Beauty

I requested Man On Wire from Netflix and was pleasantly surprised. I vaguely recall his twin towers stunt back in August 1974. I was finishing up a summer school course (Social Psychology) at Buffalo State College to complete my graduation from SUNY Oswego.

I had been waitressing all summer to save money for my journey to San Francisco. Nixon was about to be impeached. I was reading Ken Kesey's Electric CoolAid Acid Test. New York City was on the horizon of my thoughts, as my college room mate, Darcy, had moved there after graduation. I had been there once on a college art fieldtrip. I knew The World Trade Center had become the world's tallest buildings.

They were actually just being completed when Philippe Petit and his crew managed to make their way to the top with a crate of tools and 450 pounds of steel wire to produce the event that had been planned for six years. The new documentary about the adventure is full of fantasic film footage of the construction of the twin towers and Petit rehearsing in the fields near his home in France.

A poet and skywriter, the artistry of Phillipe Petit shows us beauty and passion that is rare today. Man On Wire is likely to win an Oscar in the Best Decumentary category. I will be rooting for them!

Our World As It Is

"There is a mysterious cycle in human events. To some generations, much is given. Of other generations, much is expected. This Generation has a rendezvous with destiny." Franklin Roosevelt – 1936


BOOMERS – YOUR CRISIS HAS ARRIVED, the title of an interesting article by James Quinn...

http://www.financialsense.com/editorials/quinn/2009/0210.html

He writes of the babyboomer generation as a Prophet/Idealist type, born during a High period in the culture. This geneneration spent its rising adult years during an Awakening. The midlife years are spent during an Unraveling. Old age will be spent during Crisis.

This analogy rings true for me. Something is certainly unraveling these days.

I remember feeling a few small earthquakes...a couple in San Francisco and one in New York City. For a moment, you notice something different...a ripple, a queasiness, unfamiliar ground...then it stops. Life goes on as usual. Other times those small moments of break into the big quake, tsunami, hurricane, flood.

More and more, I do feel that slight rumbling beneath my feet in the form of new words...drone pilot, zombie bank, war porn, riskless war, shovel-ready, lemon socialism, authoritarian capitalism, violent radicalization, terrorist prevention, man-made disaster, integral activism, globalism versus globalization.

Most of the time, I prefer to put a hopeful spin on my reality. I'm a warrior...a survivor. Practicing meditation tunes one into the subtlties, the quiet guidance pulsing through life. And there is quite a bit stirring around us.

People here in western New York hold on to the notion that we are somehow protected. We are a stable, cautious tribe who are not subject to the consequences of more reckless folks. We are fine.
We are fine...and...we live in a world of trouble.

George Orwell wrote in 1984...
If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping a human face forever.

Science Fiction.

I wonder about four things...

1) The new administration has the power to get out of Iraq and Afghanistan totally and completely, but they choose not to.

2) The new administration could nationalize the banks and put a stop to the outrageous blackmailing that has been going on, but they choose not to.

3) The new administration could address the hunger problem here in America, but they choose not to.

4) At what point does anger turn into uprising?

Motherhood, Hi-Tech Fertility, Carbon Footprint

Okay, I must write just a little about this recent newsworthy fiasco. Some would call it a blessing, an act of GOD, a woman's right. Others would call this medical malpractice, an unreasonable request, an act of greed.

Nadya’s parents are probably about my age (late 50s) and she was an only child, a trend that has gained popularity in the post-feminist years. They chose not to have a brood of children in order to give ittle Nadya an attentive good life. Now she is here to punish them for that by recruiting them into her misguided life plan.

Feminism taught me that a woman can choose when and how to best approach motherhood (or not) in a responsible manner. This story has triggered so much angst in me.

Nadya is clearly a user…using her parents and using her children to further her own postition in the world. She has dollar signs in her eyes and trouble in her heart. Star-obsessed, perhaps? When I see her face and hear her speak, I can’t help notice the striking resemblance to Angelina Jolie…perhaps with the help of a little cosmetic surgery??

The medical professionals who took the money for an unethical procedure are the real villains here. Three implants is more typical of this sort of procedure...remember, the goal is one healthy baby. Besides, aren't six lovely children way way way more than enough???

I hope the media will take a stand against greed for once and NOT provide her the opportunity to capitalize on this sad scenario. Hopefully, these babies will thrive despite a challenging life right from the start. They will be lucky to receive a few minutes of attention from their grad student mom and reluctant grandparents.

Greed times eight...this is not woman's liberation.

We never talk about over-population in America, but we should. Think about the carbon footprint....fourteen kids and three adults!!

Not Famous

I have been inspired by Wave's writing. She once wrote a paper called The Psychology of Fame. I find myself pondering a similar question. What do they have that I don't? Most people live out their lives with no remarkable encounters with anything resembling fame, fortune or notoriety, but the more one travels and lives in cities, the greater is the chance of seeing or encountering the world of well-known others.

Moving around, I have noticed that over time I have been close to, near by, or hovering in similar circles as a variety of people we would call famous or in the vicinity of fame....close encounters. I heard a personal development study that tells us that we are likely to be only as successful as the three people who surround us most frequently.

A few close encounters that occur to me now...

President Johnson waved at me when I was twelve.

Met Jerry Garcia briefly...backstage at The Berkeley Theater in 1975 in the days before heavy security always blocked the door.

Billy Baldwin (my favorite Baldwin) stood next to me at a film preview party at The Wollman Rink in Central Park.

Saw Woody Allen and Mia Farrow walking hand-in-hand down Madison Avenue during the 80s.

Helped Caroline Kennedy locate a photo file while working in the photo library at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Dated the first drummer for Sonic Youth who later became a character actor after starring in the indie film Stranger Than Paradise.

Sat on stage with the sound guy during a Wash DC Patti LaBelle concert during her crazy spiky hair days.

Shared Thanksgiving dinner with the B52s at Kate's NYC apartment.

Invited to dinner at apartment of Jay Dee Doherty, drummer of Patti Smith Band.

Went to party at loft of Jim Jarmusch in NYC.

Was interviewed for a job at Tibet House by Richard Gere.

Met David Byrne at Paul Simon show in Tribeca.

Had lunch with Annie Lennox.

My friend Kathleen was commisioned by Arnold Schwartzenager to paint Maria Schriver's portrait and was also commisioned to paint a large rose painting for the designer, Valentino.

My friend, Larry, received a grammy for writing and performing Don't Bogart That Joint, anthem from movie Easy Rider.

I feel a bit like Forest Gump. These are all interesting little moments, but it doesn't quite add up. The Emily Dickinson words come to mind.......I'm nobody, who are you? An underachiever living in Buffalo, I must ask...was this a dream?

Perhaps I have simply failed to capitalize on the multitude of opportunities that came my way?

Perhaps I am simply living out my karma?

I Want To Hold Your Hand

Paul McCartney and his band of young musicians performed I Want To Hold Your Hand at The Grammies. Forty-something years after the original...he rocks. I love that he is still out there looking fantastic and singing with all his heart. The guys who had the chance to be up there playing with him were beaming. I was squealing girl all over again. Okay, enough nostalgia.

Just The Right Medicine

My Aunt Elizabeth has had cancer for six or seven years...two incidents of breast cancer that were successfully treated. Now the disease is spread throughout her body, along with a brain tumor that doctors want to treat with daily radiation for a period of time. She is seventy-five and willing to go forward with the recommendations of the medical professionals. I want to say "No, don't do it...call Gary Null's office for a protocol."

We each have our own path to follow. A faithful listener to Gary Null's radio show, I take in his nutritional advice and practice as much as I can. The trouble is I'm not ready to go all the way....can't really afford all the supplements he would recommend. I'm not ready to give up coffee or wine. I eat some meat and some junk. I tend to be moderate, but his view is you have to go all the way to a clean diet.

Kris Carr is also an inspiration. Creator of the documentary film Crazy Sexy Cancer, she has also developed a wonderful online cancer community for women who embrace alternatives. They sell a t-shirt that says Make Juice Not War....
http://vimeo.com/3006463

I take no pharmaceuticals for cancer treatment. I tell myself, if the myeloma returns I will do the nutrional approach all the way. I know this thinking is stupid....by then it's too late. The idea is prevention. While in the grip of disease and survival was questionable, I would tell myself "If I get better, I'll eat only the best diet." Trouble is once strength and good feeling returned, I wanted the stuff I always liked. My diet was not especially bad before I got sick. I've never been an extremist, though. Living with a macrombiotic for two years twenty years ago was a challenge.

Before I got sick, my sleep cycle was messed up from working too many overnight hours in a hospital...taking in too much of the pain of other people.

Now, sleep is a top priority. Frequent hot baths are essential. I do not overwork...keep life simple. Lots of C and D3. Right now I need to add into the receipe a bit more creative output, more service, more meditation, more intimacy, more swimming. More sun would be a dream.

Somebody way back in time (Hippocrates?) said that each of us has our own unique illness that requires our own unique cure. Finding the right dose of all the important ingredients is my ongoing process... subject to change just like any other medicine.

Nostalgia

I guess nostalgia is the mark of a someone with a history to reflect upon. I think this recent river of looking back began flowing when I signed onto FaceBook and began looking up names from the past and discovered ten or twenty people with the same name, many without photos. Soon enough, though, new connections with friends from the past began to show up in my FB page....instant connection with a past that was thought to be gone.

Then I went to see the movie, Milk. Seeing my old neighborhood on the big screen prompted a lot of conversations and flashbacks to the 1970s in San Francisco. I notice this nostalgia turning up in other people's blogs. Jane shared her memories of 33 Linda Street, a building that I lived in when Harvey Milk was shot.

I arrived in SF October 1974 and moved into the flat at Dolores and 17th with four room mates. Lauren became my friend. She introduced me to the diaries of Anais Nin...took me to poetry readings. Then her best friend, Kerry, arrived in town. The next summer I met Toby and Sharon at Ruby O'Burke Pottery in Noe Valley. I introduced Toby to Lauren. When I went to live with James in Longbeach, Long Island during the winter of 1976-77, they moved into the top apartments in the Linda Street building.

James and I returned to SF the following spring and lived at Valencia and 17th for a few months until we broke up. He moved out and a few weeks later, the lower apartment #33 opened up. The lady who had lived there actually died and Toby wasted no time calling me with the landlord's phone number. When I moved out in June 1979 to head to New York, Jane moved in.

Each one of us read Jane's blog entry last week, inspiring a little cross communication about all that richness. I could keep going with all the connections. I met Mona that spring of 1977 that I returned to SF. She had moved to SF because her friend, Stanley, lived there. James and Stanley were best friends from SUNY Oswego, where I had also met them both. Mona moved to Brooklyn the year after I went to NYC....still lives in the same apartment there.

After SF and NYC, I lived in Boulder and Denver. Now I live in Buffalo. Now we have social networking and blogs. Very weird. I try to live right here in the moment , but the chapters from other times and places bleed through like layers of colored tissue paper molded together.