The things you learn, over tea, and wine, and whiskey. Over airport layovers, and lazy Sundays.
Over time. Overlapping. Overwrought.

I’m so here, to hear you.

I’m so wide-eyed, at your wonder.

I never knew. Till you unfurled, all sidesteps and sighs.

I never saw. Till we strolled, and you shone.

I never noticed. Till you sent that midnight smoke signal.

And now? I want to know. And know. And know.

Never stop letting me know.

I never knew…

That you were an idiot savant microsurgery tech, who taught intricate heart repair techniques to the chief of surgery — as an undergrad. And you weren’t even pre-med. You stone cold science fox.

That you talk to strangers, everywhere you go. Especially in retail shops. And you never mention the weather. Ever.

That you survived unspeakable abuse, and cultivated forgiveness. For everything, and everyone. Even your illness. Even God.

That secretly, you just want to sell cheese.

That you love Stanky Legg, and you ain’t afraid to say it.

That you were there, when they founded that skeevy club that we secretly love. And you were a regular. (Ha.)

That you used to roll with Oingo Boingo, and wear purple polyester suits, and date Italian models. You go, dad.

That when your lungs burst, it felt like an elephant pressing your chest, but you still found the strength to tell me to get dressed. And then hold yourself still, while the ambulance came up the long canyon road to staple you shut.

That when you’re tipsy, that Oklahoma twang comes a brawlin’ and drawlin’. Dahlin’.

That you think John Leguizamo is fabulous, too.

That you rode the party bus to Phoenix. And lived to tell the tale.

That you’re going to own an apple orchard someday. And that’s final.

That you’re happiest when you’re singing sad songs, to a crowd of none.

That you can be deaf — and a DJ.

That while I was dressing like a boy, you wanted to be one.

That you don’t need much space to live in, but you need to whole planet to be free in.

That you had your heart broken so many times, you made a career out of it.

That the day before my third flying lesson, you were lighting things on fire — at Burning Man.

That while I was entrenched in teenage angst, you were spiraling into someone I could adore.

I never knew

Till I got lucky

Enough to know you

Or at least the pieces

You wanted me to hold

While you put the rest

Together.
 

 

The man and his wife heard the sound of God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from God among the trees of the garden.

But God called to the man, “Where are you?”

He answered, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.”

And the Lord God said, “Who told you that you were naked?”

–The Holy Bible | Genesis

Haven’t I told you
Don’t run away from me
You’ll find me like a fountainhead
Wherever you go in this mirage

Even if you leave me
With anger for a hundred thousand years
You’ll finally return
Since i’m your final home

Haven’t I told you
Don’t be fooled with
The spangles in life
I’m your final fulfillment

–Rumi, “Haven’t I Told You” | The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world [...] And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

–Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of “A Course in Miracles”

Who told you that you were inadequate?

That your desires were sickening?
That your ambitions were trite?
That your needs were un-meetable?
That love only comes when you do something right?

Who told you that your eyelids weren’t worthy of framing your vision?
To pour bleach in the bathtub to lighten your skin?
That your legs were monstrous, instead of miracles in motion?
That the gap between your teeth warranted anything but awe?

Who tore up your trust?
Who extinguished your faith?
Who duped you into thinking that you are not stardust?

Who filled your head with this crushing cacophony?
Who led you away from your center, your light?
Who groomed you for fear, and silence, and shame?
 

Who’s stopping you, now?

This is your game.

How to throw a rave inside your brain . . .

 
:: Talk to a geek, compulsive collector, specialist or master crafter. Ask them why they love what they love, and how they learned what they learned. (Brace yourself for the torrent of enthusiasm.)

:: See. Art. Every. Day.

:: Stick to your guns. But fill ‘em with those “Bang!” flags, not bullets.

:: Order the drink in the keepsake glass, shaped like a carved Tiki head. With extra pineapple.

:: Open your eyes when you’re kissing.

:: Buy an inversion table, or fitness ball, or prostrate yourself over the edge of a bed. Spend a few minutes, each day, upside down.

:: Play with power.

:: Send your best friend some cash, through PayPal. And ask them to mail you a small present, every day, for a week. Reciprocate.

:: Sprinkle edible glitter on vanilla ice cream. Put on Depeche Mode. Lie outside on a faux fur blanket, at midnight. Forget everything.

:: Stop pushing. Forced output reeks of neediness. Radiate & receive.

:: Keep a box of glo-sticks in your kitchen cupboard and a bottle of sparkling wine in your fridge, at all times. Just in case.

:: Adorn yourself with sacred geometric symbols. Hearts, stars, Necker cubes, polygons, mandalas, Venn diagrams, equilateral triangles. Symmetry is stunning.

:: Call an ex-lover to apologize — but not to seek forgiveness (there’s a difference.)

:: Enter a sweepstakes contest. Cross your toes.

:: Create a series of email filters that immediately archives every e-newsletter you receive. Keep it on for a month, or more. See if you missed much.

:: Be easily amused. (You’ll be more amusing.)

:: Hold your life with the highest degree of respect. Don’t be careless with your body, or mind. Or anyone else’s.

:: Dress the part.

:: Throw your own damn party.

:: Ask your 10 closest humans to record a short mp3 for you, telling you why you’re extraordinary, beautiful, brilliant & worthy. Burn a CD. Listen to it every day, for a week. Think of it as an aural vitamin supplement, for your soul.

:: Develop a signature sign-off. Like :: before your initials. Or xo! before your name. Or a quote that encapsulates you, perfectly.

:: Install Rapportive for your inbox. See who you’re talking to.

:: Ladies . . . go to a hardcore industrial-electro show, full of shirtless, raging, dredlocked men. Mosh.

:: Gentlemen . . . go to a gay bar, full of sparkly, shimmery, bedazzling drag queens. Dance.

:: Children . . . interview a veteran. (Of anything.)

:: Everyone . . . REFUSE to engage in small talk. Change the subject. Or remain impetuously silent.

:: If you’re a writer, go to a comedy show. If you’re a comic, go to the library. If you’re a painter, go get your nails done. If you’re a nail technician, go to a gallery.

:: Lock eyes, not iPhones.

:: Dress in monochromatic colors. All yellow on Tuesday. All silver on Wednesday. Thursdays are hot pink. Friday is black.

:: Buy something bewildering. Like a jar of Mastic Gum Preserve.

:: Remember that people want to help you.

:: Remove all electronics from your bedroom. Blinky lights and Electro Magnetic Fields (EMF) can interfere with your REM cycles.

:: March in a gay pride parade, regardless of your orientation. Pageantry is good for the complexion.

:: Try not to kill spiders. Remember Charlotte’s Web.

:: Create a future resume. Send it to your future self.

:: Resist the urge to monetize everything.

:: Give away every article of clothing that makes you feel less than spectacular, even if it means you’re left with one great pair of jeans, a collection of Slayer t-shirts, and some fingerless gloves. Re-curate your wardrobe, slowly & thoughtfully, from a place of space.

:: Read your horoscope like it’s your job.

:: Get witnessed.

:: Go to church, just for the ambience.

:: When someone you trust tells you to double your rates – believe them.

:: Tell the truth tell the truth tell the truth tell the truth tell the truth.

:: Try to transcend transactional behavior. It’s probably impossible & wholly unrealistic. But strive.

:: Keep your mind in the gutter (it’s fun down there.)

:: Spend an extra $1.75 to buy the brand of jam that you really like. The one that’s not on special. With the big chunks of strawberries.

:: Be a mentor. Immediately.

:: Make today your never.