Shadow & Light. Balance.

"The shadow is the greatest teacher for how to come to the light." ~Ram Dass
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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.”
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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.