Airborne End-of-February Musings

Hi all, 

Apologies for missing my assigned posting-date this year. 

This month was crazy. 

I have set-aside time to write this post over and over again in these past weeks - and somehow the time kept getting away from me. 

In a somewhat appropriate and symbolic way - I find myself flying from Israel to the US on the last day of this month - providing me with a very defined close to February and start of March. 

And perhaps because I am stuck up here above the clouds, having gotten my sleep, work-related shit, and “Independence Day” & “Hangover” screenings out of the way - I really have no excuse not to write this post as our plane slowly makes it descent over the Eastern Seaboard (literally hovering over Providence as I write this…)

A sentiment I shared this year on the annual weekend hike to Ein Harod in Avi’s memory: 

There is something about these February processes that over time has morphed into ritual. The Pesach Seder is what first comes to mind. Somehow we all know that at this given time, we come together to mark a series of past events together. There is a general outline to the structure of our engagement, but the script changes every time. Each year this moment catches us in a different place - where was I at this point last year? How am I doing? Where am I heading?  Lastly - similar to the Pesach Seder, there are familiar, familial faces that have been doing this together for as long as I can remember, and others who have more recently entered my web, and even some that I am meeting for the first time…But we all share this time period, this web, and this ritual.  

Spending time with both Yoav and Einat on Avi and Naomi’s respective Gregorian-Yahrzeit’s in these past weeks had a two-pronged effect on me: 

On one hand, being together through the mundanities of our every-day realities, and seeing how time passes, how the pursuit of meaning and direction become increasingly elusive - this month in a certain regard felt uniquely humbling and almost eerily “regular”. 

On the other hand - there is something about the 7-years that have passed since that fateful February in 2010 - that has had the effect of passing through a cloud of some sort - after years of muddled interaction with loss and the way our lives have changed — I feel a strange sense of clarity this year - I somehow feel the Mary Oliver-esque calling piercing through the years, “What is it you will do with your one wild and crazy life?” 

A few words of acknowledgement: 

• Gene, I want to reach out through the ether of this blog and send you a virtual hug. I have been thinking about you non-stop in these past two months, sending you love. I am sorry to “welcome” you to this online club - but also want you to know that we are here and will continue to be here. 
• Yoav - thank you for being such a wonderful friend. For diving deeper and deeper into the meaning of Avi’s death, and your relation to this month with every passing year. And thank you for sharing these processes so honestly with me/us. 
• Einat - my love. You have no idea what an anchor you are for this crazy virtual community. What a few months/years you have had. Just to reiterate the obvious, your wedding was one of the most magical beautiful days/weekends EVER - thank you for sharing that experience (and Dudi!) with us. AND - Good Luck tomorrow on the big test that you have been studying so insanely for all this time - you will kick it’s ass! 
• Ruthie - Thank You for continuing to make this happen, year after year. You could, like any of us, gotten busy or distracted this February and dropped the ball. But you have so simply, smoothly, and gracefully coordinated this year’s February musings just like in years past. It is NOT an obvious thing to keep afloat so consistently - we appreciate you for it enormously. 
• Extended Feb-Blog Gang: To those that I am in touch with, to those that I love dearly but have not spoken to in too long, to those I have fallen out of touch with, and to those who I have never met - this thing would not work up if we did not all show up year after year at this strange February Seder. Thank you for sharing of yourselves and for being open to what I have to share. 

Wishing everyone a HUGE Purim, 

Jonah

Chevreh,

I did it again!  I missed the 24th, but since Tali and Allie posted, I thought, "Oh wait, maybe it wasn't my day," and...whatever, the story is dumb and boring and here I am.

I leave you with this exceptional interview with Academy-Award winning documentarian Ezra Edelman, discussing his winning film, O.J.: Made In America.  It's one of the most searing, powerful, devastating portrayals of race in America, and how the background of systemic injustice impacted the lives of many individual people in a very directed way.  But it's about a lot more than that.  It's about wealth, fame, power, love, obsession, distrust, arrogance.  It's about being human in a very terrible world.  If you saw Ezra Edelman accept his Oscar last night, you heard him dedicate it to the memory of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, and then extend that dedication to the victims of police violence and brutality, and those who suffer the racism of our criminal justice system.  To understand why both dedications are so desperately important, I'd carve out 10 hours of your life and watch this thing.

But maybe wait until March?

For a jauntier and more light-hearted take-down of racism and injustice, check out this guy's flying leap.

And for the movement in our own hearts toward greater justice in our lives at its most local and intimate, I leave you with one of my favorite Khalil Gibran poems, "On Freedom," from his masterpiece, The Prophet.

On Freedom

At the city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom,
Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him though he slays them.
Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff.
And my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfilment.

You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief,
But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.

And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour?
In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle your eyes.

And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free?
If it is an unjust law you would abolish, that law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead.
You cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the foreheads of your judges, though you pour the sea upon them.
And if it is a despot you would dethrone, see first that his throne erected within you is destroyed.
For how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their own pride?
And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you.
And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.

Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape.
These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling.
And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light.
And thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom.

Selah,
Jana

Feb 25, 2016, Something For

Most Dear Ones,

For the first time in 5 years, I missed my first post!  Well, for the first time in five years, I missed any posts.

I'm so sorry.

Last week, I was out of range at this intense and worth it weekend retreat called "Disentangling Patriarchy." You know, nbd. We had it all straightened out by Monday.

What I'm going to share today is a spoken word piece I wrote soon after the election. It's still unpublished, and you, dear readers, are its first loving audience. Just as it was meant to be.

Onward to light.

With great love,
Allie

The Entangle 
or
Hineinu

Dearly Beloved,

We are gathered here today,

together, staring

with catlike interest

over the precipice of a fever

dream alarm bells sounding

off in symphony

not knowing what to say.

Me neither. Maybe I’ll just stand

here

for the next four years

and read you Leonard Cohen lyrics

off my phone.

Here, hear—

Here

is all the darkness.

Here   

are all the cracks.

Hear us, concussed and singing

Hallelujah

for the numen of the pitch

Hallelujah

for the cutting storm

Hallelujah

for the gold spidering the veins

as if this place were one big piece of pottery from Japan

terrible and old and more beautiful

for having broken.

In the graveyard,

Spirit surveys the freshly turned

earth heaped

over that now-

dead, bluish

thing. It says:

“Choose life.”

The Live Oaks and the Bays,

respiring, murmur to themselves

(because we aren’t listening),

“Every end is a beginning. If they choose it.”

And, facing the repairs,

a composer of disjointed symphony advises,

“Begin

anywhere.”

Pearl to pearly pearl, inkling to inky hunch—

this is how we monkeybar

our way into the future opaque

as Deep Space, darkness

thick like no way back, onward into

the mysterious black stupidity of it all.

Just bake that brick,

lay that brick,

and step.

Resourceful, resilient—freakishly

so, we coax feasts

from a stack of stale

saltines, a nub of desiccated

cheese, a bitten into chocolate

bar, and a browning apple

half. Save the seeds. We slug

our bodies up, early

in the multi-dimensional darkness

just to sit them down again with a steaming

cup, just to puzzle through

the bad chemistry of an equation

that won’t balance, that indicates even if

you’ve earned it, deserve it,

even if you’re less than half as

threatening and more

than twice as good, if

they see you playing

with it, they

will take it from you.

Grief sex,

soft bunnies, and dirty

Martinis invite mourning

to be itself—that weirdly

wild and swinging

thing.

Merge bodies. Jump-

start the raw electric of human

connection. Rest there, in the free

flow of energy between two circuits.

We find solace in the flux.

In the solace we find flux.

Work & friendship & activism & art, you know?

The Redemptive Frisson: an accented,

gray-haired stranger

in the checkout line.

The Offering: one exquisite, salt-slathered,

oil-lacquered potato chip.

The Irrefutable Fact: we live in a 24-hour

world. Somewhere there

is always someone dancing.

When the shit comes

down in the here and now, it

all the sudden comes real clear.

All that matters is every real,

heart pulp-pumping intimacy

we’ve ever had. Far above

the tree line, there at the bald-stopped

peak of Freytag’s Pyramid, slights

vanish, disappointments vaporize,

grudges rapturously combust, leaving

garments crumpled empty in the streets, and if

the choice comes down to isolation

or entanglement

—and it does—

we choose the Entangle every time.

Even when it’s idiocy, even when

it’s inefficient, even when

it’s so clearly

opposite of wise.

I love that.

Hineinu, hineinu, here

we are, in the lightening

field’s fulcrum,

here together, struck and turning

hot coals over in our mouths.

Manic > Magic

Grief > Relief

Hate > Create

            Liberate

            Educate

            Elevate

If I get real quiet, I can hear

Deep Reality singing.

I can almost taste her

voice silken

and bittersweet.

The darkness

The darkness

The darkness

is never just

     one thing.

[February 23, 2017] (belated)

Shabbat Shalom!

It's an unusually gorgeous night here in Philly but I'm stuck inside, about to have my last sip of chicken soup and down some NyQuil before I get in bed to try to fight off a silly cold. But my FOMO aside, I'm feeling deeply overwhelmed and horrified by the news of today and this week...so I'm trying to redirect my thoughts to some positive things so I can actually fall asleep: 

This commercial: pro bowl kiss cam

This other commercial: flightless birds

This doggie: click here

Suddenly feeling really nostalgic for our blog as I look at the date on my computer and realize we're nearing the end of the month. Thank you all for sharing your love this February -- I felt it. Really looking forward to what we'll share this time next year.

Sending each of you a giant hug. 

Love,

Tali

February 22, 2017

It's 8pm and I'm still at work at the hospital where I'm a resident in Washington, D.C. I'm in between consults and seeing patients, my to-do list is running long, and knowing that I'm carrying you each with me - with all the associations we have during this month that unite us - my heart feels no loneliness. Tonight as my contribution to our Project (thank you Ruthie!) is the song running through my head, keeping me company as I flow through the day (now the night). It is the poetry that I share with you, the calm flow that I bring you, to take you from tonight into tomorrow...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6pUyxcKrRQ

Love,
Sarah

February 20, 2017

Dear friends -

It is an honor to be included on this journey through February with you all, many of whom I know, and some I don’t. As I read through last week’s posts, I was repeatedly struck by the subtle poignancy of the words you’ve written and shared. Recently, I’ve been sensitive to words, images, and ideas in a way I never have before, so these posts have the ability to cut straight to my core emotions easily.

As some of you know, my partner Nico died 48 days ago. We’d been together for 21 months, were deeply in love, and were excitedly planning a beautiful future together. His death was totally unexpected and very traumatic. Processing this trauma and loss has been the greatest challenge of my life.

I’ve also been surrounded by the most incredible network of support I could imagine. I’ve been held in ways I never knew were possible, and I’m deeply grateful for that. I’m not sure I would have survived the last seven weeks without the gifts and presence of so many beautiful, wise people.

As someone who has always been a planner, I’ve been doing my best to let go of my impulse to plan, and embrace the reality that I have very little control over where this journey of grief and trauma will take me. Nico was a pro at going with the flow, so I’ve been doing my best to follow in his footsteps and trust my heart and my gut. It’s been going remarkably well - my willingness to change directions on a dime and accept help in unexpected places and ways has led me to healers and stories that have been instrumental to my healing process.

One of these places was the apartment of two of Nico’s closest friends in LA, a recently married gay couple, who I was just getting to know in the months before he died. While staying with them during a trip to see Nico’s family in LA a couple weeks ago, our conversation took a turn for the profound, and I learned for the first time about the philosophies and values that guide their lives. One of them has a Buddhist meditation practice, and he shared a “Buddhism Day By Day” book that strongly resonated with me, and I ended up purchasing for myself. The entry for today focuses on the power of self-growth and hope in the face of obstacles, which feels appropriate for the current moment, as I, along with so many others, am seeking ways to become a stronger person in the face of some truly shitty recent events. Here it is:

All my love to you all,

Gene

Clyde Stubblefield, 1943-2017

"We lost another Pillar Stone that held up the Foundation of Funk. Mr.Clyde Stubblefield has left our frequency. I am lost for words & Rythme right now. Dang Clyde! U taught me so much as I stood their watchin' over u & Jabo while keepin' one eye on the Godfather. We all loved U so much. (SENDOUT YR LOVE TO HIS FAMILY & FRIENDS)! Then share yr stories about this Fire breathin' Drummer, (THE FUNKY DRUMMER)! R.I.P. From all yr Funkateers..." ---Bootsy Collins

an act of chesed to lift us all up.

stay loose
benj

Bonus Post

There were three things that got me through this week:

1. Seeing the 20th anniversary tour of Rent

2. Going to a Rent-themed SoulCycle class

3. This video that Einat sent me:

I kind of thought I was "over" Rent. It's, like, kind of passe now, right? But I think it's fair to say that Rent changed my life, as it inspired a deep empathy and curiosity for HIV/AIDS, which placed me on a long trajectory towards a career in healthcare. And Rent changed art, too. It was super avant-garde in the 90s to have a multicultural cast that featured characters who were junkies, drag queens, and lesbians. We're still paying homage now to those bold choices (read: Hamilton), and it's still -- oddly enough -- considered avant-garde.

I guess what I'm particularly struck by, as I reenter an obsessive Rent period, is how important art becomes in the fight for what we believe is right. I think often of "Untitled" (billboard of an empty bed) and its strange magic that made people really *see* what was already in front of their eyes. 

I'm super tempted to close with a lyric, but I'll save it for Adam and Lin-Manuel.

Happy Sunday <3

NB: Posting on behalf of Ariel, whose work firewall has a vendetta against our humble blog. #resist 

First: 14 animals that are feminist AF.

Second, a poem that resonates with pregnant me SO MUCH, with thanks to Einat for inspiring my dive into nayyirah waheed:

and i said to my body. softly. 'i want

to be your friend.' it took a 

long breath. and replied 'i have

been waiting my whole life for

this.' 

-nayyirah waheed 

A Poem for Someone Who is Juggling Her Life

This is a poem for someone
who is juggling her life.
Be still sometimes.
Be still sometimes.

It needs repeating
over and over
to catch her attention
over and over,
as someone who is juggling her life
finds it difficult to hear.

Be still sometimes.
Be still sometimes.
Let it all fall sometimes.

Rose Cook, from Notes From a Bright Field (Cultured Llama, 2013)

February 14, 2017

“I love you, gentlest of Ways, who ripened us as we wrestled with you.”

                                                                        -From Rilke’s “Love Poems to God”

It was all so simple.