Thankfulness, Part Four

Part Four

Installment Four regarding: Thanks and Acknowledgement for all who have shaped me into me, the great and small carving. Each of you have done your part. As I've stated previously, this is a randomized, self-project that is NOT meant as an indication of favoritism nor preference. All of you matter to me. I have thousands of people who have left their mark on me. This is a celebration of the many I can recall. It will take me years to approach completion of this project, but I know it can never be completed.

Today’s theme is called: In Other Words…

John Morello, perhaps it's best to say all I have to say (for the time being) with the following:

Jesus Christ is dying on the cross, his disciples are gathered around, crying. Peter looks up and notices that Jesus seems to be calling him, "Peter, Peter, come hither! I need to tell you something before I die." Immediately Peter rushes over to the cross, only to be hit severely over the head by the roman guard. He gets on his feet again and wants to return to the other disciples when he hears Jesus calling again, "Peter, Peter, come hither! I’m dying and I need to tell you something." So, again Peter tries to climb the cross to get to his lord, when the roman soldier draws his sword and chops Peter's arm off, and throws him back into the crowd. Once again, Jesus calls him, and Peter rushes to see Jesus. The Roman guard can't believe that Peter is trying yet AGAIN to climb to the cross, and chops off another arm. Peter is now covered in blood and demented from the blow to the head and wants to call it a day. Jesus croaks, "Peter, please, come to me! I’m not going to make it much longer." By now, the roman guard is tired of chopping limbs, so he lets Peter be. The faithful disciple gets to the cross and after a long while he finally arrives at his Lord's side. Hurting, suffering, bleeding, Peter looks into his Master's eyes and asks, "Yes, my Lord. What is it?" Jesus smiles lovingly, looking off into the distance, and says, "Peter, I can see your house from here!"

I think that joke accurately describes our relationship, and who we are on this planet. For in that joke, we have irreverence, religion, pain, loyalty, the dying, sacrifice, and observational perspective. But above all else, my brother, we have always been able to make each other laugh. You are my soul. I am grateful for this.

Melissa Kaye, recently, I saw, again, the updated version of 47 Ronin, starring Keanu Reeves, who plays the half-breed, Kai. There's this moving (albeit somewhat cheesy) scene between Keanu and the beautiful, Ko Shibasaki, who plays Mika. Here are the lines that follow:

Mika -- My father told me, this world was only a preparation for the next. That all we can ask is that we leave it having loved and being loved.
Kai -- I will search for you through a thousand worlds and ten thousand lifetimes, until I find you.
Mika -- I will wait for you in all of them.

Our connection, our friendship, our mutual love for each other is cherished and beyond full comprehension in this lifetime. We have often said to each other, "In another world...in another lifetime...". I think about that, and feel honored that the depth of our endearment has never been limited to time, form, or space. I am certain that we have found each other again, (this was not the first lifetime), and I am certain that we will find each other in all the worlds that follow. But in the next lifetime or the time after, I will need more proof before bestowing you with the proclamation: Good Kisser.

Judith Springer, years ago I took this course at the the Graduate School of Applied and Professional Psychology (GSAPP). It was called, Adolescent Theory and Therapy. It was taught by you, and at the time, it was the perfect course for me, as my interests in the adolescent population were strong. All the students involved in the class were required to present on a topic. I chose adolescent sexuality.

At the beginning of my presentation, I did a 15-20 minute, multiple character, one man show. After I caught the attention of my fellow classmates, I went on to present the academic portion of the class requirement. I have little memory as to what I presented, with the exception that I handed out an article that contained the most salacious, academic title I've ever seen. The title of the article was: Putting a Big Thing into a Little Hole: Teenage Girls' Accounts of Sexual Initiation.

The summer after that class, you asked me if I had any interest in participating in a diversity summer camp for teens called Anytown. I gladly accepted. At that time, no one knew the power and transcendence that camp would have on this world. It was at this camp that I started performing what would become a integral part of my legacy. You gave me the opportunity to become part of that movement. I would not be in the position I am in today, touching lives, had it not been for you.

You are the quiet, loving, wise mother who has embraced so many of us orphans. Sometimes I wonder if the rest of the world knows that so many of us would not be who we are without your whispering strength.

There is a scene in the movie, Cloud Atlas, where this father-in-law is trying to control his son-in-law, threatening him to do what is expected, and not to branch away from the 'family plan'.

Father-in-law: Listen to me...there's a natural order to this world, and those who try to upend it, do not fair well. This movement will never survive. If you join them, you and your entire family will be shunned. At best, you will exist as pariah to be spat on and beaten; at worst, lynched or crucified. And for what? No matter you do it will never amount to anything more than a single drop in a limitless ocean.

Son-in-law: What is an ocean? But a multitude of drops.

I, and we, who have been touched by you, Judith, are the multitude of drops from your singular voice and life.

Thankfulness, Part Three

Part Three

3rd Installment of my latest project. I am writing randomized, tiny love letters to many of you who have shaped me in both great and infinitesimal ways. We are guaranteed nothing, except death, in this life. Two things I've always hated about funerals: 1. the excessive accolades given to the dead, 2. the failed response and awkward silence of the daily departed. I'm learning a lot from this venture I've commenced. I'm learning what I didn't know that I didn't know, and I'm learning a lot about people in my life. Lots of fascinating reactions. I am intrigued by the kaleidoscope of the fabric that weaves us together.

Today's gratitude I am calling:

A TASTE OF TANIA/TANYA

Tania Alexandra Habenicht, the scene in my head could take place anywhere. Here are the facts. We are in a school auditorium, awaiting the energetic eyes of elementary-age children. We have finished setting our props and catching up with each other. You spot a piano, your eyes glisten, and I get to play the greedy voyeur, devouring with a devilish smile every word and note of some new song that is working through you. In these moments, I do not share all my thoughts with you; I listen. But right now, I want to tell you more. I treasure you, and I cherish the churning and melody that ring so true; the bravery within you to turn your doubts into finger pops of notes. Not only do I get to witness your brilliant ingenuity, but you are a mirror: I see and hear me in you. Our souls' journeys are delirious in their timing. When I entered that sanctum of darkness and confusion, from 2008-2011, your own trek delivered the words befitting of my plea -- "Feeling just a little lost today...Everybody's asking how and I don't have clear answers."...You saved me the first time you played that song to this audience of one. Thank you for all your whirling beauty. You taught me how to listen better to the crazy people, (starting with myself), and now, miraculously, they do not sound so crazy anymore.

Tanya Gluzerman, may you know that our togetherness has brought more light in the space between us than our darkness could ever challenge. You see me clearly: I hide in broad daylight. I see you clearly: You wish to be completely understood...in a people-less world. We are the secret schizoids and I am humbled to be in such good company. When I think about you and all that you have brought to blossom within me, I am reminded of these lyrics by Connor Oberst in his song, "Time Forgot":

"They say everyone has a choice to make
To be loved or to be free
I told you once I felt invisible
And I'm sure by now you see
What I meant is I'm not all there
Until I finally leave
Some loneliness is acceptable
And some's just outright mean
It gets even"

I think we speak the same language, Tonto, and this train that we board together, at times, has made this journey deliciously tolerable.

Thankfulness Project, Part Two

Part Two

Continuing with the theme of thanking people while they are alive. (See previous entry). This whole process is in no particular order. This is just as the wind blows for me. Today, I think about homes, both physical and emotional structures. Homes do not always live up to what they should be, but for me, the idea of home is one of safety and comfort, a place where I can let down my guard. So, to the following, you have shown me glimpses of home.

Laura L Lamberti, Michigan (my second favorite state) would not be the same without your open armed welcome into your life and home. The meals of thought that we have shared should be turned into a movie. I bet the film would win the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, and most certainly, Roger Ebert, (wherever he is now), would throw up both thumbs. You have the most extraordinary way of making people feel safe, without ever intruding; sharing, but honoring the space between.

You have taught me how to see the place in which we live as a toy box of discoveries. You love your city of Detroit. You celebrate its creaks and crevices, its noise and hush, the music within and the music that has not yet been born, its simmering and frigidity. You help me to see towns and cities differently. You remind me that one never needs to travel far to find novelty or home. One just has to open his/her eyes.

When I think of you I am reminded of the words by Walt Whitman: "Only themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls." Thank you, soul.

Lori Weinberg Leonard, you literally opened up your home...and well, quite frankly, your...(careful now, Michael Mykee Fowlin)...heart to me. Our first meeting was at a conference, where I was the keynote speaker, and you panicked because you were on the committee that organized the conference, and you were convinced that I was a no show. When you saw me you grabbed my hand, and placed it firmly on your...(heart?)...and shrilled, "Feel this! Do you feel that?" It took me a few seconds to realize that you were referring to your thumping heart, and not where my hand was resting. And thus began our journey.

Here's what I learn from you, Lori. You have never been satisfied at pigeon holing yourself into any one thing. You seem to always ask yourself, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Yet, you are content at where you are, and the moment you are not, you change it. You are free in altering the form with the quickest blink. This is what life is about -- Experiences! Seizing the moment or having the moments seize us. I love the experiences we have shared. You are home. In some of my darkest moments, I have reached out to you. (You know this, so stop doubting it.) Your heart (?) is luscious and giving in photos and life. Truly, your legacy twists and gallops through a multitude of spirits.

And finally, you literally belong to the smallest list in my life (don't you feel special now?): There are only a couple of people who I have accepted their invitations to be a sleepover guest in their homes, and no family home more frequently than yours. I celebrate you in my life.

Lisa Marie Carrillo, we go way back, my friend. However, it is not just our history that I treasure; I treasure you. There are countless examples of why this is so, but here's what I share. In the darkest period of my life, so far, I brought you and a handful of friends into it with me. I wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation of being on the cusp of having two children, from two different women, within in a five month period. Like I stated, I shared my sadness, my self-loathing with a number of people. The responses varied. There was empathy, sympathy, concern, worry, and definitely judgment from more friends than I care to admit. I didn't need to feel more remorse or self-deprecation than I already felt -- (quite frankly, I was already feeling suicidal). But your response, Lisa, shined like God. No one quite approached your rejoinder. I told you of my situation, and without hesitation, without judgment, without condemnation, you smiled and said, "Oh, how wonderful, Michael! Your soul will now be in two more beings." I was moved by your words back then, as I am now.

You taught me that darkness is like sadness, and light is like joy. We do not remove the darkness to increase light. We add the light to make it less dark, as we add the joy to make it less sad. Thank you for shining light through all these years.