It's A Dog's Life

Just a quick observation. Have you noticed the deep truth that pets take on the look and mannerisms of their owners? I mean, it’s really true!

Took Fugee for a couple of walks yesterday. On his first, he was bitten, twice! The first one, Fugee hadn’t even acknowledged the other dog, a large pit mix, who lunged and bit the scruff of his neck.

When I said, very calmly, to the other owner, “Hey., if your dog’s aggressive, you should probably keep him on a shorter lead.”

The response from the musclehead with a Napolean complex was an astute, well reasoned, “Fuck you.”

I had to just kind of furrow the brow, shake the head and say, “Nice to see you transferred your anger and hatred of life into your dog. You must be proud. Have a great day, buddy.”

I’m far from anti-Pit; I love Pit bulls. I really don’t think they are an inherently mean breed. Maybe they are just owned by inherently mean people, a little heavy on the machismo, a little quick to hit, a little too aggressive.

Look at child abuse, spousal abuse. It’s largely handed down as a legacy from the older generation. History repeats. I wonder how these dogs would thrive in a loving environment.

I wonder.

Back to bite two. Again, Fugee was walking and sniffing and wiggling his tail stub, just happy to be out in the sun, with his human taking in the sights and eating any sidewalk food he found.

A dog yelped and wiggled like crazy when she saw Fugee, doing the little front-paw two-step, as excited animals do. Fu wagged and went up for a sniff.

Jeckyll, meet Hyde.

The cute-as-pie dachshund became in an instant a rabid Tasmanian devil, all snarls and Mel Blanc grumbling. She bit Fugee on his huge, floppy lip.

He stepped back and looked at her as if to say, “Huh?”.

Her owner rushed over from her perch drinking coffee across the sidewalk, scooped up her dog and said, “Sorry. It’s a leash thing.”

I get that. Dogs can feel threatened on a leash without their owner. Imagine having your foot nailed to the floor in a pick up bar. No escape. You bite.

I might note, the woman was not particularly tube shaped or shiny.

But really. We’ve all seen the Marine with a bulldog, the runner with the greyhound, the affable jock with the Lab.

I mean, look at Fugee. Clumsy, sorta cute, likes to run, and is ultimately kind of likeable. I might add he has a hernia and love handles like me, too.

Coincidence?

I think not.

You Are At Lunch Today. The Phone Rings.

Here's a puzzler. It's not meant to be macabre, it's meant to make you think.

Say it's noon and you are enjoying a sandwich. You get a call. You will be dead in 4 hours.

How would you spend your time?

Heavy!

I'd call my family & friends and tell them how thankful I am for them. I tell them how much I love them and appreciate their love for me.

After that, I grab my pooch, and take him for his favorite walk at Fort Funston. We'd stay for the sunset.

Perfect.

Here's this notion. None of us knows when our hour will come. Those of us with health issues, fortunate enough to have to face our own mortality, have had a longer chance to puzzle it over than our friends in their temporary bubbles of immortality.

None of us may be here tomorrow.

Are you proud of this moment? Do those you love know it? Have you let go of regret?

Learn the power of a purposeful present. Be here now.

"If I knew that today would be the last time I’d see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I’d embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I’d take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I’d tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already."

~Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Fear Less = Fearless.

India Travel Journal, 2000.

hurtling through space & time, I have stared death in its ugly maw...

In reference to my previous observation about travel in India, let me just say, without appearing vainglorious, that you are lucky that there is still a Craig to be typing this.

Why, you may ask?

Let's just say that Magic Mountain holds no thrill for me now. After hurtling through the dark at 95 miles per hour sitting in a straight back chair situated behind a plate glass window-that is the essence of Indian night bus travel.

Standard modus operandi for driver-
*pass on every blind curve
*drive motorcycles off the road
*hit and kill at least one dog
*be an intriguing blend of mild retardation, amphetamines and rage
*spend most of your time with your head out the window, drooling the narcotizing betel juice on the side of the bus
*blow the horn once for each heart beat
*feel free to doze at the wheel, but if you should get too sleepy, do something terrifying so that the adrenaline gives you a nice, heady lift.

Needless to say, I won't be taking another night bus. I'd rather walk. The entire trip was like that instant where you fall asleep and have a full body muscular contraction, like you are falling inward.

I woke up several times with headlights directly in my eyes, not to the right where they should have been. Actually, sleep didn't happen on this particular journey. It was a good lesson in handling fear, though. When there isn't much you can do in an uncertain situation, just sit back and watch-it's better than ulcerating for 9 hours.

So friends, night dive with the sharks, bungee jump from a bridge, just don't do anything rash like night buses in India.

Craig

Yin/Yang.

"You must absorb the light and shadow of each day you live."
~Carolyn Myss

The Shadow Knows.. hahahahahahahahahahaah!

"Unfortunately there can be no doubt that man is, on the whole, less good than he imagines himself or wants to be. Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. If an inferiority is conscious, one always has a chance to correct it. Furthermore, it is constantly in contact with other interests, so that it is continually subjected to modifications. But if it is repressed and isolated from consciousness, it never gets corrected."
~Carl Jung, "Psychology and Religion" (1938).

Shadow & Light. Balance.

"The shadow is the greatest teacher for how to come to the light." ~Ram Dass
************************************
From Ralph Waldo Emerson:
Journal, Dec. 21, 1823.
“I come with mended eyes to my ancient friend & consoler. Has the interval of silence made the writer wiser? Does his mind teem with well weighed judgments? the moral & intellectual universe has not halted because the eye of the observer was closed... Since I wrote before, I know something more of the grounds of hope & fear for what is to come. But if my knowledge is greater so is my courage. I know that I know next to nothing but I know too that the amount of probablities is vast, both in mind & in morals. It is not certain that God exists but that he does not is a most bewildering & improbable chimera.”
*******************************
Herpe Birthday to Me.

It’s been a good day, a welcome final act to a challenging year. As I sit here typing, it’s as if an ant wearing feather slippers is ice skating across my upper lip. Yes, Hermes, God of Communication has become Herpes. God of Loovvvvvvvvve (think Barry White.)

Sexy. Sultry. Itchy.

“I’ve Come To Wish You An Unhappy Birthday…:

Birthdays have been sort of off for me since my parents died. My mom was great about making you feel like you were the center of the world, like it was her birthday. Actually, come to think of it, she and my dad deserved gifts. Hell, all I did was be born. Now THEY had to go through something on May 25th, 1962. Giftie gifts all around!

I do miss being sung awake, and the deeeee-licious lemon bundt pudding cake she’d make for her puddin’ headed son. My only gift to her back in 1962 was to decide on Mother’s Day that I wanted out eight weeks early. A near-miscarriage put her in the hospital for two weeks until I decided on a birth befitting Caesar. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!


Back to today. Went on my fourth “training” ride for AIDS/LifeCycle. A quick 25 miles of bridge, headlands, & panhandle. It was a drop dead gorgeous day, a phrase that takes on new meaning when cycling across the Golden Gate Bridge. Drop? The obvious, but it is much better since they put the fence up. Before it was a very real concern that one could tumble into traffic. Dead and gorgeous sort mean the same in any context.

There is something so exhilarating, sometimes terrifying, about weekday cycling over the bridge. On weekends, they have the good sense to segregate the cyclists and pedestrians to different sides of the bridge. But weekdays, no such smarts.

It is an intoxicating blend of non-English speaking pedestrians and cyclists, awestruck tourists, mouths agape staggering around snapping photos as if in a safety bubble, people who’ve never been on bikes, but get coerced with a “Hey Martha, let’s rent bikes at Fisherman’s Wharf and ride over to Sausalito...” or some such, aggro cyclists pissed off about the pedestrians and cyclists, bridge workers in go carts whizzing right at you. Add in 50 mile an hour winds, winds strong enough to turn the bay to whitecaps and to make sailboats appear almost horizontal, it’s an adrenaline fueled fandango!

“On your left!” Behind you , on you left, right behind you, please move…”

Family of eight from Bangalore turns, blinks and walks right at you, intent on getting this incarnation DONE.

Yes. Thrilling.

Back to the ride.

I think I’ll do okay on ALC. The Headlands were great- astonishing views, California poppies, red winged blackbirds, a great long climb, the bike seemed to behave except for not letting me use my three “granniest” gears. A screeching descent- got up to 40 MPH on twisty roads, and then one of my favorite parts, the Headlands tunnel.

“Don’t go in to the light, Carol Ann…”

You don’t realize how far you climb doing the Headlands until you do the screeching descent, and then descend the entire time you’re in the tunnel. And at the end you’re STILL at the top of the infamous Sausalito climb.

There was something very apropos, almost like rebirthing, this trip through the tunnel. Leaving behind the hard work, the stress, the former existence—to emerge into the light on the other side stronger, ready to face the rest of one’s life.

“Now here you go again, you see your crystal visions…”

Being 43 was not an easy year for me. Unemployment, underemployment, depression and intensive shadow exploration had all taken a huge toll, almost extinguished the light that was/is special in me.

As I touched on earlier in a couple of emails, the internet hacking and a concurrent bout of intensive, nearly fatal drug abuse brought me very close to the end. My amateur detective work at proving my hacking turned me into a drugged out Hardy Boy as I became hellbent on proving that my hacking was occurring. I eventually did so, even identifying some of the people, but I chose not to pursue it. It’s their karma, and perhaps conscience will bring them around. I’m rooting for them.

But as for the drug episode, it wasn’t my fate, karma, kismet, destiny, whatevah—to croak like this. But believe me it was close. I mentioned shamanic dosages—there was a time when I felt like I had a foot on either side. I am so grateful that I am here and have passed through that forest of black roses(thank you Stevie Nicks).

I was really quite surprised that no one ever said anything to me—believe me , I welcomed it. Early on in the drug dabbling, I drew a line in the sand and said “No lying.” I maintained that, but one can not lie and not be telling the whole truth, either.

I know a few people probably thought, “Hmmm, why isn’t Craig sending those awful group Christmas Card Yearly Recap missives of late?” Believe me, NOTHING fucks with Hermes more than removing his channels of communications. When I lost all emails and phone numbers through my hacking, I felt completely isolated. But then, shamanic work is always solitary. No on can do your work for you.

While I may have been sharing my light with some dark folks, their darkness nearly extinguished mine. I wish them well. Really! Isn’t that a weird kick in the pants? I mean, I had momentary thoughts of driving over their midsections with a backhoe, but they were fleeting.

So I got through this period, grateful for surviving it, thankful for an expanded understanding of the human condition, and even broader sense of compassion.


Truth. There is no shame in truth. Even when it seems like it may be ugly, honor it, have faith in it. No one person is perfect. Thank God. That would be so creepy and Kathy Lee Gifford-like.

Year 43, thank you. Thank you for the sadness, the hope, the joy, the heartache, the madness, the loss , the dark and the light. Balance. Rebirth. Thank you for each experience in this, my grand adventure.

Happy birthday, 44.

Ralph Waldo Emerson b. May 25, 1803. wisdom eternal.

Journal, October 17, 1832

Blessed is the day when the youth discovers that Within and Above are synonyms.



"As above, so below; as below, so above." - Hermes Trismegistus

A Birthday Eve Rule Of Thumb from a Gemini Forefather.

I have always felt extreme kinship to a fellow New England spiritual seeker.
Enjoy his wisdom.
~Craig Hermes, b.May 25, 1962

Don't waste life in doubts and fears; spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour's duties will be the best preparation for the hours and ages that will follow it.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson, b.May 25, 1803

Nunsense.

"People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It never was between you and them anyway."
~Mother Theresa

With Roots Like Stone.

Aka
Shaking the Family Tree.
“It's a family affair, it's a family affair
It's a family affair, it's a family affair
One child grows up to be
Somebody that just loves to learn
And another child grows up to be
Somebody you'd just love to burn
Mom loves the both of them
You see it's in the blood”
~Sly & the Family Stone

“In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.”
~Alex Haley

Part IV – Family

I had the great good fortune of spending ten days with my family while in CT. This spanned the generations; from my nine year old nephew to my ninety-four year old grandmother.

It’s amazing to watch the circle of life, as my nephew and niece look forward to lives rich with promise, they are smart, kind, funny, thoughtful appreciative kids. It won’t be long before they are facing college at a potential cost of about a million bucks for the two if they wanted to go to say, NYU. (This year, tuition is around $37,000 and room/board about $18,500—the projected $400,000+ accounts for 7 per cent inflation.)

Yikes. I can’t imagine making that kind of money in my entire work career. And thanks to non-profits, retail, and layoffs that’s probably pretty accurate not-imagining on my part.

**Caution – DO NOT READ THIS BLOG IF YOU ARE AFRAID OF TRUTH. I, I…
oh dear God, no… I am human**

“Time makes you bolder, children get older, and I’m getting older too.”
~Stevie Nicks, Landslide

I went to my niece’s D.A.R.E. graduation while I was there. It was surprisingly moving. Heck, I almost cried hearing them sing Mariah Carey’s “Hero”. The angelic voices, the great kids, and sniff sniff, there I go. Normally just the thought of Mariah Carey and her caterwauling makes me cry, but for entirely different reasons.

It was odd, sitting in the school cafeteria listening to the police officer, kids, first selectman all talking about not smoking, drinking or doing drugs. In all likelihood being attended by parents who’ve smoked pot, snorted coke, eaten shrooms, dropped acid, or in a more civilized manner *pinky extended a la high tea at the Savoy*, developed an acceptable prescription medication or alcohol dependency. Just being truthful.

But the fickle finger of fate/truth points to me too. Having used just about every drug to the shamanic point of self-destruction, I was rooting for these kids, teetering on the edge of adulthood, a time when rebellion, curiosity, diversion, acceptance all vie for time in their lives.

I could look at these beautiful, innocent children, and already I could foresee the would-be stoners, the loners, the ones who would fight their battles in the match of life. Like some bastard cross between the ‘7 Up’ documentary series and the movie ‘10 Little Indians’, I could see a camera trained on these 50 or so kids and one by one, watching them fade from the group, fade from their resolve to remain drug & alcohol free.

So what could and should be done to protect them? Educate them. Love them. Keep communications channels open. And be there to love them when the start their rebellious, experimental adolescence. Because they will.

Hey, I was a smart, well-loved, good kid. And I, with my experiential learning bent and attempts at self-medication to feel less depressed or less socially awkward, spent periods of my life drunk, high, tripping, coked out or speeding. I was very fortunate that I survived these periods and that I didn’t become addicted. Once I felt I had learned what there was to learn, I moved on.

By and large, my chemical romance was not recreational, it was more spiritual in nature, hence my tendency to keep upping the ante til I was doing heroic dosages (Terrence McKenna’s term, not mine) pushing the limits of survivability. It was not my fate to croak in this manner, I must have had more to learn and perhaps more to teach.

I’m rooting for these kids as they discover who they are and test the waters of their own adulthoods, their authentic self-determination, their own Truths.

**
“It's the circle of life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the circle
The circle of life”

In Connecticut, I also spent time with my 94 year-old grandmother and my 87 year-old aunt. It amazes me the heartache and beauty in life. These proud, strong individuals who raised our parents and raised us through our infancies, our vulnerabilities.

As life progresses, the roles shift. With declining health, strong, independent souls must struggle with limits they didn’t have before; loss of independence, fear of being a burden or worse yet, being alone. I cannot imagine how all these thoughts must swirl through their heads.

I clearly remember during my parents’ hospice experience the role reversal, caring for them as they became more and more dependant. It was so hard to watch, but such an honor to be there. The most beautiful and difficult experience of my life.

***
So, in closing, I would say my “Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court” trip was about family in all its forms—my genetic family, my friends from High School & the Comet, my Simsbury friend family. All are family.

I have often wondered what I did to warrant such wonderful people in my life, my genetic and chosen family. Must be karma.

I am so lucky.

“The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.”
~Erma Bombeck

beyond madness, reason.

As a bee seeks nectar from all kinds of flowers,

Seek teachings everywhere.

Like a deer that finds a quiet place to graze,

Seek seclusion to digest all that you have gathered.

Like a madman, beyond all limits, go wherever you please;

And live like a lion, completely free of fear.

A Dzogchen Tantra

Time Cast a Spell On You, That You Won’t Forget Me.

aka
Connecticutinued.

Part 3 - Astrology

So here we stand, part three of my promised Connecticut quatrology (a word? What is the four- part trilogy called?). I think today we’ll take a look at the mystical, the occult, the all-things-Stevie world crystals, visions, dreams and velvet. Enter Christiana, a high school soulmate and someone I hadn’t seen in 25 years.

It’s amazing the internet’s ability to reconnect people you’d thought were relegated to the ages. It can also be disturbing when you cannot find any information on someone.

Has a dear friend come and gone? Cancer, accident, homelessness—they all come to mind. It’s very disconcerting when the information superhighway culminates in a dead end.

In regards to my Comet experience, I was forwarded an email from AIDS/LifeCycle that someone was looking for me, that they thought I might have passed.

Stephen Cadby, the Associate Director for ALC, responded, “Not only is he alive & well, he’s participating in our event this year!” I felt very much like a fly on the wall of my own funeral.
Enter Christiana, “her black robes trailing, she was a sister of the moon…”

Chris was one of my closest friends at The Master’s School, a kindred spirit in the post-hippie bag of misfits that Master’s was. We loved a lot of the same stuff—Stevie, music, arts, the metaphysical realm, getting drunk on Riunite Lambrusco and whiskey sours and white Russians—usually in the same sitting.

She was an authentic soul, a free spirit born 10 years too late. She was Haight Ashbury, Grace Slick, Janis Joplin, and a pinch of Mary Magdalene thrown in for good measure. She spoke of tantra and made sex sound fun and fluid and appropriate. Odd to meet such a one at a school that was quickly throwing itself on the wagon of Christianity hurtling toward a born again, less inclusive, more judgmental mindset.

Sitting at Betty Crocker Pie Shop as my friend’s parents stood, yes I said STOOD, held hand overhead and “Thank You, Jesus”ed for our pie, I thought, Wow. Weird. Jesus thought about which pie to provide us. Couldn’t he mabye focus on the nuclear crisis we’re facing with Russia and Three Mile Island? I can provide my own Apple Pie…”

Dear Jesus, please save me from your followers…

Well, college came and went, and I lost touch with every person I went to high school with. It wasn’t intentional, it just happened. I was in Massachusetts, Los Angeles, Hartford, & London. I could barely keep track of me, how could they?

About a year ago, I got an email from Chris asking if I was me. She’d googled me and wasn’t sure if I was the guy at Virgin, the India traveler, the Africa traveler, the AIDS ride guy, the Breast Cancer guy, the actor. Yes. All of the above. Gemini.

We chatted. We caught up via email and phone. We were the same, older, wiser, still silly and seeking. She graciously offered to do a free tarot reading for me—seems she’d become a nationally renowned reader and intuitive in the 25 year interim. Wouldn’t our alma mater be delighted, the witch doing her voodoo for the AIDS-y homo. Hey, we hadn’t lost our ability to push buttons. I loved her referring to being “newly out of the broom closet.”

When I got to Connecticut, it just so happened (I’ve had a lifetime of ‘just-so-happenings’) that Chris was going to be reading at her favorite Beltane festival, Connecticut’s largest pagan gathering. Wer have a long history with witches in New England. In fact, my great-great-great blah blah blah grandfather was Increase Mather, a name intimately familiar to a few Salem gals who did the Strange Fruit ballet back in the 1600’s.

I saw Chris doing a reading for a guy as I walked up. I didn’t want to disturb her, so I stood near a bend in the river and took in the environment. A twisted maypole, people walking around in velvet, with capes, celtic tattoos, with names like Groundsquirrel Velvetknickers and Merriwinkle Puffmuffin. Ah, the cynic rears his ugly head.

Chris’s familiar room filling bawdy laugh shook the trees and washed over me. It was great.

We hugged and sat down to do a reading. Her insistence was to do it before we caught up, so that she wouldn’t be tempted to color her reading with what she knew of me.

The reading was uncanny. I won’t bore with the details, but I will share two metaphors which were particularly apt. The first was that my life has very much been like that of Tarzan, swinging from one brilliant adventure to another, always letting go of the vine before I’m really sure whether or not another vine will appear. I am a swinger.

The second was that my words had the ability to provide a profound, insightful experience for those who encountered them, that they could provide epiphanies of sorts.

I had to laugh, as I was telling Chris that many times I thought I was presented situations and people, and I would see very clearly the course of action they should take. Were these people being presented to me so that in relating to them, I hear these same words myself?

I said I felt like someone looking through a window at a great party, wanting to know what all the hubbub was about, but not being invited. I would love to have found that ecstatic experience in Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, paganism, chemical exploration, but I saw the truth in all of them. I also the unique way each culture had for fucking up the pure message and trying to make a buck.

“Always the vessel, and nothing to drink. Hey, I just made that up for you!” Earthshaking belly laugh. I drew a final card, the Nine of Pentacles. She told me to keep it. We finished the reading and hugged. I helped her pack up her booth and we went out to eat sushi, which makes perfect sense in rural Connecticut. Of course the California Uni is fresh!

In a follow up email, I quote Christiana:

“What a singularly unique path you have.
Although there are many named Hermes, you , yourself, are meant to really carry the name. (as evidenced by the astrology as well)

In Wicca we speak of "drawing down" the deities into ourselves. There is a process for that in Santeria, and in many other polytheistic religions as well. You may have, either intentionally or unintentionally, drawn the Hermes energy into yourself. This could be one of the reasons for your good health as well. Hermes would be a healer of the blood, specifically. Hmmmmmm......”

If you’re interested in getting a reading, I HIGHLY recommend Christiana. She’s the real deal. www.tarotbychristiana.com. Tell her Hermes sent you.

“Hey, I’m One in a Million…”

“Hey, I’m One in a Million…”

Actually, 1.2 million to be more precise. That’s the number of Americans living with AIDS/HIV today. It ain’t a cakewalk, but it’s a hell of a lot better than it was when the disease first arose in the early 80’s. Reagan and his administration didn’t even acknowledge the disease until four years and 12,000 deaths into the pandemic.

This was a hostile world for people trying to come to terms with an unthinkable disease—stigmatized, mysterious, deadly.

A world where it was acceptable for a beloved American entertainer to joke, yes, JOKE, at the unveiling of the new Statue of Liberty in 1986.

“I just heard the Statue of Liberty had AIDS. Nobody knows if she got it from the mouth of the Hudson or the Staten Island Fairy.”

1986. 24,842 dead, 42,609 cases diagnosed. Fucking hilarious, Bob Hope. How about this, Bob?

Heard the one “Your wife Dolores has uterine cancer and she’s dying.”



It ain’t funny, Bob.

Flash forward to 1996. Sitting at my desk at Virgin, I get a call to “Come right back” to the Goodman Clinic, that counselors were waiting for me.

“I can’t go—gotta book Madonna advertising.”

“We need you to come back. Now.”

Greeted by grim faced people they delight me with not only the fact that I’m HIV positive, but that I have full blown AIDS—T-cells around 80.

Well, being true to me, I cut to the chase and avoided the heady 10 year period of wondering if my infection would progress. I won the big one! In the pre-protease world, it was maybe a couple of months more, then, “Howdy, Mommy!! What’s new, Daddy??”

“Ha-cha-cha. Good night Mrs, Calabash, where ever you are…”(Wow I think I just channeled Jimmy Durante).

I remember clearly the first two people I told. One did a spit take and started laughing out of nerves (maybe Dragstrip 66 wasn’t the best venue…), the other said, “Thank God your parents are dead.” So very comforting. It did make me laugh though.

Flash forward to today. There are signs of encouragement. People are living longer. At what price? My meds average about 12,000 a year, a scary prospect as I face unemployment. Without the advocacy and client services of organizations like the San Francisco AIDS Foundation, my only option would be to tough it out medication free. No free medication.
And signs of enormous concern. In 1995, Americans regarded HIV as the nation’s top health concern. Today only 17 percent do. (Newsweek, May 15th). Ignorance is rampant—37% still think AIDS is transmissible through kissing. 2006, where are you?

So where does that leave us?

Twenty-five years later and we still need to ride bikes to raise awareness and funds for AIDS/HIV services.

This is where I ask you to help me prove the naysayers wrong. We show the world that people are still concerned, willing to donate time, energy, passion toward ending a disease that over 40 million people have.

Please forward this appeal to your friends. Consider giving up a concert, a movie, a record, a pair of jeans, a round of drinks, so that together me can make a significant impact in the pandemic.

I am the first dual city fundraiser in the history of the event. There is no north, no south, just one. All are one.

To support the HIV/AIDS services of the LA & Gay & Lesbian Center where I learned about how I had been called to lead the charge in living the HIV experience, click www.aidslifecycle.org/6684

To support the San Francisco AIDS Foundation, my former coworkers and friends leading the fight on a local, national and global level, people who integrated me into the city at a time I didn’t have health insurance, click www.aidslifecycle.org/2274

We cannot afford complacency. Many of you have already joined me in the fight. I am so honored. Thank you. We are the leaders, those of heart and integrity.

Please join me in doing all that we can in this fight. Please consider forwarding This appeal to your family and friends. Time is ticking. We will prove the naysayers wrong. We do care.

We can’t afford not to.

Peace.

Tune In Turn On Turn Up.

aka Connecticut Continued.

“Wake up, Child. Pay attention. You must wake up!
[titter] wake up! [titter]
Wake up, man!
Wake up, child! pay attention!
Come on, wake up!”
~Kate Bush, Waking the Witch


Eulogy. - Part 2

This is the second part of my kaleidoscopic trip through the Hall of Emotions I encountered in my trip home. While in Connecticut, I attended and spoke at my friend Alex’s memorial service, which was held at her former high school, Ethel Walker. Strange that it was being held in my hometown, a small New England community of about 30,000. I’d forgotten that Alex even had a Simsbury connection. I was meant to be there.

Alex’s service was a beautiful and loving tribute to the short, brilliant life Alex led, a life without compromise. Her brother Adam spoke eloquently and deeply, demonstrating his extraordinary love for his sister.

A repeated theme in Alex’s friends words and in my own thoughts, were how skillful she was about acknowledging all the “little things”, the birthdays, the gratefulness for being her friend, the acts of kindness. She was aware.

We all get caught up in lives busy to distraction, hurriedly racing along our individual paths, thinking, “Hey, I’ll be better next time. I’ll do it later.”

There is no later. Be here now. Thank you Brothers Gallagher. And thank you Alex, for the reminder to reach out and be there, to say the kind words, the words of appreciation, to acknowledge love, to not wait to say them as Eulogy.

Below follow two quotes. The first, from Ken Wilbur’s One Taste. Adam spoke these words and they deeply resonated with me. The second are my own, what I spoke about how grateful I was to know Alex.

*

“With the awakening of constant consciousness, you become something of a
divine schizophrenic, in the popular sense of “split minded,” because you
have access to both the Witness and the ego. You are actually “whole
minded,” but it sounds like it’s split, because you are aware of the
constant Witness or Spirit in you, and you are also perfectly aware of the
movie of life, the ego and all its ups and downs. So you still feel pain and
suffering and sorrow, but they can no longer convince you of their
importance – you are no longer the victim of life, but its Witness.

In fact, because you are no longer afraid of your feelings, you can engage
them with much greater intensity. The movie of life becomes more vivid and
vibrant, precisely because you are no longer grasping or avoiding it, and
thus no longer trying to dull or dilute it. You no longer turn the volume
down. You might cry harder, laugh louder, jump higher. Choiceless awareness
doesn’t mean that you cease to feel; it means you feel fully, feel deeply,
feel to infinity itself and laugh and cry and love until it hurts. Life
jumps right off the screen, and you are one with all of it, because you
don’t recoil.

If you are having a dream, and you think it’s real, it can get very scary.
Say you are dreaming that you are tightrope walking across Niagara Falls. If
you fall off, you plunge to your death. So you are walking very slowly, very
carefully. Then suppose you start lucid dreaming, and you realize that it’s
just a dream. What do you do? Become more cautious and careful? No, you
start jumping up and down on the tightrope and doing flips – precisely
because you know that it isn’t real. When you realize that it’s a dream, you
can afford to play.

The same thing happens when you realize that ordinary life is just a dream,
just a movie, just a play. You don’t become more cautious, more timid, more
reserved. You start jumping up and down doing flips, precisely because it’s
all a dream, it’s all pure Emptiness. You don’t feel less, you feel more –
because you can afford to. You are no longer afraid of dying, and therefore
you are not afraid of living. You become radical and wild, intense and
vivid, shocking and silly. You let it all come pouring through, because it’s
all your dream.

Life then assumes its true intensity, its vivid luminosity, its radical
effervescence. Pain is more painful and happiness is happier; joy is more
joyous and sorrow is even sadder. It all comes radically alive to the
mirror-mind, the mind that doesn’t grasp or avoid, but simply witnesses the
play, and therefore can afford to play, even as it watches.

What would motivate you if you saw everything as the dream of your highest
Self? What would actually move you in this playful dream world? Everything
in the dream is basically fun, at some deep level, except for this: when you
see your friends suffering because they thing the dream is real, you want to
relieve their suffering, you want them to wake up, too. Watching them suffer
is not fun. And so a deep and powerful compassion arises in the heart of the
awakened ones, and they seek, above all else, to awaken others – and thus
relieve them from the sorrow and the pity, the torment and the pain, the
terror and the anguish that comes from taking with dreadful seriousness the
passing dream of life.”

Ken Wilbur, One Taste (Boston: Shambhala, 2000), 66-67.

**

Hi Everybody.

My name is Craig Hermes and I am one of Alex’s Switzer friends from San Francisco. You’re probably wondering, “What the heck’s a Switzer?” Well, it was the name given to our pace group when training for the Honolulu Marathon in 2002. What an amazing event. It’s been said that the two most bonding experiences are theatre and war. Having been an actor, I’d say training for a marathon ranks right up there, at least with acting.

Alex was such a joy to have as a part of our group. Her wit, sarcasm, and love for our group and us were extraordinary. I remember laughing as much as panting while training for the marathon. Alex was the driving force behind making sure we forged ties that would last well beyond the event.

When I think of Alex now, it’s the earth-shaking laugh, the twinkle of her eyes, and her amazing attention to the little things—the many acts of thoughtfulness—that we could learn a great deal from.

Two of my favorite qualities of Alex’s were exemplified in a scuba dive we did in Honolulu. First, her ability to always choose the more difficult path, the one that afforded the most growth, the one most outside of her comfort zone, the one that scared her. She fearlessly took these paths and succeeded each time. Alex certainly ascribed to Helen Keller’s school of thought, “Life is a daring adventure, or it is nothing at all.”

Each of us being a little rusty in the scuba department, we signed up for a beginner’s boat dive-figuring, “Eh, probably 35 feet or so looking at coral.” We got out to the dive site and the guy was barking orders at us to hurry up and jump in because we were doing an extra deep dive to 110 feet, to dive through a shipwreck.

We hopped in the water and started to descend. About halfway down, Alex gripped my arm, VERY FIRMLY, so I stopped descending and looked at her to see if she was okay, or if she wanted to ascend and call it a day. Her eyes were wide as saucers, and she was really gripping the regulator, and breathing shallowly.

We stopped immediately, and made eye contact. I shrugged and pointed up, happy either to keep diving or to head on up. As our eyes met, they softened, her grip on my arm softened, and I saw a smile appear in her eyes and on her lips around her regulator. She released my arm and I followed her down.

Her other ability which I cherish was her ability to laugh at life’s absurdities. As we were getting ready for that dive, the divemaster brought us our two wetsuits, which were a perfect custom fit—if we were a 5’ tall, 85 pound Japanese tourist. They were the only suits they had, and we were being told, “Hurry up! Hurry UP!! The others are waiting!!” as we were scrambling to get these on.

We stopped and just started laughing to the point of crying, trying to make things fit where they obviously didn’t. Finally, Alex laughing so hard she had to sit down crying, said, “God! I feel sexy! Where’s the one for my other leg??”

It’s still makes me laugh—out loud. Thank you, Alex, for just one of so many fun, wonderful memories.

I’d like to read to you something I wrote for Alex just a few weeks ago.

for alex.
Hey folks. Just a few days ago I mentioned how I had to write a piece for my friend Alex as she was preparing for AIDS/LifeCycle last year. Seems she had to justify to her boss why she wanted to take a week of personal time to do AIDS/LifeCycle, why it was necessary. It really made me think about what the ride meant to me and made me feel as if I was accompanying Alex on her ride. I was really grateful for her request to make me stop and think about how necessary, transformative and beautiful the rides are.
Thank you, Alex, for that, and for your other numerous gifts of heart that I've experienced knowing you. I dedicate this ride to Alexandra Brucker, a two time AIDS/LifeCycle participant, a Honolulu AIDS Marathon finisher (a Switzer!), my friend.
Alex passed away last week at the age of 29. I'll miss her.
I spoke with Alex about a week ago. We talked about her life in Jackson Hole, about my upcoming ALC journey, about movies, chuckled about our lousy money situations, laughed out loud about the ugly painting of a foot she sent me(which I have right here, I KNOW she’d want you all to enjoy it…)--about how our dogs were the centers of our worlds. She was thrilled about her upcoming trip to see her friend Artie. It was a hopeful, comfortable, easy interaction.
Alex felt badly about not being in a position to donate to my ride. I've certainly been there! I told her that her support meant the world to me and was more than ample, but if she wanted to do something extra, she could buy me my favorite kind of Clif bar--that it would mean more to me than a thousand dollar donation. In her great efficiency, she was on it.
Three days later, I received a package. Inside, my favorite Clif bar and a framed photo collage of her experience riding last year. Her joy was tangible.
On the back, Alex wrote: For Craigers, love you always,xox aeb. I'm cheering for you! Yea! Go, Craig!! Have your own wonderful experience, and think of me along the way. I'll be with you."
Yes, Alex, you will. The wind at my back, as it were. (And Alex, I will need MORE than a little help, as I haven't gotten this sorry ass in the saddle very much this year....)
Thank you, Alex. I offer this ride to you, my beautiful friend with the acerbic wit, the bawdy laugh, the sad and hopeful eyes, and a heart enormously tender and loving. You've made a difference to me.
In trying to reconcile loss, in a world that can seem cold and inscrutable, I have found the words of the Dalai Lama to be of comfort: "Some people who are sweet and attractive, strong and healthy, happen to die young. They are masters in disguise teaching us about impermanence."
Again, thank you, Alex. Namaste. I honor the God in you.
Be at peace, be at peace, be at peace.
Xoxo craig

Thank you.

Four Lifetimes Ago. At Once.

aka A Week In Connecticut.

This past week in Connecticut was an exhausting exercise in families and friends; in love and loss; in reconnections and in closing chapters; in budding, confused youth remembered; in an authentic present and a self-realized adulthood; in pain and pretension, compassion, indifference, warmth and chilliness; in laughter and in tears. Life.

This will be a four part tale (Astronomy, Astrology, Eulogy, Family) as each experience represented a significant and entirely different period in my life, in how I grew to be the Me.

Part 1 - Astronomy– The Comet 1986

“Tell him your dreams, And fanatical needs, sell him your soul, sell him your soul, Sell him your soul, never look back, never look back…”

the hammering wall of synthesized sound, the hypnotic droning of Teutonic Ice princess Claudia Brucken builds during the repeated chorus of ‘Dr. Mabuse’.

Ironic that this track is on a CD made for me by my old Comet chum Mark as a memento of the Comet 20- year reunion. A perfect metaphor for the conversations we each had with our Futures back in the early ‘80s. And a context for how to appropriately remember, acknowledge and honor those conversations/memories now. Lessons learned.

I was oddly nervous about seeing these people who were my family, my co-passengers on a trip through the 80’s. A strange intensity to these people, a family of misfits; yesterday’s beautiful, questioning, confused creative youth who found a home and certain kinship in the basement of an art deco diner in Hartford, CT.

What would they be like today? Would it be enjoyable to see these folks again? Would a cocktail of laughter and tears, passion and anger and hurt and love swirl through room, planting itself near a pillar, looking disinterested—while the familiar feeling of being lonely, anxious, sexual, and unwanted burbled up like a sickening 20 year old- nausea?

To be completely fair, I have a LOT of fantastic memories of the Comet years. I have no excuse for having lost touch other than not being computer savvy at the time I left Hartford, and, for the past 15 years at least, my preferred method of communication has been electronic. I simply didn’t know how to get in touch with most of them.

But on the other side of the coin of brutal honesty, it was only seconds after being dropped off outside the Comet by my friend Susan to walk in and face all these questions and people that I remembered—that many of the reasons of why I lost touch with some of them came surging back.

People can and do outgrow their similarities. This is normal and this is honest. I’m sure there was a rose colored, thin wire-rimmed-glasses tint to these memories for many of the folks there. For many of them, though, there was also a lot of conflict, pain and turmoil during these years of forming sexualities and budding personalities.

For me, the Comet years signified the most intense, sad, questioning period of my life. The loss of two young, adored parents in four years. The euthanasia of my dog of 14 years. The exploration of bisexuality, celibacy, pansexuality, so completely confusing. Yeah, I dug sex with guys, but I fell in love with women. (Thank you Gemini…). Wanted to be with someone but wanted to be left alone.

I modeled. Acted, ran a record store. Waited tables, managed a Benetton. A health club, the Hartford, Stage Company. The birth of my Celibate Slut persona. Stuck between Los Angeles and London, college and career, youth and adult.

Who the fuck was I?

It used to take innumerable Long Island Ice Teas and Budweiser chasers to numb the agony of familial loss and feelings of helplessness that hospice can bring, to sedate the nervous child who wanted to reach out and become the passionate, sexual person he was but was well hidden behind a false mask of strength and independence. There is a woozy, post-drunken haze to many of these memories.

Well, wah wah wah, me me me—blahhhhhhhh. I’m just like Bounty paper towels—33 % more self–absorbent! Wouldn’t Rosie be proud.

Fast forward 20 years to the parking lot of Dishes, the former comet site.

As I walked in, I wondered if people would think, “Oh… he looks AIDS-y…” Or Old. Or like faded glory. It made me mad at myself for falling back into a rut of self-doubt after the years it took me to grow my self-confidence. I’d immediately fallen back into my shallow 20- year old mindset. Shame on me. Each of us are beautiful, thin, fat, ageless, old, employed or not, pretentious or saintly. We are all each of these things at times. We are humans.

As I pushed open the door, I scoured the room for familiarity. The door woman looked at me with a questioning-though-vaguely-recognizing glance and said, “Name?”

“Craig Hermes.”

Then a squeal and a loud, “Oh MY GOD!!! You cut your hair!!!” Rita, Ave still holding court. A huge hug, and I was immediately tapped by three or four others. It was really nice to chat, but I didn’t really know what to say. I wanted to talk about Africa, Asia, fundraising, living with HIV. I didn’t want to have to explain AGAIN why I was looking for a job, to a room full of people who’d been in 25-30 year careers. I was still the shy kid (no longer “MOIST & TENDER!!!” as my friend Vaginal Davis used to call me…)- just me in a wrinkled, rumpled 44- year old body.

I pressed on. My method of keeping moving has been delightfully helpful in my avoidant personality disorder.

My eyes met with my friend Jerry. Then I saw Natasha, Mark, Melanie, Eric, Tim, Jared, John Eastman, Melissa, Patti, Lynn, Marisa. New Order and the Cure and Talk Talk and the Cult played (I’m pretty sure in almost the same order as 20 years ago…) And it was good.

What did I gain? I reconnected with a few folks I would like to remain in touch with. It was also nice to see people looking happy and settled into their lives.

I also realized that there were folks that I probably didn’t share much in common with anymore and would probably not see again. We’ve all grown. Thank God.

I am thankful for the time we spent so long ago, in brocade and black, happy for the chance to say hello again, and happy to send some on their way to their own happiness and self-fulfillment.

So would I say never look back? Nope. Would never say never. Would I want to relive or recreate the past. No I wouldn’t. History shouldn’t repeat for any but Shirley Bassey & Propellorheads.

I am grateful for the past spent, the heartache and jealousies, the laughter and ludicrous, and the chance to reminisce about the wander through the woods of my growing up, the time that was my New Romance.

AIDS/LifeCycle 5 – A Familiar and Foreign Journey.

This June, I will be participating in my first fundraising since Africa. I am AIDS/LifeCycle’s first ever dual city fundraiser, raising money for the HIV & AIDS services of the LA Gay & Lesbian Center and the San Francisco AIDS Foundation. I am alive because of these two outstanding organizations. Without them you would probably have stopped receiving my incessant emails about nine years ago. Imagine that. Now imagine a world without AIDS.

You can create what you dream.

Not to worry, I will NOT be badgering you to donate, boring you with saddle sores, making you woozy with New Age claptrap. I know we all have different areas where we donate, where we volunteer, where our passions lie. Well done. Follow your passions. That said, I invite you to join me on my journey.

Now if you want those anecdotal musings, hey, just sign on to my blogs. Very 2006, huh? Perfect for the cyber-chatterbox.

Why the ride, again? Because, 25 years later and AIDS is still here. Because I want to do what I can to make the world safer for my niece and nephew. Because I just crossed over the 10 years/healthy with HIV milestone.

I am also riding for my good friend Alex, whom I ran with in the AIDS Marathon in 2002. She crewed two years ago, rode last year. She loved the alchemical experience she had on the event. Three weeks ago she sent me a care package of a Cliff bar and photos of her riding last year. Her joy was tangible. Alex passed away two weeks ago at the age of 29.

So, I ride for Alex, for Carol Ann & Christopher, for your kids, nieces, nephews, grandkids, neighbors. For friends, family and strangers. We are all connected. We Are One.

I guess I ride for me, too. Grateful for the highs, the lows, the illness, the health, the amazing whirlwind journey-through-the-looking-glass that my life has been.

Thanks for being a big part of it!

To support the SF AIDS Foundation, click www.aidslifecycle.org/2274

To support the LA Center click www.aidslifecycle.org/6684

And if you are in LA, the East Bay or SF, check out the cool promotion that Amoeba Music www.amoebamusic.com is running. A cool company with tons of heart, indeed. That is my ugly mug you see on their webpage...

My promise to you: I will email a real email to you within the next two weeks. I’m taking time (courtesy of Amoeba, thankyouverymuch!!) to train and visit CT family.

Please consider joining me in this so vital fight.

Hey, why not cut and paste the AIDS/LifeCycle appeal and forward it on to any friends or family who might want to join our efforts! Power in the Wella-Balsam world of “I tell two friends, and they tell two friends and so on, and so on…” metrics.

Be well, my friends.
Namaste.

I honor the God in You.

Love,

Craig

"do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Guru-vy Revisted

Guru-ve Is In The Heart
How Do You Say Dee-lite?
By Craig Hermes, India Travels 2000

Om shanti shanti shanti-hi

After leaving Kovalam, I went to Kollam to start my backwater trip up the coast. The backwaters are a series of interconnected canals, lagoons, lakes and rivers that line India's west coast. After a 2-hour jaunt I arrived at the ashram of Sri Mata Amrithanandamaya, hereinafter "Amma" (too much chance for misspelling), the "Saint of the Backwaters".

Over 1,000 people live on the ashram of "Mother", about 500 of them westerners. In all fairness, the ashram does some amazing work: they've built a free, state-of-the-art hospital as well as 25,000 homes for the poor; they provide widows' pensions and build schools, etc.

But, in all honesty, there's something a little creepy and Stepford Wife-y about the whole environment. Not from the Indians, mind you, but from the westerners. Ashram Westerners fall into two categories: the post-Woodstock, airy-fairy tribe, and the second, more frightening white-clad, Pious Westerners. The beatific smiles, the knowing glances, the serious-as-cancer demeanor; these people make Mother Theresa seem like a tramp.

Now, don't get me wrong; Amma is a nice big brown lady who gives good hugs. She does darshan daily, which means that everybody who shows up gets a hug from Amma. This is highly unusual in Hinduism. Normally darshan is just glimpsing a saint or a god, but she actually embraces.

As I lined up for my hug with the Divine Mother (as she is also called), I have to admit that I was a little nervous. I had been told to expect something magical, an energy, a sense of compassionate understanding. As I was wiped down with a tissue - so as not to soil the holy Mamma - I was thrown on my knees by an overworked, over-important, overzealous disciple. My turn: She grabbed me, held my head and whispered "Donut King. Donut King. Donut King." (I think that's what she was saying; it was in Malayalam, the only palindromic language.)

Did I transcend? Did I feel anything? Well, she smelled like jasmine, and I think I could hear some Keeblers Niblets swimming upstream through her ascending colon. Was she God? For me, no. Ashram culture proved to be just another niche that I don't fit into.

Who knew there were so many niches in the world? Ashrams seem like a great place, if you want to escape from the world and be loved. But can't any religion provide that love without the required renunciation of society/people/country/mankind? Amma is a mother to her disciples, but you know, she was in tough competition with my Mom, who I'm sure could have had an ashram. In fact, if I told people I was a turnip and could cure warts, I could probably find 1,000 Indians out of a billion to believe me-which in turn would bring the damaged, wealthy westerners.

To be fair, I should have stayed for Sunday night's 9pm Devi darshan, where Amma wears a colorful sari(!) and becomes the holy mother(!!). However, I was already committed, as at 9 on Sunday, I become Charles Dickens, writer of novels.

So, that's ashram life in Kerala. I am going to Sai Baba's ashram in about 5 days; he's the biggest, the best, the afro-iest guru in he world. I'll report later. So, friends, if you're feeling compelled to travel to Amma's for divine love, it's kind of a long way to go for a hug.

P.S.: The big guy was watching out for me, though. I changed 200 dollars and had the money in my locked pack. My pack was razored while on my back in a crowded bus. All they saw was my journal and left the wad of cash. Now that's a miracle. After the razoring, I must report that I am growing a little suspicious of some of my Indian friends, and the theft of two watches in as many days. Oh, well. Travel tax, I guess.

a name. a legacy. purpose.

I'd like to forward a quote from Arianna Huffington that my friend Eric sent me today. It oddly echoed a tarot reading I had yesterday.
I begin to believe there is no mistake for the name Hermes who is Mercury which is Gemini which is Hermes. Serendipity. Alchemy.

"Then there is my favorite god: Hermes. Winged messenger in perpetual
motion, as an old man, or a fixed stone, Hermes embodies both action
and serendipity, and that which never changes. He is the guide of our
voyage and the guardian-spirit of our adventure.

Whenever things seem fixed, rigid, "stuck," Hermes introduces
fluidity, motion, new beginnings. He is the primordial divine child
-- the child who, if we're lucky, we never outgrow. Hermes' world is
a magical world full of signs and significance. He was the god who
first gave me, as a child, a sense of the miraculous all around me.
His spirit is fluid, trusting, open. Introducing the element of the
unexpected into our lives is one of the means he uses to spur us out
of our complacency, to break through the inertia and confinement of
habit and convention.

Hermes clearly represents a very important key to fearlessness: the
freedom of not having to be in control all the time, of not always
being the one who has to make things happen. His dual nature also
helps us accept life's paradoxes - that the only constant is change.
Which is why he is the god of connections, bridging realms and
dissolving frontiers between earth and the Underworld, men and gods,
life and death.

You don't have to be Greek to enjoy the benefits of the Greek gods.
Nor do you have to wait until you get to the other side to experience
Hestia's essence. Bridging the gap between ourselves and that
something greater than ourselves is available to us all the time.
It's the bridge between what we know and what we dimly perceive,
between what we are and what we are not, between what we are now and
what we can become.

As we make that connection, we gain perspective on our lives. When I
studies comparative religion at Shantaniketan University outside
Calcutta (founded by Rabidianath Tagore) I learned a lot from my
study of the Shinto form of Buddhism centered on mindfulness. Through
the simple act of paying careful attention -- whether to what we eat,
how we move, or where our thoughts wander -- we become aware of the
significance our minds attach to things. And in that awareness, we
recognize how interconnected everything is. All religions have
similar practices that can free us from the fear that results from
not feeling in control. As Hermes teaches us, it is so freeing to let
go and trust."

now is the time. go jump in a lake.

"I was in a boat with Maharajji and he told me to jump in the water.

I was afraid and said, "Maharajji, I can't swim. I'll drown."

Maharajji pointed to a high bridge and said, "If the right time has not come, you could jump from that bridge and not die."

As he said that I felt great faith and jumped in, and it was only up to my waist."

~Ram Dass on Guru Neem Karoli Baba

where.

where.

god visits in different forms--a stranger, a virus, a lover, a thief.
where were you the day you mistook passion for greed, lust for love, horror as beauty?
where were you the day you turned god away?

where.

~pieces of hermes alchemist

"Careful reflection of the barnacles and lead in one's life, when buffed through sorrow, joy and experience, reveal the nacre and gold that was always there.

This is life as Alchemy." ~Hermes Alchemist

for alex.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006
11:27 AM
for alex.
Hey folks. Just a few days ago I mentioned how I had to write a piece for my friend Alex as she was preparing for AIDS/LifeCycle last year. Seems she had to justify to her boss why she wanted to take a week of personal time to do AIDS/LifeCycle, why it was necessary. I really made me think about what the ride meant to me and made me feel as if I was accompanying Alex on her ride. I was really grateful for her request to make me stop and think about how necessary, transformative and beautiful the rides are.

Thank you, Alex, for that, and for your other numerous gifts of heart that I've experienced knowing you. I dedicate this ride to Alexandra Brucker, a two time AIDS/LifeCycle participant, a Honolulu AIDS Marathon finisher (a Switzer!), my friend.

Alex passed away last week at the age of 29. I'll miss her.

I spoke with Alex about a week ago. We talked about her life in Jackson Hole, about my upcoming ALC journey, about movies, chuckled about our lousy money situations, laughed out loud about the ugly painting of a foot she sent me--about how our dogs were the centers of our worlds. She was thrilled about her upcoming trip to see her friend Artie. It was an hopeful, comfortable, easy interaction.

Alex felt badly about not being in a position to donate to my ride. I've certainly been there! I told her that her support meant the world to me and was more than ample, but if she wanted to do something extra, she could buy me my favorite kind of Clif bar--that it would mean more to me than a thousand dollar donation. In her great efficiency, she was on it.

Three days later, I received a package. Inside, my favorite Clif bar and a framed photo collage of her experience riding last year. Her joy was tangible.

On the back, Alex wrote: For Craigers, love you always,xox aeb. I'm cheering for you! Yea! Go, Craig!! Have your own wonderful experience, and think of me along the way. I'll be with you."

Yes, Alex, you will. The wind at my back, as it were. (And Alex, I will need MORE than a little help, as I haven't gotten this sorry ass in the saddle very much this year....)

Thank you, Alex. I offer this ride to you, my beautiful friend with the acerbic wit, the bawdy laugh, the sad and hopeful eyes, and a heart enormously tender and loving. You've made a difference to me.

In trying to reconcile loss, in a world which can seem cold and inscrutable, I have found the words of the Dalai Lama to be of comfort: "Some people who are sweet and attractive, strong and healthy, happen to die young. They are masters in disguise teaching us about impermanence."

Again, thank you, Alex. Namaste. I honor the God in you.

Be at peace, be at peace, be at peace.

Xoxo craig