To live and die in LA

A friend of mine is taking a class on Los Angeles culture. He asked me to participate in a survey for one of his research papers, and upon reading the questions, I thought my answers would make a great blog entry. Here they are:

1. Use one word to describe Los Angeles and explain why you chose that particular word.

Freedom. Both literally and figuratively, Los Angeles is a sprawling, wide-open place. Your experience here is mostly up to you, you get what you put in. This is both good and bad. There is no handholding or safety net in Los Angeles, and that quality is definitely not for everyone. However, for people who are self-starters, the freedom in LA is great because you are responsible for the risks you take but at the same time, you earn the rewards, and these are considerable when you get to be the one determining them.

2. What do you see as some of the most positive aspects of Los Angeles?

The weather is great year-round. Being on the coast, the ocean is literally a short drive away. It is a great sports town, as far as the teams are concerned. There is a ton of variety as far as having things to do. For any type of person, there are innumerable places to go and activities to participate in on any given day.

3. What do you see as some of the most negative aspects of Los Angeles?

The traffic is the single worst part of Los Angeles. It does factor into almost every decision with regard to going and doing things in LA because of the time impact. Public transportation is mediocre at best, and very poorly designed. The sports fans, in general, are not as great as the teams. They are too fair-weather, only showing support when the teams are winning championships. Less superficially, both the actual danger and the perception of danger in urban areas are significant negatives.

4. Do you feel a sense of community in Los Angeles? If so, what unites the people? If not, what are the sources of division?

There is a definite sense of community in Los Angeles. Part of it comes from the variety of the people. In many places, variety drives people apart, but in Los Angeles the people seem to have molded their own, new culture out of a combination of all the background traditions of each person living here. The people of Los Angeles are most united by the fact that they know you have to live here and appreciate this place in order to understand it.

5. If someone you knew was moving to Los Angeles, what advice would you give him/her?

The first thing I would tell her is to buy a reliable, high gas mileage automobile. Never underestimate the importance of that. Also, on a more philosophical level, I would tell her to try and keep her mind as free and open as I believe Los Angeles is. Don't try to pin the place down or quickly define it without spending a good amount of time here. The whole Hollywood thing is overblown, and a lot of people new to the area make the mistake of thinking Hollywood is all there is.

6. How do you see Los Angeles in 50 years? What are your hopes for L.A.? What are your fears?

50 years is a really long time... by that time, Los Angeles could be the capital of Mexico, Canada, or China for that matter. I'm not sure where I see myself in 50 years. In the future, I see downtown becoming more of a social destination especially as it is beginning to be cleaned up. I see many of the urban areas, that have been given up on, returning to neighborhoods and communities again. My fear for LA is that the common culture that all of the people here have created gets eroded by political correctness. I'm afraid of the possibility of the city losing its openness if the people turn away from what unites them. My hope for LA is that all of the great things about this city only get stronger, and the people are able to fix the weaknesses. I hope that Los Angeles installs a new, efficient public transportation system that is well-designed, perhaps a monorail, so that the one big negative is eliminated once and for all.

Update

Hello again! It has been a long time. Summer is coming, Memorial Day weekend is over, and the Lakers meet the defending champion Spurs in San Antonio tonight for Game 4 of the NBA's Western Conference Finals. My life has been busy as of late, also. As some may know, I've been dealing with some health issues for the past year or so. Recently, there were some minor complications that took my focus away from my work. The good news is that I have decided the key to healing is to carry on with my life undeterred, so I have begun to do that.

Admittedly, there has been some added stress at first and while I find adversity inspires my creative side, that only comes after I digest events. The well of ideas tends to dry up during the moment of stress itself. However, my droughts are usually followed by floods, and so I have kept myself immersed in the arts, as I love to do: reading the second installment of Neal Stephenson's Baroque Cycle, watching things like the film Molière and series LOST, and listening to music from The Shins and Damien Rice. I'm looking forward to the time, hopefully inevitable, in which I continue creating my own art.

I have made one change to the blog which you can see in the right hand column. I just recently began using Twitter. It's pretty amazing, and interestingly, it's a technological advance designed to simplify communication. Anyway, you can find me on the web site under "jtmurphy” or simply check this blog from time to time as the Twitter Updates are synced live. Since it has been such a long time, I'm posting a special treat... the rough draft opening of my latest project. The working title is: Body & Soul. Enjoy!


Guillo sits in his apartment, looking through the tree outside of his huge picture window into the sky. In his eyes, he looks far away from his setting, but he snaps back into focus in an instant. He then picks up his paintbrush, selects the appropriate shade of blue from his acrylics, and continues filling in the sky above his jungle scene. Guillo's canvas is situated in front of that south facing window and next to the east wall. On the canvas is the scene, where green dominates. Sky filters in at the top only, then the green begins very lightly and then progressively becomes darker and denser all the way to the jungle floor. Trees and leaves and all manner of plants fill the background, everything green. The yellowed circle of leaves in the foreground's center, then, draws the eye to the action of the piece. A black panther is out in the open, looking forward to a place not pictured. Viewing the painting, she would be staring off to the left. On her back is a curious creature, a bright blue parrot with a large beak. He faces the opposite direction looking behind her, checking out the path they came from, although that is also not pictured. The painting is almost finished, but the details that are left are the most important.

Quickly, Guillo finishes up his sky and stares blankly at the un-detailed parts of his animals and jungle. His face squeezes in a perplexed moment, and he puts down his paintbrush. Then, he draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and looks up. This is his favorite corner of the large studio apartment his parents bought for him three years ago. Although, to call it a studio is a gross understatement as the space is more like an open dance hall. The southeast corner is where Guillo works. Each one of his paintings, now highly acclaimed, was done right here.

Don't Tread On Me

Some words in support of John Adams, the highly acclaimed HBO miniseries (my previous HBO recommendation, John from Cincinnati, didn't fare as well). The series is fantastic, presented with an epic scope and a real eye toward authenticity. The camera work features unique shots that only occasionally distract from the scene. Often times, they are integral in establishing the mood of a particular episode. The music is unbelievable. The scale of it completely swept me away from the opening sequence onward. Hearing it, I truly felt as if I was in the midst of a time that surely must have felt revolutionary in all respects.

The show is most certainly stolen by actress Laura Linney, who portrays Abigail Adams. Of course, it is the actor's job to mimic or approximate the accent, speech patterns, and mannerisms of its subject. Linney's mastery is in putting it all together and never faltering. This is apparent from the first scene including Mrs. Adams. Sure, people will talk about her opposition to slavery (and my history is not good enough to know if this is the truth or a politically correct anachronism). Critics will applaud the behind-the-scenes power wielded by a woman with such grace and responsibility.

The most important & remarkable aspect of her character, however, is how she would not let Mr. Adams allow his vanity and know-it-all nature overtake his duty to his country. She called him on his crap, and Mr. Adams wouldn't have it any other way. Paul Giamatti, as John Adams himself, gives the second-best performance. That is by no means an insult, only a testament to the talent of his on-screen love. Giamatti presents a fantastically real founding father, decaying teeth and all. He is vain, outspoken, rude, intelligent, a pessimist, loyal, brave, jealous, easily angered, a man with tremendous integrity, hard-working, and a patriot who loves his country. One thing the story is not, no one whitewashes the history of John Adams. This is a watercolor.

As executive producer, Tom Hanks gave us another winner. I recommend this series to anyone, but most especially to those who enjoyed Band of Brothers. This is not an indication of the content of the show, but rather the undoubtedly exhaustive efforts to bring us as close as possible to realism. The two series are also similar in theme. While the World War II epic is more specifically direct, both dramas are about exceptional individuals sacrificing for the good of their country.

I found it remarkable that John Adams made it so easy to think about the human face on this revolution. Today, we think of many of the people and institutions involved almost as unchanging & divine entities. The Sons of Liberty & Samuel Adams banging the drums, Thomas Jefferson's complete commitment to developing on the philosophical theory of liberty, General Washington's humility, the framing of the Constitution, and the document itself; none of these things were certain to the people of the time including Adams who, as the show asserts, was very concerned with the manner in which posterity would receive them. It's amazing to envision a world where these things did not exist and then came into being.

That's just exactly what the makers of John Adams accomplished.

Downright Otherworldly

Note: This began as stream of consciousness fiction, but took on a little more planning. Let's call it extremely short fiction. For a blog entry, it's long.

I'm at this concert with Lindsey. It is our third date and I am definitely hoping things will go well. Our first two dates were amazing, so I figure a little live entertainment is definitely the way to go tonight. The place is nice, intimate and warm. You enter from the street at the back of the building, where the bar is. In this area, as it should be, the bar is the focal point. It has been placed symmetrically between the two openings in the building. On one side is the entrance proper, and on the other is a short hallway that looks to lead to the kitchen. The walls are 100% red brick, but laid uneven in certain parts for a more natural feel. Various murals have been painted right into them.

The bar appears like a solid block of long, rounded cherry wood stained to a very dark and smooth finish. Simple stools with dark, leather cushions stand like pylons at the front of the bar awaiting the show. Behind the bar are all manner of spirits, liquor, wine & beer lined up in fancy bottles, below cabinets matching the cherry wood finish. The cabinet doors are made of glass, to display all of the novelty tumblers and glassware. The bar is essentially on a kind of wooden stage with a balcony fence and stairs on either side. Down four or so stairs are deep navy carpeted walkways surrounding the wood floor dining area consisting of about 30 small, round tables. In the very front is the stage, perfect for tonight's acoustic guitar performance.

Lindsey and I make small talk at a volume a little bit above a loud whisper. For a room of more than 60 people, the banter is surprisingly quiet. Toward the back, a few groups have pulled tables together, but couples like us are the majority. Some are eating the fair, light appetizers and salads, most are imbibing. On my suggestion, we went without a meal and both of us have a single glass of red wine, Cabernet. We're sitting in the front.

She looks unbelievable, wearing sandals with newly manicured toes (from what I can tell about female grooming), her nicer, dark jeans, and a simple, white halterneck that complements her slightly tanned skin. Lindsey has her blonde hair down, thrown over one shoulder. She knows what she's doing. This is a wink to me, because of what I said the other...

As I was looking into Lindsey's grey-blue eyes telling her another one of my goofy jokes she loves, I noticed the old man looking at me from the table behind her. There's something about him, I'm not sure. I must have stopped my joke in midsentence because she still has that geeky smile I like, waiting in anticipation for the punchline. Then she asks me what's wrong, but the old man holds my gaze. I don't know what it is. Now, Lindsey is looking at him, transfixed.

He is very old. Completely bald on the top of his head, with incredibly smooth skin, he has long silver hair to his shoulders. He smiles. Both of us, I believe, start feeling very happy at this. With that, the man stands. He's tall, about 6'4" and lanky. He deftly grabs one of the chairs at his table and, with a sweep of his long arm and a quick stride, is seated at our table in moments. He greets us, I'm sure. He speaks mostly to Linds, and I hear him & I understand, but I don't know his words. The speech is harmonic. From what I can tell, it conveys more through tone and movement and expression than through words.

I begin to admire the man's features, and I notice something peculiar. It's his ears. They're large, of course. But, ever so slightly, and just subtly enough that most passers-by wouldn't care to notice, the ears are pointed. In fact, the longer I stare, the more distinctive they become. But then he's looking at me, smiling. He knows me. We haven't met before, but there is warmth between us, like two friends, brothers even, who survive a calamity. Maybe one brother saved the other. Just as quickly as he met us, the man is back to his own table. Strange.

I look to Lindsey who acts like the Cheshire cat. I ask her what he said and I sense something different about her in the response. She is speaking harmonically, also, but her words come through, like hearing something new for the first time in your all-time favorite song. You know the lyrics but the melody is just somehow different. Linds tells me that the musician we came to see is called Thomas Reynard and that we're in for a real treat. There's more that she isn't telling me. Something about me, it must be. She beams at me when she thinks I'm not looking. Something good, at least. Can't do me any harm to just let it be, so that's what I do.

As I'm back to admiring her, I notice that her skin is getting more tan, but then I look up to see the lights dimming. The show is starting. The whole place quiets. The whole place is dark. I hear one of the doors open at the front of the place, opposite our end. Footsteps now, I can barely make them out, but I hear footsteps. Lindsey puts her hand on mine to tell me to turn so I can see him. He is coming down the walkway closest to us. I am amazed.

Reynard is tiny. Maybe 5'5" if he combs his long, brown hair right, he has complete command of the room despite that. As he approaches the stage, I notice something peculiar. He is barefoot, walking heel to toe naturally. His features are remarkably pronounced. Reynard's small body is adorned with long arms and hands of spindly fingers. His face seems older than his years, wrinkled under the eyes from concentration & exhaustion and around the mouth from excessive smiling & laughter. His nose is long, but not oversized like his ears. His eyes are huge and greenish-brown, the kind that change in the light.

My experience now tells me to observe Reynard like a hawk. I don't hear him introduced or the spirited applause he receives until Lindsey takes her hand from mine to clap, herself. With his guitar in his left hand, Thomas waves to the audience with his right. As he sits down, he nods to the old man who responds in kind, bowing his head in respect. Reynard plays.

No song has lyrics. The emotions from them are stronger. Thomas plays in a way that makes you feel as if you're only seeing one small portion of a greater masterpiece. The feeling is palpable that certain rhythms and melodies are flying over us just as others are being received. The only audience participation is the assumption that jaws are on the floor. Each element, arrangement even, amidst a song causes various reactions. They are all joyful. Lindsey and I are amazed, together. She now has a firm grip on my hand, and mine back to hers. At different points during the performance one of us gives a squeeze. It is pure excitement.

This is downright otherworldly. I could swear as I look back toward the bar that those bar stools are swaying in time to the music. But that is nothing. The murals on the walls have come to life. Several shape notes, painted into the red brick in bright colors, dance across the ether above us and trade places between the two walls. On one wall is the mascot of the establishment: an elephant on a trampoline. As sure as Lindsey is beautiful, that elephant is doing backflips and dance moves on that trampoline. And last, behind Thomas Reynard, the grand mural of the stage has become three-dimensional. It looks almost like he is literally playing on a televised beach performance.

A feeling like this is nearly impossible to describe, but Reynard onstage is the icing on the cake. It is as if the music moves through him and down his arms and into his fingers and onto the strings and out from the guitar. He dances as a vessel possessed by its cargo, moving in time from a straight-up posture to that of a deep bow forward and back again. Each time, he leans back and stretches far, throwing his head back with his lips pursed and his eyes closed. The eyes, though, are rolled back in a dreamlike state. I picture him simply envisioning the notes and causing his fingers to respond instantly. It is a sight to behold.

Finally, Reynard closes the show and then plays his encore, bringing the audience to his true height. At the very end, out of the corner of my eye, I see that old man get up and dance around his own table faster than I've ever seen a person move. Show over, lights up, and Reynard staying to speak with audience members, Linds and I just look at each other. I think this date is a hit.

Gradually, after the shock and amazement of the incredible show begins to wear off, the specifics fade into our memories, and we regain our conversation. The old man is over with Reynard, saying goodbye, as I can tell. The man leaves, leaving us with a simple wink of his warm eyes. Soon after, Reynard walks by smiling genuinely, and looks us both in the eye. We can only smile. As he brushes his hair back, I notice it: a long, pointed ear.

As we get ready to leave, I ask Lindsey, "So, what did the old man say about me?"

She looks at me like she has good news.

Once Music is mystical

Music seems to be very mystical. I'm always astounded by the way it can fill an otherwise still room with the most vivid, nearly tangible emotions. Depending on which emotion it is, the style of music can transport us to another place, it can cause us to change shape, or even disappear. At its best, it can take the musicians creating it and transform them into one organism.

If we reduce music down to its elements, those being (for our purposes) sound, rhythm, melody and harmony, we can see how it relates right down to the very basics of our humanity. We need life, first and foremost, which is kept thriving by the cycles in nature and governed by the order of the universe. Most every entity is greater than the sum of its parts. This is especially true for human beings. A human being, soulful and alive, is all those processes physical, mental, & emotional working in concert. The pieces are useless alone, and yet something is still missing within the mechanism of the pieces together. Music is still just a theory in this stage. It takes something more transcendent to bring music out of the void.

Creativity.

Something spiritual is necessary here. It is a giving and receiving. Just as I pointed out how music transforms a group of musicians into an entity, they must first create and nourish this thing before it gives back to them. The essence is out there, always. We give it form.

I saw Once for the second time this morning and can certainly say it is another favorite, a new favorite, of mine. It will be hard for any film to top Into the Wild for its depth of meaning as it relates to my life. But Once comes as close to that meaning as I can expect. I love, love, love how John Carney juxtaposes the down-and-out natures of the lives of both Guy & Girl with the purity and heights reached by the music they make together. This is an example of sublimation at its finest. Girl, while incredibly well-adjusted, is the picture of functional destitution. She is very poor but makes enough to feed her daughter & mother. Guy, while quite secure financially, is bereft of all social graces and romanticism. He has everything he needs, save for a crucial kick in the pants that is now necessary after losing his lover. Together in music, the Girl and the Guy live out their ideal selves in their ideal lives.

Ireland Forever

A quick entry today, in commemoration of St. Patrick's Day 2008. It has always made me uneasy to think of myself as being defined by the geographical location of my ancestors' birth. At the same time, however, I cannot deny having a particular affinity for all things Irish. I have always felt that one of the greatest mistakes an American can make is to not realize they are an American. I love who I am and I wouldn't have it any other way. While it may be literally true in this case, I don't think the grass is greener on the other side, figuratively speaking.

However, when I hear those familiar melodies of traditional Irish folk music, I feel a deep connection inside to all those people and all those events that contributed to putting me where I am. I cannot deny that the Irish fiddle & flute and the Uilleann pipes strike a chord within me. I envision some kind of cinematic flyover across the ocean as the mist and clouds give way to lush, green fields appearing right before my eyes. Admittedly, it's a grand, romanticized vision, but it's mine nonetheless. Perhaps certain traditions from certain cultures do that for all of us.

Whatever it is, it is a blessing to be a part of, and as I learn more and more, the connections between the me of today and my ancestors of the past become eerie. After all, my family name means: "sea warrior".

All best.


EDITOR'S NOTE: Soon, I'll be doing a full write-up of my impressions of the film, INTO THE WILD, which I give my highest recommendation. See it in the very near future, if you can. I don't want to spoil anything for those who are looking forward to it.

Strength, perception & reality

Just by reading this blog, someone may find it odd that I write this: perception is very important. It has a major effect on all of us in many of the things we do. Expectations are closely related with perception. Psychologically, our expectations of certain results have quite an impact on whether or not they will occur. Of course I believe that getting caught up in how other people might judge me is a bad idea. But, I also know that the best probability I have of projecting a certain image of myself is to perceive myself that way first. If I do that, and if I expect that of myself, chances are I will go beyond perception and actually be that way. Funny how that works.

A common problem for many PWDs (i.e. people with disabilities) occurs socially within dating. Often, these people have issues with getting others to acknowledge them as sexual beings. Quads and paraplegics have to convince others that their bodies still work, albeit differently. A woman must overcome the external impression that she is being taken advantage of. Surprisingly, these issues are often self-imposed as these PWDs are simply worried that the able-bodied individuals they meet are thinking this way when, in reality, many of them are not. It can be very difficult to figure out how to project a date-able image to others.

The first step in this specific problem is for those affected to make an internal adjustment on their impressions of themselves. I went through this exact thing, myself, and it is frustrating. I remember fighting the urge to tell a woman I had just met that, well, you know. The uncertainty and the patience required are difficult to get used to, and it is difficult. Most social situations do not make it easy to get your point across without acting inappropriately. I had to understand that I could only control what I could control. To project myself as a sexual being, I had to perceive it that way, and then leave the outside perceptions up to everyone else.

Eventually, I made my adjustment and I learned the same patience for that scenario as I did for any other. The major roadblock for anyone in that situation is body acceptance. For as long as I can remember, I had a major phobia of a tracheostomy. I can honestly say that I would get emotional just thinking about the potential of me having one. I had the strength to overcome every other change in my appearance, but it took me years and years to accept what that might bring should I ever decide to get one. I did it, though, and the strength it took made the rest pale in comparison.

This has been a good thing for me, as I realize I will need someone extra extra special. So that means I'll get to meet someone extra extra special. My approach to this stuff is essentially my approach to everything else. I think we all need to be strong at some point in our lives. In order to do that, however, we must be able to feel strong. It's kind of an obvious "2+2" thing, but how can we ever have strength when we need it if we don't think we can feel strong?

I've always had powers of observation, and I've been able to maximize my understanding of a thing through a limited amount of experience with it. I have looked down the barrel enough times to realize that I am a very strong person. When I go through things now, or think about potential experiences, I am able to tell myself in good faith that I know I will be able to face it. But there's no substitute for the real thing, and my faith in myself is strongest after I survive literally. It doesn't matter what I survive, just that I survive.

I believe that my adventures are a prime example of how perception and reality depend on one another. To really find myself in an optimal position, I cannot allow myself to be ruled only by the way things are, at the moment. However, in order to remain grounded, I must be vigilant as to how much stock I put into perception, from within and without. On the flip side, my goals will be achieved only when I have the courage to first perceive, and then to be, the thing that I want to be.

Travel

Most people enjoy a good trip. In some way or another, travel holds appeal for almost everyone. Some people are all about the destination, so they just want to get wherever they're going. Others actually enjoy the journey and include it as a part of the experience. That debate is for another time. Both approaches are encompassed by the concept of travel.

People travel for many reasons, viz.: meditation, vacation, to settle or relocate, for political reasons, to visit others, or just for fun. Trips vary in length and scope, from sailing around the world right down to a day-trip in a car. When I think about my desire to travel, my thoughts always center on one important question.

Am I traveling to escape my world or to expand my world?

In my mind, it is a critical distinction. Any of the aforementioned reasons can be an expansion or an escape. I always think about spiritual retreats, which can either be very good for my daily life, or very bad. Remembering past retreats that I've taken, my most vivid memory is the silence, the peaceful silence. I can't help but refocus my mind almost the instant I step into an environment like that. I make observations about myself, and resolve to change some things while strengthening others.

A good meditation like that does not only learn lessons, but formulates a plan for applying those lessons to daily action. However, sometimes things don't work out as planned, and the retreat simply becomes an escape. I return to the noise of the everyday world and revert back to my everyday self. Sometimes the lessons learned actually make the negative things even worse. They become louder because I was only escaping them.

So it is with travel. It seems patently obvious, but I think sometimes we forget that we are, in fact, bringing ourselves along on the trip. There's no escaping that. I believe that there is an implicit assumption that if we go out into worlds undiscovered, so too will we discover new parts to ourselves, or maybe even a whole new self! Fortunately (in my view), there is no other self waiting for us on the other side of the world.

In fact, those parts of ourselves that we're wishing so dearly for are always there, no matter how deeply buried, regardless of what landmark or mountain range or body of water we're looking at in that moment. Personally, I would much rather find my true self at home and then take that self out to see the wonders of the world, for when I return, I can bring it all back with me. This is the beauty of using travel to expand my world.

When I go forth with all the baggage that makes me who I am -- with the realization that, while I am changed by every experience, no one experience will define me -- I also get to come back with all the new things I learned, memories made, and places made known. The fog of war lifts, and these experiences become a part of the world for me. This makes it easy to channel my lessons into application.

And that is the most important part of the travel. It is ridiculously easy for me to come upon new thoughts about life and say that I believe certain things or that I will do certain actions in a given situation. What is much harder, and much more important, is standing by those beliefs and having the fortitude to do those actions when the situation arises.

Nothing gets left behind.

Blinded -- Part 2

The salt air was pungently refreshing, almost to the point of distraction. He had been blind for a while now, but he needed to focus on listening. Every "click-click" of his walking stick told him that he could continue in a straight line. Any sort of a muffled thud meant he was veering off the concrete and onto the sand. Eventually, he hoped his ears would become sensitive enough to allow him free rein of the entire beach. Now, however, he had to concentrate.

He waved the walking stick side to side in wide strokes as he walked swiftly. A slow gait made the stick useless, he learned, especially if dumb luck could get you there faster. So he became a roving, human radar, walking parallel to the shore but several hundred yards back. The man heard only the movement of the surf in between the clicks of his metronome. Finally, there was a sharp "thwack!" He had reached the first leg of the first wooden bench along the walk. At this point, he turned and faced straight out toward the water.

As usual, they arranged to meet 20 strides from that bench. The man noticed that he was starting to make those strides longer on the days he knew she would be there. However, that wasn't the biggest thing he noticed about himself on that day.

For the first time in a long time, he smiled for no reason. Then he heard the laugh. It was good-natured. The woman's laugh had a tone in it that was genuine, never demeaning. Her laugh was friendly. It was warm, and sweet. The man continued forward a couple of steps and he could feel the sand sink down under his feet differently than it had before. It moved more cohesively, sort of as one unit. He realized he was standing on her blanket.

"It's good to see you smiling," she said. "Come, sit you down."
As he proceeded to sit down, the man said, "Sun's setting."
"Perceptive..." She giggled, again good-naturedly, but with an implicit question.
"The pick-up in the wind is obvious, even to you," he responded, "but there's also a swell in the noise of the birds and the warmth of the sun strikes us differently, lower on our cheeks."
"You know you're right," she said, "I can hear the birds and feel the sun."
"Hard to believe it, but I enjoy the beach more, now that I'm blind, than I used to."
"I knew you would."
"You get up right by the shore break, and you can smell that smell and feel that mist on your face, and then the water slides under your toes and you can feel the sand all around them and squish them into it."
"Just wait 'til we get you swimming!"
"One thing at a time, my dear," he said with a smile. "I'm smiling for no reason and enjoying the pleasure of nature for its own sake... take your victory."
"Oh, twist my arm."
"I'll bet this is some sunset."
"It's going to be beautiful."
"I can just see that orangey-yellow sun, clear as day."
"How wonderful it is, now, knowing what a sunset at the beach means."

Sometime later, with the ocean a deep shade of blue and light sprinkling off of it, pink clouds breaking up the vivid sky, the sun began its final descent. The woman described every bit of it to the man, just as he asked. They laid together on their beach blanket, with his arm over her shoulder and her head on his chest. The waves crashed and the wind swirled. The salt continued to fill the air and the birds continued to sing. Both of them kept their faces pointed toward the sun, to feel its warmth and anticipate the last images of its setting.

Finally, the sun did set while they continued to enjoy the peaceful feeling.

He asked, "Do you think I'll ever be glad this happened?"

"We'll get there," she said. "Remember, it's one victory at a time."

Blinded -- Part 1

This man drove a certain long and winding road often. It was the quicker route between work and home. He pushed through it as fast as possible whenever he took it. His eyes would dart from windshield to rearview mirror, checking every car on the road, and he frequently reminded himself to look to the lane of oncoming cars so he had as many opportunities as possible to use it to pass anything slowing him down. He used his eyes to change the radio station. He used them to check his cell phone. He never used them to look at the surrounding countryside, or the beach at the far end of the largest bend in the highway.

The man knew this road would take him where he wanted to go, but he never knew where he was when he took it. He never bothered to learn his way. For all practical purposes, he was lost, but he figured GPS and his cell and his auto club membership would get him out of any snags. That was until he totaled his car. It happened at the beginning of the largest bend, with the sun just beginning to set. The light affected his eyes, but not his accelerator. The man had come from a bad day at work, the other drivers were too slow, and he'd had enough. The bright, orangey-yellow sun was the last thing he ever saw. He never saw the oncoming pickup truck. It was head-on. The survival of both drivers was, in a word, miraculous. However, the man's windshield shattered.

His eyes were peppered with tiny shards of broken glass. They were beyond the help of medicine. From then on, he would be called the blind man wherever he went. The darkness that consumed his sight was an easy metaphor for the way his life turned. In typical fashion, the calamity caused a man who had everything to lose everything. He drank to cope with his blindness and it cost him his job. He drank more. Financial and alcohol issues put a strain on his marriage. His despair broke it. He drank more.

Finally, when the man was evicted from his apartment, his friends and family had a reason to step in. He quickly drove them away. It was fortunate, for his sake, that they started him on therapy even quicker. Oh, he had no use for the free clinic shrink, for sure, but it was one of those right place, right time experiences.

The woman was a little too New Age and extroverted for his liking, but it was a good thing because women like that couldn't care less. If people were bothered by this woman being apt to make the first move, she certainly wasn't bothered by them. He felt her sit down in the seat immediately next to his.

"I hate it when people assume," she started, "so... are you blind?"
His smile was dripping sarcasm before he spoke. "What gave it away? Maybe it was these sunglasses, or possibly this giant candy cane I'm holding."
"Actually, it was your feet," she said. "They're pointed toward the exit. I'm guessing you wouldn't be caught dead here unless you were waiting to go into an appointment."
"I'm not really into all this psychiatric... stuff." With that, he pointed his feet in the other direction.
"The worst part is anticipation. We're subconsciously drawn to look toward the thing we need to be ready for, and then we point our feet."
"So you know this stuff pretty well. You're a doctor then?"
"Nope," the woman said, "the only ones who know about anticipation are the patients."
"You're a patient."
"Aren't I well-adjusted?"
"Very," he said. "Why do you have to keep coming here?"
"Because I'm honest," she said. "I used to hallucinate. I don't any more, but I talk freely about spirituality and it makes them nervous."
"You don't want to convert me, do you?"
She grinned brightly and asked, "To what?"
"I don't know."
"I'm able to... see things, y'know, in people."
"But I thought," he paused, shifted in his seat, and continued, "I thought you said you don't hallucinate any more."
"Maybe I should say, 'feel things.' But you speak to my point... these doctors here don't see the difference between delusion and belief."
"Is there a difference?"
"Of course there is." The woman said this with a sweet sincerity that made things not quite so serious for the man.
"I'd say you're pretty optimistic," the man responded.
"I am!"