Day 62 Night - To Tone Down Or Not To Tone Down: That Is The Question Of Authenticity

Hamlet:
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them.

Okay, without a doubt, I am no Hamlet nor was meant to be. And there I go again, slipping away from Shakespeare, as I unconsciously quote what is perhaps the greatest poem of the 20th century in the English language, T. S. Eliot's The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock...

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

Yes, the fool indeed, and this is exactly what my mother now fears because she believes that I really must tone down this blog. After all, when I am blogging about diarrhea and the like, it's just plain disgusting and who the hell wants to read such crap, so to speak, and don't you know and realize that this is on the Internet for the whole world to see? 

Yes, I suppose that I do know that and I suppose that is the reason why I choose not to tone it down in the slightest. If you want to avoid the warts and the rest which I need not go into such detail right now, then you will have to bear with me and this account of my struggles. 

I understand, I realize, I know that at times, I can appear to be, I seem to be, I am the fool. 

But such foolishness I choose to embrace in this struggle because it is my struggle and it is my crucible to survive and to experience and to live, and I will not fail to live it authentically, as myself, and as I am.

I grow old … I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.

Yes, the fears are audible. I do not think they will sing to me so I choose to sing my own song. And this is my song and, I am truly sorry, mom, but I will not tone it down. 

It is so easy to become resigned to the reality that I am old and older than I was before and that I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Is that what destiny has in store for this boy who is no longer a boy? Is that what fate holds for this man? I do not know the answer, but I know that I shall go on. For, as Samuel Beckett once wrote, in the end, it is the end that is the worst. We must go on a little more, we must go on a long time more and I must go on a little more, I must go on a long time more...

Right now, as the rash continues to spread and so I must venture into the doctor's office again in a few hours to have blood drawn and Interferon shot into my belly and my plight examined, I am nothing more than John Lavitt doing his best to survive and figure out what comes next and remain decent in the torrid face of the storm. If I am to be always in the eye of this storm, then I choose to embrace the calm and the peace and the serenity of the dream that one day this will end and my life will be mine again.

Day 60 Afternoon — Dreaming About Itching And Heading To The Doctor

Last night, the itching in both legs below the knee was out of control and nothing would stop it. Not hot water, not cold water, not Eucerin, not Cortizone-10 with cooling relief, not baby diaper rash cream and not Aloe Vera gel. I kept switching back and forth between my brown leather couch and my bed, trying to find a comfortable spot. When I did fall asleep for a couple of hours, I actually dreamt about itching my legs. There is nothing quite as uncomfortable as waking from a dream about itching your legs to realize that your legs are still itching. It is a struggle, but I will survive.

Actually No Good To Scratch Because The Itching Does Not Stop

Since I am dehydrated, I thought the itching could be connected to my inability to keep the water in my body. But I would down an entire bottle and it would do nothing. Coconut water, Orange juice, Crystal Geyser, Iced Tea... none of these substitutes seems to do the trick. As a result, I am going in to see the doctor in about ninety minutes. I am hoping to find a prescription cream that will solve the problem.

Day 60 Morning — Surviving By Not Eating And The Hard Beauty Of Fiona Apple

On Saturday night, I had tickets to see Fiona Apple in concert at Largo in Los Angeles. Fiona almost never plays actual shows, although that trend of hard isolation seems to be changing. Lord knows the woman is hard on herself and needs to appreciate her own beauty and artistry. Seeing the show would be a nice change of pace from the lousy days I have been experiencing as the Interferon has been kicking my ass, but I did not think I was going to make it. Excuse the extremity of this description, but my ass literally was showering the toilet, making it impossible to keep anything inside and dehydrating the shit out of me. I realized the only way to survive would be not to eat for a day and drink only water. There was a storm raging within, and I did not want to destroy the concert experience at the intimate theatre by popping up every twenty minutes to hit the bathroom. I was in a tight spot to say the least

After taking some Imodium and not eating, I hoped everything would be okay. And luckily it was. This is the second time I have seen Fiona Apple at Largo in the last couple of months, and each time my breath was taken away by such artistry and generosity. But there is a hard beauty about watching Fiona perform because the woman is so hard on herself. A true perfectionist, she performs with some of the finest musicians in Los Angeles, and she clearly brings out the best in them. The idea that she sat around the house for years being hard on herself and being overwhelmed by expectations is just sad. And it makes me think how often I have done the same to myself. I do not have the talent or inspiration of Fiona Apple, but I believe I am tortured by similar demons.

What was beautiful to behold during the concert was how Fiona revelled in the music and how humble she was before the talent of her fellow performers. As a true artist, she loves the expression of the music, and she always seems amazed that anyone actually wants to perform with her. Her generosity as a performer is truly impressive and fills the stage with a sense of love and friendship. Rather than being focused on being a rock star and all the glittery importance of realized dreams, Fiona and her friends celebrate the music and the joy of being able to play with each other. And play is the essential word because it is like watching children playing in a sandbox, only instead of building sand castles, you are watching them recreate the Taj Mahal. Without question, Fiona Apple is indeed an extraordinary machine.

Extraordinary Machine is the name of Fiona Apple's last album and she opened the show with the title song. The lyrics are so beautiful and reveal so much about the artist and the nature of the artistic temperament. The words reflect the hard beauty of Fiona Apple as she chooses the narrow path and disregards the wide open way of hypocrisy and artistic compromise. Yes, the path she has chosen is much more demanding than Katy Perry's superstardom, but it has the authentic wonders of being her own path. I imagine Fiona Apple appreciates more than just about anything the taste of her own authenticity as she keeps to the path no matter what turns it takes or bumps in the road or the endless chattering and gossip of the birds in the trees. Here are some of the lyrics to the song...

I still only travel by foot and by foot, it's a slow climb,
But I'm good at being uncomfortable, so
I can't stop changing all the time

I notice that my opponent is always on the go...
- But he's no good at being uncomfortable, so
He can't stop staying exactly the same

Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine

I seem to you to seek a new disaster every day

I promise you, everything will be just fine

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine 


I hope Fiona Apple can forgive me for butchering her son, but there were some specific themes that I wanted to focus on. I love the connection between being uncomfortable and changing all the time, challenging yourself to explore new territories within your creativity and expand the boundaries of your soul. From the perspective of my own difficulties, the idea of making the most of it no matter what happen is essential because that is the only way that I will maintain the extraordinary machine. The message of the song is that we are all extraordinary machines if we choose to be, but that choice means the avoidance of using the machine the same way every day. From your perspective, I might be dancing from disaster to disaster, but I know that if I stay true to myself, everything will be just fine.

Day 55 Night - Kicking My Proverbial Ass Today And The Name Of This Game

Oh My! Wow! Crap! And several other declarations to boot. Why? Simply because I have come to realize that I cannot expect everything to be just fine and easy and smooth because this is a difficult process. The treatment kicked my proverbial ass today, and I lay on my bed in the early afternoon with my back cramping and my legs itching and my head spinning and wondering what the hell is going on. Okay, in truth, I know exactly what is going on, but it is a challenge to accept the side effects.

One shot of Interferon a week,  six pills of Ribavirin every day (three in the morning and three at night), and the two pills of the Protease Inhibitor in the morning. Mind you, both could be sugar pills or one could be a sugar pill, but I won't really know that for a while. Instead, I must stick to the regimen and bear the side effects with courage and even a touch of grace here and there. I like the verb "bear" in this context because it makes me wish I actually was a bear and I could hibernate through this treatment, receiving all the drugs intravenously. Plus bears seem to be so tough and willing to take the worse and keep trudging through the snow and the woods with the determination of survival.

In the past decade, doctors started administering an ultra-expensive high end treatment for heroin and opiate addiction, including all the prescription pills like Vicodin and OxyContin, where the patient actually sleeps through the entire detox process, never actually going into conscious withdrawal symptoms. When I got off heroin, I didn't sleep for more than 15 to 30 minutes for 10 straight days, and I thought I was going insane. Such a deluxe form of treatment seemed like a Godsend, but it was far out of my reach and not a realistic possibility. What's ironic is that it has shown to have middling to lousy results because the addict often relapses soon after getting clean. Since they have not walked through the pain of the withdrawal process, since they have glided into a rosy picture of health, it is so much easier for them to forget the cost and ignore past damages and embrace the insanity of a relapse. Still, despite this realization, I am not getting off of drugs and I have been sober for quite a while now and the idea of hibernating like a bear through this treatment sounds awfully sweet.

Alas, the evolutionary destiny of the bear is not mine to share, and I must move on and accept the long road that lies before me. Am I tired? Of course, I am. Am I worn down? Yeah, more than a bit. Am I beaten? No, not by a long shot. The name of this game is perseverance.

Day 53 Afternoon - Doing Better Than Expected But Still Wiped Out Like The Stupid Game Show And Some Reflections On Karl Marx

Yes, I am doing better than expected, and I avoided the fevers and the chills and the flu-like symptoms. Basically like a bad handover that lingers as exhaustion and aches, it kind of wipes you out. If you are a Couchaholic and lying on your couch and doing nothing, you do not recognize the difficulties as acutely as when you go outside and walk around the block. Even minor physical exercise wears me down to the ground, and I wonder when I will be able to take movement and volition to the next level of execution.


Did you ever watch the somewhat demeaning game show Wipeout where absurdly-enthusiastic contestants have their asses kicked on humiliating obstacle courses and other demeaning challenges? It is somewhat amusing at first, but it quickly becomes nasty and not a lot of fun to watch. You can only laugh at idiots for so long before you simply start to feel sorry for them while developing a deep dislike for the snide comments of the super witty hosts. Right now, I feel a bit like a contestant who lost and got beaten up for no real reason beyond being humiliated in front of their friends and family on national television.

Then again, it really isn't all that bad. After all, there is a purpose to this pain, and I am in the process of  hopefully curing a dangerous disease, getting rid of the virus lurking within. What I do not like already is the pill taking, and it's not even all that many pills: 5 in the morning and 3 at night. If I had done my treatment with Kaiser Permanente, it would have been 21 pills a day on three different hourly schedules. The pill regimen of the first generation Protease Inhibitors is so complicated that there now an iPhone App that sounds an alarm when it's time to take another pill. In addition, the percentage of those who get the full body rash skyrockets from 4%-12% (depending on the dosage) to over 70%. When I think about how many people are going through the hell of that regimen, I truly get in touch with my sense of gratitude. There is a synchronicity to this treatment option. And I still believe in my dreams.

Karl Marx as a Young Man of Vision and Dreams 

I find my concentration weakened, and my ability to read is limited. My vision starts to blur, and I become very tired very quickly. Reading book reviews this morning, I loved this description of Karl Marx in the new biography by Mary Gabriel: "The man who wrote 'Capital' was an extraordinary philosopher, economist, classicist, social scientist, and writer, but he was also someone intimately acquainted with the slow death of the spirit suffered by those condemned to poverty while surrounded by a world of wealth." Above is a portrait of the man that is rarely ever see. Taken when he was young and the world lay before his feet and all his dreams were still intact.


It's funny because I grew up in a world of wealth and now I am poor. Not impoverished, but just getting by with no savings and no safety net beyond my family. I know this is my own fault, and I wish to rectify the situation once I finish treatment. But I reject the slow death of the spirit and I celebrate the journey taken on this spiritual path. Then again, I do not have hungry children to feed...

I am not a Marxist, but his Effective Analytical Ideas remain in my Tool Belt.

Yes, indeed, this is a strange entry, and I suppose there will be days like this...

Day 51 Night - Surviving First Dose of Interferon, Ribavirin and Protease Inhibitor

Yesterday morning (September 15, 2011), I went to my doctor's office and took my first dose of the Hepatitis C medication. It was a process that evolved from being very scared to be a-okay with the reality of what is happening. I have to take three pills of the Ribavirin twice a day, two pills of the Protease Inhibitors once in the morning, and shoot myself up in the stomach with the Interferon, so to speak because it is really just a quick little injection, once a week. Except for the Ribavirin, the drugs are all kept in a cute little red medica bag in my refrigerator. Chris Rice,  the very cool nurse I wrote about, showed how to inject the drug by actually injecting himself with saline solution. I thought this was ultra-cool and going above and beyond what was necessary, but it totally eased my mind. Chris also took pictures of me taking the first dose of pills and here they are...

John Lavitt Smiles As He Takes The Inaugural Dose

John Lavitt Downs Those Pills With A Certain Gusto

Washing Down the Pills, John Lavitt Battles Hepatitis C

Yes, it is true that Chris offered to take pictures as I injected myself in the belly with the Interferon, but we forgot to do it until it was too late. Considering the size of my belly and the kid-friendly nature of this blog (right?!), I suppose this was all for the best. Maybe you'll see that gruesome moment, which is much more gruesome in theory than in practice, in the future. It is amazing that when you overcome your fears, rely on a little prayer and meditation, and side with your faith, you can walk through just about anything with a modicum of grace and dignity and even a touch of humor.

I actually spent most of yesterday at the Bourgeois Pig - my local coffee shop hang-out - working and writing blogs for my SEO clients. Although I could feel the side effects coming on, I fought them off as long as I could and focused on the work. I wrote, posted in WordPress and optimized two 500 word business blogs while posting and optimizing a third. It felt good to do my work and show up for my clients, not allowing the indulgent fears to rule the day.

From the beginning, my greatest fear is that I would react to this process alcoholically. Does that mean I was scared I would relapse and take a drink? No, not really, because taking a drink is like putting a gun to my head. It just never seems like a viable option that makes any sense. What I mean is that I would relapse on my character defects, becoming self-centered and indulgent, basically slipping into the morass of self-pity. I so easily can become a Couchaholic, and I do not want to give in to that instinct.

What was strange is that I felt the sickness and the side effects coming on like a storm within my body as I was working. I mean, I did not feel sick and, in fact, I felt downright healthy. My pulse was 76 and my blood pressure was 125 over 88. Basically, God forbid, I am kind of normal. Not in great shape, not in bad shape, but somewhere in between the two. What seemed so uncanny was this sensation of getting sick because I was poisoned. After first taking the Interferon, I could feel a poison in my body. Perhaps this was my overactive imagination, but I don't think that is the correct explanation. My body has always been ultra-sensitive to externals, and I could sense something dangerous concentrated in my body. As the Interferon spread out, the concentration was less noticeable, but still a sense of something foreign. An invasion by a poisonous force, and such an invasion affects the totality and balance of the whole.

The Lord Poison Within Invading My Body, Lurking, Waiting

Fine, you are right; the above picture is a little melodramatic, but it gives the sense of what I feel within without resorting to Invasion of the Body Snatchers or Naked Lunch imagery, which unquestionably will come later. I just can't leave well enough alone when it comes to Mugwumps or Donald Sutherland. Still, despite the cramps in my stomach and a lingering sense of exhaustion present, I will survive like Gloria Gaynor, and I will not allow the challenges and difficulties of this treatment to rule the day or rue the day or dominant the gift of this sacred and beautiful life. I have been given an opportunity, a shot at the redemption of being here and now and feeling just fine in my own skin, and I will not toss such a blessing aside on account of a little discomfort. No, I no longer am that careless of a human being.

Day 48 Night - Today's Horoscope for Scorpio and the Secrets of the Fire Horse

Sometimes stumbling upon your horoscope and discovering that it applies almost perfectly to what is happening in your life at the moment can be downright unnerving. Here is a perfect example — My Horoscope Today (48 Hours before Treatment Starts) — Right now, your physical health will be greatly affected by your emotional health. Feeling good about who you are and where you are in life will go a long way toward helping your body feel good. It's true that positive thinking alone can't heal a cut or soothe a burned finger, but it can go an awful long way toward helping you keep your faith that things (and you) will get better. So if you scrape your knee or feel a cold coming on, keep thinking positive!

It is a little scary how incredibly accurate such sarcasm can be...

Do I believe in Astrology? Well, I am known to say that I don't believe in astrology, particularly with a capital A, except when it comes to my own sign. That is such a Scorpio kind of attitude. In actuality, I don't know whether it is true or valid or untrue or invalid, but I don't think that really matters. What I think matters is how you react and respond when you read your horoscope. If you want something to come true, if you believe in what is written, such a response reveals a lot about your state of mind and the unconscious lingerings of your psyche. It is all in the initial reaction, the power of wish fulfillment, the fear of being cursed and forsaken, and the desire to be great and utterly fabulous. I am not sure the word fabulous really works in this context, but, with a flash of Billy Crystal's days on Saturday Night Live in my mind, I simply had to use the word as it danced across my lips.

Another night and I will write about my astrologer in Greece, and what she said to me with a quivering smile when she did my chart and saw what she saw. In the Chinese Zodiac, I am a Fire Horse. This is what a website says about the Fire Horse and I like how it combines with the Scorpion.

Fire Horse people are intelligent, knowledgeable, charming and popular. They are courageous and adventurous who love to try out new things. They are born winners. Fire Horse people are sociable, attractive and are well liked by their colleagues and friends. They are optimistic and possess good leadership qualities. Fire Horse people are well-respected by others for their leadership-by-example style and they are always ready to lend a helping hand to those in need. Fire Horse people are incredibly lucky. They love the excitement of action, challenges and the change it brings. The Fire element makes Fire Horse people passionate and intense about their feelings. They are decisive and always take a stand in a situation. Fire Horse people are never on the fence about anything and have definitive opinions about situations and the world. They are spiritually inclined as well. The fire is always burning inside Fire Horses. They love living on the edge and are always ready for change as change always is more interesting. They are incredibly opinionated and one place you’ll never find Fire Horses is standing on the fence. Legend has it that the Fire Horse will consume everything in his path and wreak havoc wherever he goes. Many a lady Fire Horse, so they say, has ruined the life of a good man simply because of her passionate nature. The male Fire Horse is not always considered as bad; he may even be fortunate as he can bring distinction on himself and be credited with famous as well as infamous deeds. The Fire Horse carries within himself the seeds of fame ... or of notoriety!


Good to know. And I know exactly what my father would say in response to this blog: "John, with that and a token, you can take the subway." Yes, he is right as he tends to be when it comes down to the brass tacks of life, but I do so enjoy floating in the clouds and waltzing with the fantastic and tangoing with the metaphysical and dreaming of a world where such beliefs are as tangible as the virus within. In a few hours, if I happen to taste the fruit of sleep, I shall wake and it will be another day and I still will be a Scorpio and a Fire Horse and a 44-year old man with Hepatitis C. 

Day 48 - Vanishing Again As The Fear Rises And I Become A Couchaholic

Although the previous post was published today (September 12, 2011), I actually started writing it five days ago, then stopped writing or posting for five days. Once again, I vanished from myself and became the invisible man. In Ralph Ellison's The Invisible Man, "the book's main theme is the invisibility of the underdog. As the title suggests, the main character is invisible because everyone sees him as a stereotype, not as a real person. While the narrator often bemoans his state of invisibility, he comes to embrace it in the end. He realizes there are a number of advantages to it that allow him to remain undetected and inconspicuous. Throughout, the narrator does not divulge his name." (Wikipedia). This is not the invisibility that I am experiencing. It does not really matter whether society sees me as I am or as I want to be. What matters is that I become invisible to myself, shrinking away into the cover of non-creation and the shadows of the stagnant soul. 

I am like the invisible man, an empty bathrobe scuttling across the floor of forgotten rooms, smoking his cigarette to create a vague impression of definition, lost to himself and thus lost to the world.


In a recent post in his ongoing blog Bleeding Internally, my friend Jason Christopher wrote about the difficulty of writing in a naked and direct manner that is the essence of why Jason's voice is so valuable and needed in this world. Jason wrote: "Writing everyday is very difficult. Training yourself to actually sit at the computer and not watch porn, or gaze at some fantasy facebook life you have created for yourself is a lot harder than it looks. Especially writing every day. If you write like I do, it's just about what is in your head at that very moment. But if the moment hasn't changed in days, weeks, or even months. That story gets old for people who read your shit, and you can only imagine how tired I am of writing that I feel like a total loser. I'm not tired of feeling like that, that is a very comfortable place for me. I'm just tired of writing about it." 

Jason Christopher having one of those Existential Moments in a Bathtub

Jason's point resonates with me because I am tired of writing about my fears and the stagnation they produce when I sag into the couch and become a Couchaholic. I do not want to be that man anymore. But it is easy to get overwhelmed by the reality of this disease, and I start treatment in less than three days, and I am scared. If I do get very sick, will I use the sickness as an excuse to never leave my bed and not do my work, to indulge in self-pity and expect everyone else to take care of me? Will my worse fears about myself become a vibrant reality that I cannot escape from as I languish within the fever dreams brought on by this Interferon that sounds like a nightmare police station or a bad drug in a story by William Burroughs? Will I become a baby in the body of a man? 


There are no answers to these questions tonight, but I know that I must go on a little more. I must go on a long time more because that is why I was put here on this planet and the job of this voice is to write.

Day 43 Night - A Wonderful Poetry Reading at the Home of Friends and W. H. Auden's Forgotten Poem

Wow! Last night, something beautiful and quite unexpected happened. My neighbors Gavin and Heather had me over to their home for a poetry reading. They had heard a few of my poems, and they wanted me to do a reading for them. Gavin and I had a very funny time texting back and forth before the reading as he told me that he could not find a podium, and I mentioned that I did not need one, but what about my honorarium. He asked if I would take a credit card, and I told him that like any poor poet, I preferred cash. Finally, we decided on Paypal, but I never did get his account number. Alas, I suppose this is the plight of poets: Always to be asked and never to be compensated. Gavin mentioned that they might invite a few other people, but I truly was surprised when I entered their apartment.

They had set-up a huge spread of snacks and wine for their guests, and they told me that they had invited several more guests. By the time everyone arrived, about twelve people were sitting in the living room, waiting to hear the reading. Since I have read poetry before in front of large groups in cafes and at private readings, I was not intimidated. Rather, I was incredibly grateful that they thought so highly of my work that they would invite so many of their friends. It was such a sweet complement, and I wanted to do well and get out of the way of the poems. Taking a deep breath, I began to read the poems I had assembled, including a long performance piece at the end that is called, "Things That I Fear." The whole reading would take almost an hour so I told everyone that if it was too much, we could skip the longer piece at the end. Let's just see how it goes...

Well, it went exceptionally well. I read the first fourteen poems, and nobody moved. I was amazed that during the entire reading nobody got up to get some more wine or stretch or go to the bathroom. Beyond taking care of the puppy who is a big fan of poetry, but has other priorities as well, nothing interrupted the flow of the reading. After the first batch, when I asked if they wanted to hear the longer piece, the whole room responded with enthusiasm and kindness, telling me it was not even a question to ask. After the piece, nobody moved beyond a few people standing up and actually clapping. I never expect anyone to clap at a poetry reading so it always surprises me when it happens.

Rather than getting up, several people asked me questions about the work and my background. I told them stories about Robert Lax, my mentor on the Greek island of Patmos (more to come), and the genesis of several of the poems. After about ten to fifteen more minutes of talking, the reading ended and people came over and thanked me and started to leave. The first woman to leave texted Gavin as she was on her way home that the reading was definitely the best ticket to have in Los Angeles that night. It was such a wonderful experience, and it reminded me who I am and what my true value is in this world. It is so easy to forget and vanish from myself. But that is another blog coming.

Instead, here is a poem by W. H. Auden that I found in a forgotten book in college, and I have never been able to find it again. It is arguably my favorite poem by Auden, but I do not know the actual title, and  it is not included in any of the compilations of his work. I could say so much about this poem and what it means to me, but I think I will let the work speak for itself. Here it is...

You hope, yes,

                                    your books will excuse you,

save you from hell:

                                    nevertheless,

without looking sad,

                                    without in any way

seeming to blame

                                    (He doesn't need to,

knowing well

                                    what a lover of art

like yourself pays heed to)

                                    God may reduce you

on Judgment Day

                                    to tears of shame,

reciting by heart

                                    the poems you would

have written had

                                    your life been good.        

                                                             — W. H. Auden                                                                                                              

                                                              

Day 41 Night - The Refreshing Candor of Alex DeYoung and the Meaning of Medicine

My friend Alex DeYoung has been sober for six years, and he is only twenty-three years old. An audio engineer at a music production facility, Alex is married to his sweetheart Elyse Strandberg who is 108 days pregnant and literally about to burst forth their daughter Charlie into this world. I spent some time with them over the weekend, and Alex gave a refreshingly candid take on this blog.

Elyse, Charlie, Alex & Some Guy at the 2011 X-Games

After he told me he had been reading the entries as they appeared on Facebook, I asked what he thought about it. Perhaps hoping to bask in a little reflected glory, I received feedback that taught me something about myself. Alex said that he loved some of the blog entries and couldn't stand others. At times, he felt like he was in my head and going through the process of dealing with Hepatitis C himself, and he did not like being in the place. Other time, he grooved with the spiritual message, but then he also felt like he was being preached to by a guy who was trying to convince himself that everything would be okay. It's almost as if I am holding a bucket of shit at times and trying to convince people that it smells like roses.

Sometimes people surprise you by pulling rabbits out when you think they are just taking off their hat. Alex revealed a facet of the jewel of my consciousness, a way I deal with with fear by trying to rationalize it and then transform the feeling into something else. Yes, I do believe that this life can be reduced to the concept of choosing between fear and faith all throughout the day and night. When I choose fear, my character defects flare up and come out as defense mechanism, habitual ways of handling what I do not want to handle by not being present and accountable. When I choose faith, it is not always comfortable, sometimes it's downright uncomfortable, but it seems to consistently allow me to walk through the most challenging moments in my life.

I keep thinking about the end of the Great Spirit morning prayer of the Lakota Sioux medicine men that I wrote about in this blog. It goes like this: "Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and open eyes so when life fades like the fading sunset, my spirit may come to you without shame." The impact of that closure for me is that I do not want to be staring at the ground with my hands clenched at the end of my life. I am tired of feeling shame, and I choose not to walk that path anymore. I have to remember what the Native Americans meant when they spoke of "Medicine." They were speaking about so much more than just healing the body from sickness and wounds. Medicine meant being in harmony with all living things and finding the inner balance of true health by avoiding the harm of disease-producing behaviors and thoughts.

Navajo Sand Painting of the Sacred Wheel of Life

As I go through the crucible of my Hepatitis C Treatment which I start in under two weeks, I want to hold on to the spiritual medicine that is reflected in the sacred wheel of life. Often, I am scared that these are just words and that I will fail when faced with the reality of being sick. After all, it is the treatment that is the worst; I have almost no effects from the actual virus at this point in time. I have always been able to talk the talk, but my longstanding liability in this life has been the ability to walk the walk. Now I really don't see much of a choice so I choose to have faith and believe that everything will be alright.

Day 39 Night - Liver Biopsy Past and a Certain Circumstance of Taking Joy in Another's Success

My liver biopsy took place two days ago, and it wasn't the end of the world or even close. It was strange and uncomfortable and painful in places your mind tells you that you should not be experiencing pain, but it is past. I could go into the semi-gory details, but what's the point? The most uncanny moment is when you hear the metallic click inside your body of the metal clipper needle snapping off a miniscule piece of your liver. The fact that they have to do it twice is a bit unnerving. I closed my eyes so I would not see what was happening because I was awake with only a local anesthetic.

You realize as it is happening that your body truly is a sacred vessel that should not be invaded by anything foreign. When I consider all of the foreign crap I have put into my body over the years, I shake my head, take a deep breath and let the regrets pass over me and vanish into the framework of the night. I am powerless over regrets because I cannot change the past so what is the point of having them. I laugh when I think of the old nineties T-shirt — "My body is a sacred temple sinking slowly into ruins." It's funny because every image that I find on Google images of the body as a sacred temple, using various word combinations, is goofy and unsatisfactory. It's all either New Age crap or Science Fiction mumbo-jumbo or just plain silliness. Nothing that reflects the deep spirituality and the connection within and without as our physical form expresses the journey of the soul. This is as close as I got to even liking an image, and it still echoes of universal grandiosity of man as the center of everything.

I like this image and dislike it at the same moment in time...

This is how I described my liver biopsy on Facebook... John Lavitt really does not recommend to any of his friends or even enemies (not really enemies, just the disgruntled avoiding bunch) getting a liver biopsy. You are fully awake, and it feels like getting kicked by a horse inside of your body. It freezes that moment when after the first pain of the kick when your breath vanished and you wheeze with the recognition that the next wave of deep dull, almost uncanny, ache cannot be stopped.

And now for something completely different (a reference by the way to a somewhat forgotten Monty Python film). When you are walking a spiritual path, you often don't see the changes that have happened in your being and your way of interacting with the world. I have noticed consistently that other people are aware of the changes before you even recognize them. When they tell you how you have evolved, you can understand what they are saying and realize that it's true and intellectually agree with them, but you do not feel the change on a primal level. It does not flow through your veins and swirl in your soul. What is amazing is when you have a moment when the change hits you on a visceral level and you are truly able to experience your own growth and spiritual evolution. A prime example...

Reza Safai in the Independent Film, Circumstance 

It's funny because I meant to write about this last week, but like so many things, it got caught in the crossfire and slipped away from me. Last Saturday, I saw the opening of my friend Reza Safai's film Circumstance at the ArcLight Hollywood. Reza is the male star of the film, and Circumstance was written and directed by the brilliant Maryam Keshavarz.  It centers on a wealthy Iranian family that struggles to contain a teenager’s growing sexual rebellion and her brother’s dangerous obsession as it navigates the dangerous waters between forbidden love and extreme religious orthodoxy. The film was beautiful and precise and an inspiration to watch. Written in Farsi, the director and all the leads come from Iranian families that go back and forth to Iran. They all have extended family still in the country. 


What is so powerful is that they had to make such an extreme choice in order to make the film. By making a film that is critical of the morals and politics of the current regime, the artists knowingly made the choice to never return to their homeland. Although most were born in the states, they are Iranian, and they identify with the history and traditions of Persian culture and society. Think about it! We often discuss what an artist sacrifices in order to create their art? Could you make such an extreme sacrifice? Could you choose to separate yourself from your land because of the necessity of expressing what you believe in your heart and your soul? Tough questions, and brave answers by these artists. No wonder the film won the Audience Award at the Sundance Film Festival in 2011.

But I am not writing a movie review. What I loved about the experience is how I was able to take such joy in the success of my friend without feeling even the slightest tinge of envy or jealousy. I truly have come to believe that the success of others never diminishes me in any way, and if everyone realized their dreams of success and creative vision, the world would be a much better place. I no longer feel the need, except when I relapse here and there on my character defects, to compare myself to other people. Being able to relish and savor the success of Reza, knowing how hard he worked and how much he believed in the film, came so naturally that it did not even occur to me until I was driving home that I had felt nothing negative the entire night. I mean, Reza worked for two years with a dialect coach to perfect the specific Farsi accent spoken in a certain upper class neighborhood. The fact that his work paid off in such amazing ways and led to his part in a beautiful film is how the world should work. 

There is such freedom in the process of letting go of the basic seven deadly sins. They are sins not necessarily because they are evil, but because they weigh us down with the burden of fear and prevent us from walking in the comfort of faith. When I can find joy in the successes of my fellow human beings without feeling envious or jealous, I am able to experience the world as it should be — present, loving, and supportive.

Day 37 Morning - Liver Biopsy Fears and My Song To Sing

Although it is day 37 according to the clock, it is not quite morning. 4:30 AM is one of those in-between times where the previous and the coming day mesh together in the silence of sleeping souls and wandering minds. At 9:00 AM in the coming morning, I am going to have a liver biopsy at Olympia Medical Center, a procedure that has been described to me as a swift horse kick in your side. Although I am not quivering and my hands are steady, there is a certain fear lurking in the back of my mind. Such a medical procedure just simply sounds unnatural and not what is supposed to be happening to a human being as the sun rises on a Thursday morning. Alas, what is supposed to be happening and what will happen are two vastly different continents that are separated by the ocean of my reality.

Although I can dream of a far-off fantasy world and life where every wish comes true and the twilight lasts all day long, it remains only a dream. Tomorrow morning I will have to wake (that is, of course, if I actually sleep again) and face the simple reality of my friend picking me up at 7:40 AM to take me to the eventual destination. Such an eventuality will not pass and will not vanish into the framework of the night. Still, in the stillness, how I love the quietude and peace of this time. And there is no wrong in such dreams, no fault to be criticized or even contemplated for long, as long as the dream does not get in the way and undermine the right path of the eventual moment that lies before me.

Last night, I went over to the newly bought home of my friend Randy and his wife Christine to have dinner and spend some time with them. Being huge supporters and, if I may be so bold, even lovers of my poetry, I brought a whole series of past work to read to them. It was a delightful reading with a smile dancing across Randy's countenance as he experienced the words. Afterwards, he said that the smile was born of being transported into the emotional reality and evolutionary process of the work as though it was his own experience.

Randy had heard many of my poems before, but this was Christine's first reading. And her sweet and loving reaction simply took my breath away. As I read of love lost and the challenge of being human amid the chaos of this life, she closed her eyes and began to tremble, then gave way to the emotion within her as she opened them and the tears came. It always is such an astonishing moment when you see how your work has the power to deeply affect another human being. At the end of the reading which comprised over 25 pages of poetry, Christine announced that she had decided to start writing and find out what was in her own being to express. Nothing means more than the God-given ability to inspire another person to delve into their own depths and find their own song. And once again (how many times has it happened and how many times have I abandoned the lesson?), I remembered the simple truth of my own purpose on this planet earth.

Like all of us, I was given the gift of a song to sing. In the Dialogue of the Savior, a fragmentary but legitimate (in my opinion, the only external Gospel that accesses the actual teachings of Jesus besides The Sayings Gospel of Thomas) Gnostic text that reveals Jesus talking with his disciples, this lesson is made clear. In my own compilation Gospel (it's a whole nother story that we'll eventually get into) that incorporates both The Sayings Gospel of Thomas and The Dialogue of the Savior into a narrative compilation of the traditional four, I end a sequence where Jesus teaches the disciples in private after gathering them together with the following:

Simon Peter, who would be called the rock, asked Jesus, "Then tell us, Master, 

what is the beginning of the way?"

   Jesus smiled and said, "Love and goodness, Simon.  The beginning of the way 

is always love and goodness. 

Allow what is within you to sing, and those will be the songs of your Father." 

Mind you, I am not a Christian or a believer in Christ in the Pauline sense or in the evangelical tradition that was started with John the Evangelist. Rather, I am a huge fan of Jesus the teacher, and the fancy miracles, the transcendental issues, and the resurrection do not matter to me. What matters to me is the miracle of the teachings and the parables. The Sermon on the Mount, The Parables of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, the saving of the adulteress from stoning in Jerusalem and the washing of the disciples feet are more than enough for me to love and respect and learn from the teacher. Anyone else's beliefs are really none of my business, and whatever works for you and gets you through the night is fine  with me as long as you display the love and care and respect that the great spiritual teachers showed to others as well.

Jesus Giving His Blessing - Hans Memling (1478)

Okay, forgive the explanatory interlude, but I felt it was necessary. There is another blog and another time and another place for the details of my own faith. What is more essential right now is that the poetry reading tonight reminded me deep within of the song that I was put here on this earth to sing by my father in heaven. When I write "my father in heaven", I choose not to capitalize because essentially it is a metaphor and one that I feel works for me and is comfortable. Basically, when it comes down to the brass tacks, I really am just a well-developed and evolved monkey with a computer, and the forces behind the universe remain an incredible mystery to me. I choose, however, to believe that this universe is civilized with some kind of divine intelligence or energy operating behind the scenes. As a result, I choose once again to avoid the closed fists and stomping feet of the exclamation points (!) and embrace the wondrous mystery of the question mark (?).

I have been writing for sixty straight minutes and I am starting to fade a bit. After all, I do have quite a morning rapidly approaching. But I will end with this conviction: I know I have a song to sing, and I will use the crucible of my Hepatitis C treatment to bring forth my song and focus on what really matters for me in the blink of an eye that is this rare human birth. As Jesus expressed so clearly in line from The Sayings Gospel of Thomas that inspired my entire attempt to compile my own version:

   "Truly I promise, the kingdom of God is within you. 

   "If you bring forth what is within you, 

what you bring forth will save you.  

If you do not bring forth what is within you, 

what you do not bring forth will destroy you."

If I had one wish at this very moment, it would be that we all experience the sweet grace and the divine opportunity of bringing forth the beauty and the wonder that is within our souls.