand dead in the water. Sometimes, a storm will come and destroy your sail and it just happened, and there's nothing in the world you could have done to stop it.

Where do you find strength then, under such hopeless and helpless circumstances? What is it that motivates you to keep breathing, when all hope is lost and you realize, that no amount of resilience will keep the forces of nature from breaking you, and that even with all the grace in the world, the winds won't take you to where you need to go?

I've found myself here floundering, and feeling like I'd completely failed in every sense of the word. I will tell you it hurt. I will tell you it pained me so deeply that I just wished it would stop… I just wished everything, everything would stop.

And now looking back, it's easier to see, that though I had broken, I was still there… that although the elements had rendered me incapacitated, that I still breathed in and out. If there is anything I have realized in my 26 stubborn years of risk-taking and my 26 years of thinking I could dodge any obstacle life threw at me, it's that life is turbulent and unpredictable… that sometimes obstacles are unavoidable… but also that even when things are most certainly NOT okay… they are, anyway.

I can't speak for those who have decided life is not worth living, because although stubbornness has broken me, this is just something I'm holding onto. Because I'm me, and I have decided that life is worth living, and worth being broken- over and over and over again. To me, it's just worth it.

This is some kind of other strength. This is some kind of strength when strength is absent, which doesn't make sense but hear me out- I have decided, for better or worse, that my life in all its suffering, and all its pain is worth living- and this is my choice to make.

And if you asked me why, what treasure is worth every inevitable misfortune and heartbreak- I will tell you it's because of love.

I have been broken, and I'm sure I will break again. Something I've realized these past few years, is that a life of self-preservation is sort of missing the point. If it weren't for all the loss and destruction, big and small, it would have been impossible for me to understand the shape of these things as they have left absent impressions in my heart.

I promise you, time will leave you vulnerable… and although it might seem strange, it's really been my lack of strength which has taught me the most about where strength comes from… I am given an opportunity to experience the strength of those who love me. They lay the foundation of me with their wisdom, they scaffold the walls of my soul with their determination and they give me the support to rebuild who I am… into something new, something better and someone who is, again and again, a product of pure love.

It's easy to see how a life of perpetual building and destruction can seem like a futile effort.. but that's like looking at a two-dimensional black and white snapshot of the universe… at a very low resolution. It seems pointless because if you look at it through only one kind of lens, at one moment in time, it IS pointless.

But now as I've been broken some one billion times or more, the fabric of my beliefs, the building of who I am and what I think and what's the truth seems more and more irrelevant. Who I am today, could be gone tomorrow. It most absolutely will be. Sometimes the people that love me, the engineers of my soul, no longer love me enough to help me rebuild and I can't really blame them, because they're probably not who they once were, either. So if who I become is unpredictable as who will play a part in my 'coming to being', then what have I got to hold on to? What's the point?

What's worse, what if nobody loves you?

The thing is, just like how sometimes life isn't fair and just like how pain and suffering is inevitable, I will guarantee you you'll never be sure if anyone loves you as much as you love them… and even if they do, that will most likely change, or if you're optimistic- fluctuate- over time.

But this really shouldn't bum you out, because if it does you're not fully understanding exactly what love is… particularly, that if you really love someone, it doesn't matter if they love you back. You do it anyway. (This also applies to self-love.) It's indestructible and untouchable… it's the ONLY thing that is… because it's unconditional (and by all definitions illogical and stupid). Even if nobody loves you… it's up to you whether or not to donate your love to this world, to whoever, whenever, whatever, regardless if it's being taken or appreciated or reciprocated. It's love for the sake of love, and when you're on the receiving end of it, its serendipity, it's a blessing and you never had it coming. Its like that gust of wind in your sail… it just happened. Lucky you.

No one deserves love, but if you have it, consider yourself blessed and be grateful. And remember who you were, and how you came to be and take joy in giving love… just for the sake of giving it.

I'm kind of realizing the more I learn in my life, the stupider it sounds when I'm writing about it… but I know every day I'm alive is better because of the things I understand but can't describe very well. I am kinder today than I was yesterday. I have more love in my heart for you, who I may or may not know, than I ever thought possible.

Time Saving Truth From Falsehood and Envy

- François Lemoyne — completed on the day before the artist’s suicide, 1737

truly friends

"It is those who desire the good of their friends for the friends' sake that are most truly friends, because each loves the other for what he is, and not for any incidental quality."


- Aristotle, ~300 BC

I think the sun shines out your ass.

"Look, in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with."

- Mac MacGuff, "Juno" (2007)

Purge

"I would have to admit, from that moment forward, that I didn't have the slightest grasp on anything. My only truth would be the simplest statements: I'm breathing, and my heart is beating. I'm alive."

-Adam Elenbaas, "Fishers of Men: The Gospel of an Ayahuasca Vision Quest", 2010

Our Effortless, Aesthetic Human Life

"I consider that the natural biological manner of living is constitutively aesthetic and effortless, and that we have become culturally blind to this condition. In this blindness we have made of beauty a commodity, creating ugliness in all dimensions of our living, and through that ugliness, more blindness in the loss of our capacity to see, to hear, to smell, to touch, and to understand, the interconnectedness of the biosphere to which we belong. We have transformed aesthetics into art, health into medicine, science into technology, human beings into the public, ..., and in this way we have lost the poetic look that permitted us to live our daily life as an aesthetic experience. Finally, in that loss, wisdom is lost. What is the cure? The creation of the desire to live again, as a natural feature of our biosphere, the effortlessness of a multidimensional human living in a daily life of aesthetic experiences."

— Humberto R. Maturana, from The Biological Roots of Reality and Humanness:
An Invitation to Freedom

A Different Theory of Truth

‎


"The power of the community to decide, of course, asks us to reexamine what we mean when we say that something is “true.” We tend to think of truth as something that resides in the world. The fact that two plus two equals four is written in the stars—we merely discovered it. But Wikipedia suggests a different theory of... truth…. The community decides that two plus two equals four the same way it decides what an apple is: by consensus. Yes, that means that if the community changes its mind and decides that two plus two equals five, then two plus two does equal five. The community isn’t likely to do such an absurd or useless thing, but it has the ability." - Marshall Poe, about how Wikipedia has redefined common knowledge, 2006

Consilience

"Humanity is driven forward by the tension between those who upon viewing order create disorder, and those who upon viewing disorder create order."

- E.O. Wilson, "Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge", 1998

On the difference between remembering 'what you know' and 'who you are'

It's funny, the things you learn on a ship.

A lot of the time you find you learn more in the spaces in between things happening than you ever will when life is happening so fast you barely have time to think about it. I suppose that's not wholly surprising, since thinking and learning go pretty hand-in-hand.

My brain has been in over-drive lately, been inspired by the thoughts and actions of the people around me, been connecting the dots between disparate concepts and dispositions.

I'm finding that sailors are some of the wisest, most insightful and inspirational people I have ever met, and you wouldn't guess it with their thick New England accents and their potty mouths and bad jokes and their Glenn Beck radio-listening. But I try to keep my eyes and my mind open, and what I see is this:

I really have so much respect for the profession of engineering because I have observed two things, in particular-

1) Engineers are awesome because when they see something is broken, they automatically start thinking about how to fix it. They are natural problem-solvers. You might think this is not a big deal but if you walk around a while and listen, you will notice that most other people are problem-finders. The thought struck me when I mentioned I was low on funds, waiting for my first paycheck. Within the evening three of the engineers had dug into their wallets and handed me $40 without thinking about it and Brenden the 2nd mate, knowing I smoke cigarettes had tossed me a few packs and asked if it were enough to tide me over.

They're nice guys, but to me it was more than that. I was thinking today about this night I had in New York City about this time last year. For reasons I won't get into, I wasn't allowed into a club in the meat-packing district and I watched through tear-streaked make-up as each one of my friends walked in without me, eventually leaving me alone on the street. I was just thinking, if I were broke, if I didn't have money for a pack of cigarettes I'm positive the reaction from them would have been more along the lines of responding 'Oh man. That sucks.'

Anyway this is why engineers are awesome. You could know everything about being cool, and know about all the cool things and be where the coolest things are happening, but you will never be as cool as the person who sees something needs fixing and fixes it, without thinking about 'what's in it for me'.

2) This is something I feel like I wouldn't ever really understand if I hadn't spent so much time working on a ship, with a crew. For the record, I have lived a relatively lower-middle-class life. Everything is about being more than what you are, having a brighter future than your parents had, and about becoming someone important. We live in a society where being 'famous' seems to have greater clout than being 'useful'... and somehow we've come to believe that egomaniacal, self-centered and self-preserving behavior is normal... that life is a process of trying to get the rest of the world to realize how awesome you are.

No wonder most of us feel so lost, and unhappy.

One of my friends from the City said to me earlier this year, 'I really love that you love hanging out with sailors.'

It is true, and I know that to most people it seems strange that a girl like me, who has spent most of her lives in cities, has an erroneous degree in neuroscience from the University of Spoiled Children, really prefers to spend her time in the company of blue-collar men who spend two-thirds of their lives away from their families, who work seven days a week under appalling and hazardous conditions, who have no manners and don't give a shit where you went to college or how many books you've read.



But it's true. I REALLY love hanging out with sailors.

The days after work when we all go out for beers and oysters, I lean back and think about how lucky I am, to be around a group of people who are TOTALLY relaxed because they know they've worked as hard as they could work that day.

The thing about working on a ship is, you never wonder where you belong because you always have a purpose. You are always part of a greater whole, which is incomplete without you and the things you have been called upon to do. You realize that in order for a system to function effectively and efficiently, each of it's individual components have to WORK, and that includes you.

This type of work cultivates a particular kind of person, a person who understands two things, at the same time: that they are just a small part of a greater system, and that the system cannot function as effectively without them.

It seems like a pretty simple concept until you realize how many people question their self-worth and usefulness on a daily basis. I know I did.



________________________________________________________________

But this isn't really what I intended to write about.

I had a really great night the other night, I'd had too much coffee earlier in the day so I had a little extra energy and decided to spend some time up in officer's lounge doing arts and crafts (I'm making a surprise present for someone I love) and watching movies, but when I turned on the TV the channel was on PBS (bless PBS) and they were broadcasting the Charlie Rose Brain Series, which is basically a think-tank of brainy people talking about brains.

I thought this was nice, since I studied brains in school and I quite like them so I decided to watch this, instead and anyway it made me feel real smart like I was a brainy person watching brainy people talk about brains.

It's been almost SIX YEARS since I graduated from college, which kind of blows my mind because I thought I would be a lot smarter by now than I actually am. I also realized when found a copy of my dissertation and tried to read it (Titled: Actions of Hexomethaniosulfonate Reagent on Positions alpha-562 and beta-464 of Neural Glycine Receptors Modulation of Alcohol Permeability) ...that for the most part, I have completely forgotten everything I've learned (read: I don't understand what that means anymore, either).

The reassuring thing is, although I can't remember how to sound smart I know I am still becoming wiser- because I understand that a large part of growing up is knowing what's worth remembering, and what's okay to forget.

The topic discussion on the series that evening was Alzheimer's, aging and memory loss. Not surprisingly, they were using H.M. as an example, who is the Neuroscience World's most famous case study. You can read more about him, and who he is here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HM_(patient)

I remembered learning about him, and was fascinated by the deep sense of tragedy I felt when empathizing with the concept of not being able to learn anything new.

Studies of H.M. were key to the discovery that memory has a really complicated and non-localized way of being stored.. because of him we know that the human mind is capable of learning not just in the traditional sense, but also on a purely subconscious level, and also purely on a physical level.

In short, it led to the discovery that as you mature and develop, who you become is not only the product of what you remember, but also the product of what you don't remember learning.

In neuroscience they seperate these types of memory into two categories: 'declarative' memory and 'non-declaratvie' memory. Declarative memory is what we typically think of when we think of memory- the recall of people names, places, locations, chronology and history. When we say, 'my memory is not so good' this is the kind of memory we're talking about.

'Non-declarative memory' is understandably a little harder to describe because it is the kind of memory that is more subjective in nature, its memory stored in the more evolutionarily primitive parts of our brain and it's much more instinctively rooted. When something scares you and you don't know why... when the more you practice, the less you have to think about it.. this is non-declarative memory.

The difference between the two was illustrated by a scenario where a man is attacked by a large dog as a child. On a conscious level, the man remembers, 'When I was a child, I was attacked by a large dog, so I know to stay away from large dogs.' The memory of the attack is a learned response- it's something he remembers, and something he knows about himself.

Maybe the same man suffers an injury and he's rendered a retrogade amnesiac; he doesn't remember his name, much less what happened to him when he was six. He takes a walk around the block, passes a man with a pit bull and is frozen with a totally irrational sense of terror. In psychology we call this 'Pavlovian conditioning'.. a sort of 'learning without knowing.'

... but it was the way the woman in the interview put it, that really stuck with me. She said, 'It's the difference between what you know, and who you are.'


This kind of made me realize, that it's useful to acknowledge not only the difference between those two things... 'What you know'... and 'who you are'.... but their similarities... namely that these things are LEARNED and therefore change with experience... regardless of whether or not you're aware of it.

With this in mind I feel as if it's inadequate to use the excuse that 'it's just who I am' in order to justify your own behavior. I really feel as if identity is something which develops over time... not just as a discovery of the qualities you have possessed for as long as you remember, but as a discovery that you have the choice to abandon the qualities which no longer serve you, this world, or the people you love.

I think 'who you are' is actually really something you can learn, by allowing the experiences in your life to challenge your so-called instincts and through the growing realization that finding yourself, and knowing who you are is not necessarily just a process of excavation. Self-discovery is a dynamic process... and even if you knew who you were yesterday, you are no longer that person today.

It's an intimidating notion unless you remember that wisdom is about choice and therefore about freedom. About remembering and forgetting. Self-discovery could be re-defined more as a sort of 'self-creation'... as you mature, hold onto certain ideas and let go of others you are creating a new entity every day, which interacts with the world in a different way.

You are the creator of yourself. No one is responsible for you, and who you are, but you.

We live in a paradoxical universe where the only constant is change itself. It can be disconcerting, when you have nothing to grab ahold of and particularly disconcerting when we find it difficult to grab a hold of anything even within our own identities.

But I'm optimistic.

In a universe where self-knowledge is perpetually out of my grasp I have this thing, an imagination, a godliness, a part of me that always has a vision of who I could be.

And I have a feeling that it's that part of me. I have a feeling that THAT is who I am.

To See and Not See

"Perceptual-cognitive processes, while physiological, are also personal -- it is not a world that one perceives or constructs but one’s own world -- and they lead to, are linked to, a perceptual self, with a will, an orientation, and a style of its own. This perceptual self may itself collapse with the collapse of perceptual systems, altering the orientation and the very identity of the individual." - Oliver Sacks, "To See and Not See", An Anthropologist on Mars, New York: Vintage, 1995

Eadem Mutata Resurgo

"Although changed, I shall arise the same."



"[The logarithmic spiral] may be used as a symbol, either of fortitude and constancy in adversity, or of the human body, which after all its changes, even after death, will be restored to its exact and perfect self."

- Jacob Bernoulli, Swiss Mathemetician

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

-William Ernest Henley

In Memory of Josh Skunk

I know at some point, in everyone's life, they stop to wonder… what will happen, when I'm gone?

Who will miss me? Who will remember me? Will I be forgotten?

Is anyone I know a better person, for having met me?

When I'm gone, will I have mattered?

Sometimes, when I'm not feeling good about myself, I try to convince myself that no one will miss me. No one will remember me. That I have not made any sort of positive impact on the world, but this is a totally unfounded, and totally unreasonable thing to believe… and deep down, I don't believe it, and I don't think anyone should.

No matter who you are… no matter how smart, how stupid, how good or bad you think you are… no matter how significant or insignificant you think you are… whether or not you think you are loved… whether or not you feel you're universally hated… and even if you are… you matter.

You matter, so much.

How do I know this. It's hard for me to think about, without being overwhelmed- but I feel like this is something I have to tell you. I know this because I have lived 26 years, and I had never truly known what it felt like, to lose someone you love. I could not even think about it, because the thought terrified me. But the truth is, we will ALL lose someone we love, and we will miss them. They matter, to us.

I lost my grandmother suddenly to cancer over the holidays last year. She was brought to the emergency room on christmas eve, and she passed away the morning of new year's eve. She was 72 years old, and loved, and had babies, and a loving husband, and grand-babies. And although I miss her, every day, I know she lived her life, she was happy most of the time, and although death never makes sense, I was able to experience how losing her brought my family closer, and I was able to hold her hand, and tell her I loved her before she took her last breath.

But sometimes, when people leave us it's a little harder, and it seems a little more senseless, and you're left wondering, if you ever really had a chance to show this person how much you really cared, or even if you ever really realized how much you really cared… it's hard.

About a month ago, I lost a very close friend, his name was Josh Marshall, and I loved him, even if he didn't know it. He was 27 years old.



Even now, it's hard to know what to say… even now, after I have hugged the people who loved him, after I've honored him and thought of him. After I've gone through the feelings of guilt, over the possibility that I could have been a better friend, over the falling out we had years ago, over the possibility that when he died, he didn't know, how much he mattered.

I don't know what to say… but what I'm thinking of now, is all the times he was there for me, and I for him. When I felt alone, like I had no friends, Josh was there. When I could not help myself, he helped me. When I thought no one loved me, he told me he did. When he had no place to go, he knew he could stay with me. We made some bad decisions, as friends.. but I think those decisions made us naked to each other as humans, and I can only pray, to whoever will listen, that he understood that somehow it was only a matter of time before we saw and loved each other for who we were… which is what all of us are to each other, I promise… two humans in the world, who had love in our hearts, who were trying to show each other in broken ways that we were not alone.

When our friend Dave told me Josh was in the hospital, that he'd tried to kill himself, I was angry. I thought, how stupid and selfish. But when I got the call at 7 in the morning that Wednesday, that we'd lost him, that he was gone… that he'd suffocated using nitrous oxide and putting a bag over his head, I cried… for days. Out of shock, out of grief and guilt… and for a large part because I worried that he never knew how important he was, to so many people, and how much I cared for him, and loved him.

I didn't know, if he knew. I wasn't sure. We'll never know if he meant to do it on purpose, or if it was an accident. Josh was a complicated, and troubled individual. He was reckless, and self-destructive.

But we all knew how much he loved music, and how much he loved sharing it with people. We all knew how much he loved the thrill of the celebration, and that he had ideas, and dreams, and how much he loved to share those things. He used to call me, even after we'd stopped speaking, to tell me how much he loved me and missed me. He was my best friend.

We'll never know what was going through his mind, then.. and either way, he's gone… and I think about all the things he wanted to do, and was excited to pursue, and it's tragedy in my heart, and no matter how I celebrate who he was, I mourn for his dreams, every day.

I never understood, why people needed a concept of life after death. Why we needed heavens and hells, or reincarnation, or ghosts. Maybe this is why I cried so much, when he first left us. But something happened to me, and it changed me, and I want to share it with you. This is my story of how Josh taught me something about magic, about life after death, and what it really means.

When I found out Josh was gone, I was on a ship, about to set sail to Jacksonville. I immediately bought a plane ticket to Boston, I felt an urgent need to be with the people who loved him, it was all I could think about, and the only thing I could come up with that would quell the impossibly deep ache in my heart. For four days I was alone at sea with my thoughts about Josh, and about why, and about what it meant.

Although some might think four days alone, thinking about the death of someone you love would be harder, the blue of the ocean for miles around, the absence of land for days brought a tranquility to my soul. I think it gave me a chance to breathe, and some part of me realized that the timing of it, though tragic, was a blessing. That time swallowed up by the blue ocean saved me, and gave me some strength and peace to stand the intensity of what was to come.

I arrived in New York and Alex picked me up at the airport. I wish I could tell you, what Alex and Josh and I meant to each other but I feel like it's something only Alex, Josh and I will ever understand… which is why hugging Alex, and feeling his tears fall on my shoulder, and mine on his was so NECESSARY. I can only explain it this way… there are times, when you are with people, that everything feels right in the world. You feel complete, among them. For a while, that was Alex, Josh and I. Together, we were complete.

I guess it could be called some kind of love. We loved each other, the three of us.

We all have our special memories of him but here was ours, here is what Josh and Alex and I do together in my dreams and memories where he is still with us- Alex and I come over to Josh's apartment near U Mass with our records and a big bottle of Jim Beam, and Josh cooks dinner for everybody at the apartment.

In the summer, we barbecued and drank beers and Tim and Eddie and Theresa would come over… Josh would roll spliffs and we would smoke them and drink Jim Beam out of the bottle all night. From early afternoon until the last person passed out, we played records together, three records each, rotating… Alex, Josh, me. Alex, Josh, me. We would do this at least once a week for hours, usually until 6 or 8 in the morning the next day. When everyone woke up, we'd go to brunch and Katrine would drive us, and even though it was obvious they loved the shit out of each other, they'd spend the whole time insulting each other while we sat awkwardly in the back seat.

We did this every week, for about a year and then things changed. Josh got kicked out of his apartment for not paying rent, I had my own issues to sort through, Alex moved to New York City… and we grew apart… life happened… I guess.

We had decided to go to Boston to honor Josh in his city, so we went about picking records from Alex's collection that reminded us of him. There were a lot, but there was one in particular… which was Punch Drunk 002 by Peverelist - Erstwhile Rhythm/ The Grind that we spent a significant amount of time searching for.

Josh used to play this one all the time. It was one of his favorite records… and for some reason this was the one that stood out most to us, the one record that would forever remind us of Josh, and those many, many times we'd play together, which happens only in our heads now like memories, or dreams.

When we arrived in Boston, I went straight to Twisted Village in Harvard Square. I used to accompany Josh to this used record store once a month or so to help him carry records to sell when he needed money, which was pretty much all the time. Like a lot of things in Boston, it hadn't changed much, and the used electronic section was in the place it had always been. Alex and I stood side by side, sifting through the records. I didn't know what I was looking for… maybe I was hoping one of Josh's records would be there, but I wasn't seeing any dubstep at all in the bin… and then there it was.

I picked it up and held my hand over my mouth in disbelief. The sleeve was worn dirty around the edges of the record, like it'd been stuffed into a bag with too many records in it and they'd pressed together and created rubbings with the filth of too many basement parties. The hole in the middle had been taped over and re- pierced, probably to reinforce the record's grip on the table after too many times being played- and the sides were marked "A" and "B" unceremoniously on each side with familiar hand-writing.

"Alex," I said,

"I think this was Josh's."

He tells me, it couldn't be, Josh would never sell THIS record, it was one of his favorites… but part of me just knows, this is Josh's record, that he loved, that he played a million times, and beat up, and sold because he needed money, for something, maybe rent, maybe a burger, maybe whippets.

I took it up to the man at the counter, the same man who'd always been at the counter, who I'm sure Josh has sold many, many records to. "Who sold you this record?" I asked him.

He told me, he'd had 3 copies of that record, that it was hard to say who it came from.

On my phone, I pulled up a photograph I'd taken of Josh climbing into the window of my third floor apartment one summer, when we'd had a barbecue. I remember, he'd kicked everyone out of my apartment, tucked me in and locked the door behind him that night because I was too drunk to do it myself.

As soon as I saw the recognition in the man's face, I burst into tears. I barely made him out saying, 'Yes! That's him, the other two were collectors so their copies were in mint condition but this guy, he was a DJ, he always played his… this was definitely his."

I just lost it right then, my heart broke, like I just realized Josh was gone, but it was more than that- something happened, when I was holding that record in my hands, I felt him give it to me, I felt Josh put it into my hands as the record store owner said "I can't ask you to pay for this, it belongs to you" and I stumbled out onto the street and onto a nearby stoop.

I didn't know what to think. I just looked at the record, and thought about Josh playing it, and it felt like when I held my grandmother's cold hand, felt it's softness, said goodbye.

Alex was crying, too. He said to me, "He wanted you to have it. Nobody should own that record but you."



I don't believe in a lot that I can't touch, or prove. I don't believe in ghosts, and I don't really believe in life after death, … at least, not in the form of heaven or hell, or ghosts or people being reincarnated into plants and animals and other people.

But I do believe what I feel, and that sometimes, when things happen, they happen in a way that helps you to make sense in an otherwise senseless world. From the second he left this world, and especially at that moment in the record store, I felt like Josh was teaching me, and comforting me. I felt like he was showing me… something.

I don't know exactly what that thing is, but I can tell you what I saw, which is people coming together out of a common love, out of a love for Josh. It was people remembering how much of an impact he had on their lives, whether he knew it or not. It was his unmistakable spirit in each and every one of us, and it was the real magic, that you just see when you realize that people die, but they never go away, that you see them everywhere, that they find ways of loving you, and being there for you, and tucking you in.

I know that as I continue to love as I have been loved, that when my life is over, I will matter. Because the people I loved, will love each other. They will love their lives, and they will honor me every moment they take a breathe. Life after death is not about mysticism, there's nothing paranormal about it. We live IN each other. We love FOR each other. Forever. Beyond the limits of our own humanity.

I feel like Josh knew how much he mattered, even if he didn't think he mattered. He knew he was loved, because he WAS loved. I wonder if he knew, if I showed him enough, and I never could have possibly shown him because loving someone, and showing them, are two different things. Between me and you, trust me, liberate yourself because love is not about evidence, but about faith. All you can do, is just love someone, do your best to show them… and while you can hope that on some conscious level you've made it clear to them, you have to KNOW, in your heart, that THEY know.

And I guess, I feel like that's what Josh has shown me. That he knew, in his heart what I knew in mine. That he mattered to me. And that he knew.

Never give up work.

"One, remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet.

Two, never give up work. Work gives you meaning and purpose and life is empty without it.

Three, if you are lucky enough to find love, remember it is there and don't throw it away."


- Stephen Hawking, on what advice he has passed on to his three children, in an interview with Diane Sawyer

It's a Man's World

"This is a man's world... but it would be nothing, without a woman or a girl." - James Brown


I struggle when I try to discuss gender. For something so polarized it just seems like such a complicated issue from where I'm standing...

I wanted to believe that men and women, in particular, were created equal. I grew up with two brothers, Emil and Brent. Until my cousin Carisa was born when I was 12, I was the only girl out of 9 grandchildren. My two best friends in kindergarten were Justin and Alejo. When I grew up a little more, my two best friends in high school were John, and Oliver. In college, I met my best friend, and one of the greatest men I know, Carl.

I have always been comfortable around boys. Part of me will always assume that we were created equal. Part of me will always think that we women are just as strong, just as capable, and just as intelligent. And I think, part of me is right-

- but as I have grown wiser, and older, I have learned something that is hard to hear.. which is in gender, we are NOT equal.

None of us are. We were never created equal.. whether you are male or female you were born and your biology gave you a set of obstacles to overcome, and your upbringing gave you prejudices and ignorances to defy as you grew older and chose to see the world through new eyes, governed by new rules and new considerations.

This is what wisdom is, and it's complicated and always changing. The world to me today is so very different from a few years, or even a few months ago. It's overwhelming and confusing... and at the same time I see it more clearly... I have more clarity. At least I like to think so.

In a way I think we have assigned way too much value to the concept of equality. I know our forefathers were privy to point out that 'all men are created equal' but we have to remember these were the same dudes who owned slaves and left out the other half of the population (women).

Why do we have to be equal? Why do 'I' have to = 'You'? Doesn't it seem a bit redundant especially when assuredly the sum of our differences probably amount to greater versatility than simply more of the same thing. Let's think of it in mathematical terms. Let's get 'math'-y.

Think of it this way...

'Me'+'You' > [Me][You]

The logic is sticky here, but follow me- If we both had exactly the same strengths and weaknesses, who would be strong where I am weak? Who would be logical when logic were needed and who would be creative, when creativity were needed? We all have very unique, ever-changing sets of experience and natural qualities. I like to think that on a grand scale, the sum of our varied abilities (combined) is greater than those same strengths and weaknesses (apart).

You know, 'No man (or woman, I guess) is an island' sort-of-thing.

A world where we are NOT created equal does not necessarily mean a world with out equal greatness though, if that makes sense. I thoroughly believe every person has something different to bring to the table- it might be the 'Generation Y' in me. I don't mind the confidence the self-esteem movement of the 80s has given me- 5 years out of college at 27 during an economic recession and I have had mostly all of the accompanying false sense of entitlement beaten out of me.

It might have taken me a while, but just like those in the generations before me who have grown up to 'know better', I've realized that no matter how I'm born, and no matter what I've got to work with- the best things in life come to those who brave the storm, live without fear, and WORK HARD.

Honestly I would prefer not to think about the differences between men and women... it's a touchy subject, probably because who we are supposed to be culturally and socially is so out of whack with the millions of years our biology has taken to get used to the idea of sexual reproduction, and the differentiation of not only our bodies, but our social needs as we have evolved into the sexy communal creatures that we are.

Possibly due to whiplash from the Feminist Movement of our mothers, I have cringed away from the 'F' word. I don't really feel the need for anyone to hear me 'roar'. I don't have to prove a point by burning a bra, as I rather like having a contraption that prevents my bosoms from hitting my knees and gives my back a little extra support.

I have no doubt that my ambivalence stems from the fact that women in generations before me have been bold enough to make the points they needed to make about feminity, and for that I will always be grateful. I live in a world where women force their boyfriends to watch Sex in the City, get married late in life after establishing successful careers, and rappers urge 'all the independent women' to 'git up on tha dancefloor.'

That's not to say I am a complacent woman.. as I type this I am living aboard a Navy carrier ship with 13 men ranging in age from 28 to 60. The only other woman on the shipyard is the one who comes by at 4pm to empty our trash bins. I live with men, I drink with them, I go shopping with them, I work with them all day.

Contrary to popular belief for most of human civilization it was not always necessarily 'A Man's World'. Women had valuable roles in every aspect of society, and in a lot of cases this is also true today, with few exceptions.

Ship life is an exception. Months alone at sea, heavy drinking and getting into trouble in the ports of Saipan, Thailand, Korea and the Philippines are not only a foreign concept to women, but also to most men.. and in this environment which involves a lot of hazardous work, dangerous materials, heavy lifting, filth and machinery... it's not surprising that most everyone here is a 'dude'.

It's part of the human predicament to define one's 'self' while at the same time figuring out where it you fit into this crazy world. Life is about 'finding', finding YOUR self, finding YOUR place. It's understanding that the two pursuits might appear contradictory at times- how do you seperate yourself, while at the same time becoming part of some greater 'whole'?

The same goes for finding yourself in terms of gender.. and in a man's world, where for the most part there is no pre-defined 'place' for a woman, this can be a challenge.

I'm glad I ended up here at this point in my life, where I am relatively comfortable with who I am because this challenge, while difficult, doesn't seem wholly impossible. Some days I feel out of place, especially when the security guard asks me not to leave my ID card on the ID bulletin where everyone else hangs theirs because it 'distracts the workers', or I get whistled at, or someone tries to hit on me every five minutes, because that's what guys do in front of other guys when women are around.

Maybe because of the past three years of DJing, which is also a very male-dominated arena, I feel more or less prepared to deal with the unusual circumstances I currently find myself in. I have learned that a great deal of finding your place in the world is knowing who you are, despite how others see you.

When you are a woman in a man's world, it's impossible to ignore that people stare at you, and that you are an object of curiosity. I feel like there's something to be learned by being aware of your surroundings and accepting that this observation is not a judgment, its just the truth, and only as big of a deal as you choose to make it.

The same goes for DJing.. when you are a woman, people notice.. not because you're being too sexy, not because you're exploiting your gender, not because they're assholes and perverts and not because you're a bitch or a whore- it's just odd. Unusual. A pink dot in a sea of blue.

I am a minority here. It's just a fact, but I'm also smart enough to know that it's just a thing, like having ten fingers and ten toes. It doesn't make me who I am, and it is not my identity.

To further extend that notion, I really think that we are ALL minorities, because we are ALL one-of-a-kind. We are one lonely strange thing... floating in a world of Others. When I think of it this way oddly enough I don't feel so alone, and I don't feel so out of place here among men.

Now as I am approaching my late twenties I think a lot more about what it means to grow up, what it means to be a Woman instead of a Girl, or a Man instead of a Boy and it only gets clearer and more beautiful as the days go by. It has a lot to do with finding that Self, finding that Place... and I think handling the interactions in your life with grace,compassion and dignity; notions which are a great deal more complicated than 'right', 'wrong','good', or 'bad'.

The more we understand ourselves, and forgive ourselves our short-comings... I think the more we are given an opportunity to be aware of the flaws and short-comings of the people around us, and forgive them as you would forgive yourself.

It's a tough lesson to learn, true forgiveness. Someone once told me it's the most difficult thing in the world to do... but that forgiveness is the path to true freedom. I can't pretend I've learned to forgive myself or others completely.. but I can definitely see the truth in that statement and there's really nothing mystical about it. Just think about how it feels to be truly forgiven, and you'll know it too.

Some days I feel like an alien in this man's world, like I am a sheep in a wolf den, or a cupcake at a fat camp. You feel vulnerable, and you feel the need to bare your teeth and project a level of fierceness- this is especially relevent to the DJ world, which is highly competitive in nature... some people are quick to point out that any so-called 'success' I might experience as a DJ must have to do with my gender and I used to get really quite defensive about it. I used to really want to prove that my gender had nothing to do with the business of being recognized.

But that's like trying to prove Grace Jones would be just as fierce if she looked like Woody Allen, it's bunk point. Showmanship is about the full package, about knowing what you have to work with, accepting the factors you can't change and growing where growth permits. If that seems kind of shallow consider this: creative expression is both the ultimate selfish-ness, and the ultimate self-lessness- so along that line of logic (or lack thereof) it makes sense that a true performer 'has what it takes' on both a superficial AND profound level.

You cannot help if you were born into a poor family and have to work hard to survive. You cannot help (very much) being male or female, or how you look or how sharp you are.

But regardless of all those things, if you want to do anything, be a DJ, be rich and famous, be a wife and mother- it's very valuable to be AWARE.

It's valuable to be aware of WHY you want what you want. It's valuable to step back and be honest with yourself, and tell yourself the truth about whether that thing you want is within your reach. You might find that it's not really even 'you' who wants to reach it.

I really think all it takes is knowing if your intentions come from passion- if it is truly part of who you are, then at every point in the journey from point A to point B you will be content.. there is no rush, and it is not a race... it is just inevitable. We are all on a path.. not toward becoming GREAT, or becoming MORE, but toward becoming Ourselves. We are born complete... but it's only when the sands and tides of time have washed away the shrouds of our self-doubt that we shine through luminescent.


.... but I have gone off on a tangent.


I really meant to be writing about what has been going through my head a lot lately, which is this- when I think of what it means to belong in a man's world, I always think in my head that what it means to be a woman, or a girl... is the same as it what it means to be a daughter and a sister, a mother, an aunt or a grandmother.

Every woman is someone's daughter. If we're lucky we will be mothers, all of us at some point will be in a position to care for someone, nurture them and teach them. Every brother has fought with their sister and also protected her- has looked up to her and competed with her. Every sister is secretly proud of her brother.

When you think of family, biological or otherwise, you think of a unit which loves without condition, which will support and protect you, in which you have a place forever, and are not alone.

I don't mean to wax utopian because at the same time, every single family that has ever existed is totally dysfunctional.

I don't have to tell you that this human family you belong to probably does not love you unconditionally. It probably is not supporting or protecting you, and I'll bet you a billion dollars that sometimes you get lonely.

But I will tell you this, regardless of whether or not you are one woman among hundreds of men- if you treat the people around you like family, they will take care of you, too. I guess that's where my brain is at these days.

Going Home from Work

10 Days

It doesn't really feel like it's only been 10 days since I've been here... when you spend almost all of your time in one place, it rarely does.

I'm not as bored as I thought I would be… I spent most of last weekend on Logic, but honestly didn't work on beats too much during the week, mostly because I've spent that time getting to know the crew, and getting to know my way around Mobile (pronounced 'mow-beel', apparently, I've been corrected more than a few times…).

Monday was Port Engineer Dave's birthday and through the weekend I'd been somewhat of a ghost, only leaving my cabin to grab food from the galley- but by Sunday I was feeling a bit lonely so thought it best to get to know the people I'm living on the ship with- the guys invited me out for oysters and beers and so I went, and unsurprisingly had a lot of fun- sailors are a group that most people like me rarely have the luxury of spending time with, they're friendly, rambunctious, and hilarious and they've travelled to places you and I might never go to in our lifetimes… certainly I don't know what it's like to be at sea for months like they do, to call Korea, or Saipan, or the Philippines my temporary home and to have hangouts in dive bars all across the globe… honestly it sounds like a pretty good life to me.

It's rough work I imagine, they all work 12 hour days 7 days a week, and this ship is noisy, and the air is thick with the sounds of drilling and scraping and banging… I've been blasting music on the studio monitors that I bought last week on one of our excursions into town just to drown out all the noise.

I don't know if it's because I'm in the deep south, but I've really been into Bobbie Gentry lately, this Mississippi-born country singer from the 70's.. her voice comes from a low, scratchy, sensual place that reminds me of the swamplands that surround the shipyard. It's been incredibly humid, grey and muggy lately and according to the ship's captain it will be this way until the winds shift on Tuesday. If we weren't near land this would be called the 'doldrums'… foggy and gloomy as far as the eye can see. I love that the guys know about things like the wind, and the currents, and are able to predict the when's and what's based on such things.

The oil slick is fast approaching, so we have been going to the Wentzell's, a local popular oyster bar while we can still get fresh oysters. Last night was our last chance, I think. I'd never really been much into oysters but the crew will clean out twelve dozen in an hour and I've kind of developed a taste for them… it's a pity they're no longer available anymore. The water in the bay looks mucky now, and it won't get much better. Odd timing spending my summer on the gulf the year there is an epic oil spill.

The work I do here is pretty simple, and I am getting along great with everyone… it's not unlike my last job on the Stockham, the big difference being this time, I'm not in Boston, or anywhere near home so I don't really ever leave the shipyard unless it's to go out with the crew, or run errands and I don't know anyone else in Mobile. It's definitely a huge help that the crew has been so welcoming to me. I don't know what I would do if they hadn't… it's hard to explain, and I'm not complaining, but being the only female on a ship is a challenge…

… I walk out of my cabin and people stare, and it's not out of rudeness. If I were them, I would stare too- it's unusual to see this young girl in a hardhat walking around a shipyard. I am an oddity. So it's no surprise that I feel a little odd. I know in time, they will get used to me, and I will get used to them.

I miss my Mom, and my brothers, and my friends. I really, really miss Cody and kitty and laying around watching nature documentaries. I want to say I know it's only for a little while, but to be honest I just don't know that.

A few days before I left, a recruiter from Wolters Kluwer, the company my mom works for, contacted me regarding a full time position in their Manhattan office. I'd applied for a job as an editorial assistant some time in December and I guess they'd held on to my resume… some time today I am supposed to take a two=part evaluation as part of the interview process, and if it still seems like a good fit I will go to NYC May 6-7 for a two day long in-person interview.

It's weird, because I said I would not move back to the east coast unless I had a full-time, well paying stable job with benefits. So in a way if this job works out its sort of a dream come true- I will actually be able to afford to live in the city I've been wanting to live in since I was 15 (NYC) - all of this sort of came out of left field. I wasn't expecting it.

The strange thing is, I thought I would be more excited.. I mean, this has been my dream forever. It's odd how your perspective can change as you grow older. I've been living with my Mom back in Texas for the past five months or so, waiting tables at a burger joint. When I was younger, I would have died if I knew at age 26 I would be living at home, waiting tables. But I'm older now, and I know better about what happiness is. And to be honest, I have been happier than I've been in years. I'm really surprised. And also really pleased to know that I've grown up a little, and realized what's important in life.

Which leaves me a little torn now, presented with the opportunity to pursue a lifelong dream by moving to NYC. I am happy in Texas. Is this the right move for me? I really don't know… meanwhile, I'm continuing with the application process. It's highly likely they won't even hire me so there's no point in getting ahead of myself. I should be so lucky that the alternative to getting this job is to go home to my loving family, friends and boyfriend, with money saved, the option of traveling, and the intent to go back to school and learn some fun things. I don't know what I'm so stressed about. Maybe some part of me just can't believe I'd consider turning down a great job in NYC to go home, and go to community college.

But the thing is, I've learned something, about happiness. Which is that you can't choose what makes you happy, or where it is. Most people, most of the time don't even know- and I should be so lucky as so suddenly find myself in a position where I open my eyes, and realize, I'm grateful to be alive, for the bed I wake up in, the friends I spend time with, the family I belong to and the man who loves me. Even if that place, and those people, are in Texas. The last place I ever thought I'd feel at home.

Further, I'm being offered another ship job after this one ends (June 16th) and I'm considering getting my mariner's license to do this full time, because it's fun, there's adventure involved, it pays well, and I'd have a TON of time off. It just seems to suit me. So what should I do? Become a trademark researcher for a big corporation in Manhattan (which, nobody's trying to fool me, is really boring work), or become a sailor, sail the open seas four months a year and slag around, well, ANYWHERE really, the rest of the time, making music, or playing golf, or whatever the fuck I want to do? Decisions upon decisions. I guess we'll just have to see.

Dear Lola

Dear Lola

Sometimes I wonder how I am able to go on breathing knowing that you passed away less than four months ago. Sometimes, it just engulfs me in this feeling… I don't know how to explain it, except that it is some impossible combination of the deepest sadness and even deeper gratitude. Writing this helps make the tears stop flowing. I don't cry all the time when I talk about you. Most of the time, it's not any different than when you were still here on earth with us. I talk about when I used to lay in your bed and you would rub my back when I had a tummy ache, and whisper to me that I was your favorite grandchild, even though I'm pretty sure you said that to all your grandchildren. Thinking about those moments makes me feel so proud, I feel invincible. I knew you would love me no matter what, that I would always be the most beautiful, and perfect to you.

I remember when we left California to live with you and Lolo, when things were no longer working between Mom and Dad. You and Lolo have always been there for us, without condition. I once read that true perfection is undetectable and invisible, because it functions so harmoniously you don't even notice it's there. Your love for me was perfect. I wish I'd told you this sooner. I hope you know that ever since I was a little girl, even trying to estimate the magnitude of how much I loved you brought me to tears. I couldn't. It was impossible, and overwhelming. I was never perfect for you, I never could show you how much. You were not perfect, either…. but I loved you Perfect. I know you loved me Perfect.

I have gone on breathing, though. Sometimes when I decide to feel guilty about something, I think it's possible because I have forgotten about you, forgotten that you are gone. Other times, when I decide to feel smart I think it's possible because I know you will always be here with me, in many forms because I've learned that everything changes with time, but nothing disappears. That life and death are a series of transformations and that consciousness is in a way immortal, transported into the minds of you and me through words and actions and acts of love and hate and compassion and all those other things that affect not only ourselves but everyone we touch. We are alive and contagious in our activity, I like to think that as our molecules take other forms (because they never cease to exist… except for maybe/maybe-not if you were sucked into a black hole….) they continue to be active… and forever. Did you know you would be Forever, Lola? Sometimes I KNOW you are Forever, when I'm feeling smart.

I could never forget you. You are part of me… your blood runs through my veins. Your life gave birth to my mother, who gave birth to me. The lessons you taught us will resonate in the decisions I make every day of the rest of my life, along with the mistakes you've made- and both of those things have given me both wisdom, and humility. You make me brave, still. When I forget my own self-worth, all I have to do is take a look at Perfect Me through your eyes, which were a gift from you, through my mother.

Thank you, Lola. I hope you know how much you meant to everyone you touched. You probably didn't, did you? I remember two Christmases ago listening to you argue with Lolo in the living room, saying you wanted to die. I remembered that just now. Like me, you were dramatic, you did everything with passion.

This last December I waited at the front door as our family helped you from the van and into the house… it took so long, and you were so tired. The first thing you said was, 'Where is Josette?' and I came to you, and you hugged me, and with strength, even though you had so little.

You said to me, 'Are you feeling better?'

You were so sick, and I was just sad. I told you yes, I was feeling better, because I was… because I realized right then, I had you. I had our family. You taught me so much, Lola… about compassion, and grace.

That night you could not stop coughing and the sound of you in pain was terrible. I cried silent tears with my head rested next to your legs, rubbing them like I would when I was 15 and I'd wake to you screaming, trying to comfort you when they would cramp up in the middle of the night. My aunt, your daughter held your head, telling you, 'You did good Mom, just try to relax..' because you felt so bad for waking her up.

On Christmas Eve, you could not breathe, and your children took you to the Emergency Room. You spent holy week in the hospital. We spent that week hoping and praying… I think, more for ourselves than for you. The last time I spoke to you, I was holding your hand, you asked me where I was, you thought I was someone else at first. When you realized it was me, you told me you loved me. I love you too, Lola. Always. Always.

On New Year's Eve I got a call- 'Settie, I think it's time… you'd better get here quick.' I ran red lights. When I got there, you were still breathing, but you were drowning… you were alive but you were in and out of sleep, and somehow I knew you would never wake up again.

I will never forget Lolo's lullaby to you… 'You're sleeeeeepy….. so sleeeeeeeeepy…….'

Do you know, that he held your tiny feet and repeated that chant to you for hours? He loved you so much, Lola. I know some part of you knew that, without question. You were alone with him when you gave your last breath. Lola, everything about you was beautiful and romantic.. and your death was just as poetic.

I wish you could have seen us together the week we waited for you in the hospital… and the week we spent saying goodbye. I just could not feel that I'd lost you, seeing how well everyone took care of each other, and how strong brother was for sister, father was for daughter, and so on. We love each other because of you, you know. Do you know what you taught me? You taught me about family, you taught all of us, and I just cannot fucking believe, I cannot even fathom how blessed….

…. I just have no words for what I saw in those two weeks. It changed something in me. It will awe me, for the rest of my life.

I don't know why I think about this as I am sitting in my cabin on this ship, far away from everything I know. Maybe because now I finally understand deep in my heart that neither distance nor death separates those who have love for each other. We can't even separate ourselves from the people we love, even if we try, because we are a part of each other, and no matter how much we try to convince ourselves that love is gone, it never will be….. love is immortal, and ever-changing. Love is always there.

I read something like this yesterday in a book, only it was about music… about space. It said, 'If there were no rest, all Music that ever played would still be playing. The thought of there being no rest was disturbing. Right then, I was really appreciating the existence of that element.'

So much that is beautiful in this life is about space, and rest. The last few years you were here you were halfway across the world from me. I wonder why I didn't call you more, but it doesn't change the fact that I missed you more than I ever told you, and feeling guilty for it doesn't change anything. I like to think that you knew, anyway. Space has a way of filtering out the noise and emphasizing the meaningful bits with its relative tranquility… with its calm. I can see how there could be no beauty without space. I can see how life could be muddled with noise, without rest.

Because I know this, the idea of the space between me and you, geographically, metaphysically or otherwise takes on an unanticipated light. Space is not for nothing. It is not a void, or just an emptiness between me and you and everything else. It is, in itself, a necessary and beautiful thing because it is an integral part of what makes its absence stand out so much. When you were with us, it was outstanding. You shone to the world, you gave it so much. Now that you are resting, you continue to give it so much in your absence.

If there were no rest, all music that ever played would still be playing. It is death that gives life it's meaning… and from the moment we laid you to rest, the very thought of you punctuates every breath we take, makes the air sweeter in our lungs, makes the rain more comforting as it splashes against windows (or portholes), makes every gesture of love more meaningful, and I am thankful for your resting.

I brought one photograph with me on this trip… of you holding 10-year-old me in your bed, as I am reading a book to you. You were probably whispering to me that I was your favorite grandchild. I have not visited your grave since your funeral, but I look at that photograph every day because it reminds me that this is who you are to me, this is who you have always been to me… and this is who you will always be to me, even when I am gone and I have passed my love on to everyone I have ever touched.

It's hard to know what to do when you lose someone in your life… do you 'let it go'? Do you 'move on'? Do you forget? These are all very different things in my mind… forgetting, is out of the question, and I don't think it's necessary to let go… that sounds lonely… and anyway, would You let Me go? I don't think so…. but the idea of 'moving on'... has a transformative, if not magical quality to it in my head.

I think 'moving on' has something to do with the realization that Love is eternal, and not in a vampire sort of way. I mean, it is like all the music that ever played, and how it would still be playing now. I think if we look for it, it's all still there, it's a joyful caucophany of Love songs made immortal by every act of compassion every individual, which might have been passed down from the very first act of Love, whatever it was… and this goes for any sort of love I think…

When friends stop being friends, and lovers stop being lovers, its a bit disconcerting to think that what was once there no longer is. Yes, in a way, it isn't… but in a way… it is… isn't it?

IT always will be.

Love transforms translates and transfers… it is exuded and absorbed…. it may be received but not reciprocated but it never, ever disappears. It never dissipates, and there is no shortage of it… I can't prove it, but something in me knows its true, and I trust that. I find comfort in that. The same kind of comfort you gave me Lola, with your Perfect love.

You were human like me, you made mistakes. You had regrets, and things you wish you'd said, and things you wish you hadn't. You were like me, and not perfect. But you loved me Perfectly, and I loved you Perfectly. It was Perfect, and WE were perfect. That Perfect part of us is all-knowing, all-seeing, immortal, and life-giving. It sounds… extraordinary, celestial, fantastic and mythical, because it is… it is all those thing, and it is REAL.

It's funny, I'm looking at this photograph of myself reading to you… as I am writing you this letter. As I reflect upon all this, and my love for you… one or two people might be reading this because I've posted it on my blog… and because I am only being honest, it's possible I have shared my love for you with them… it's possible they are experiencing Our love in some way. Do you see what I mean, Lola? It's forever. You're forever. I love you. Forever.