Category Archives: Uncategorized

Last night I gave a talk about my history in activism. I started with a description of coming out as bisexual back in 1985 and what it was like to try to organize a national network in 1990.

I was presenting at Stanford and I felt the need to point out to the young people in the room that this was all before the Web. I painted a picture of standing in room with people from all over the country and feeling the pressure to get a decision out of them before everyone boarded their planes that evening because once they were gone they were gone.

I talked about becoming a pointperson for the movement because I was the one left holding the literal key – the one that unlocked our P.O. Box where letters written by hand would start to pour in from around the country. I spent the next two years writing back (also by hand) to people coming out in rural towns, suburbs, and cities, to reassure them that yes, there were others out there.

It’s hard to remember sometimes what it was like before we all used the Internet. Back then, I had never met or even heard the story of a bisexual before I came out. The people I wrote to hadn’t seen any videos reassuring them it was going to get better. None of us had seen comments on articles written by people like us that let us know others were thinking about similar things.

Nearly all means of mass communication were still in the hands of large companies. Communication between individuals was largely invisible to the wider universe. I used the phone and mail to collect articles from around the country for a newsletter I assembled and then photocopied to mail out. Finding out who was talking about what and how to reach each other was a difficult and somewhat random process.

It was not a better world. It was not a worse world. It was just the world as it was and it’s a different world now.

I am thinking about this as I read what is happening in the Occupy movements. I get updates and see photos within minutes from people who are there and read commentary from around the world. I read the stories and send my support to other activists in all corners of the globe and their updates come to me in real time via Facebook, Twitter, and blogs.

We are just learning how to use these tools effectively. The power is clear and has already been realized in more than one situation. It’s exciting and wonderful to see how these tools are used to get information out and to coordinate actions online and off.

As Occupy encampments are getting cleared out around this country, I maintain hope that they have sparked a dialogue that is still gaining momentum. I hope that the energy becomes simply relocated, not stalled.

In the past it was hard to gain momentum because communication tools were slow. This time the momentum picked up swiftly and has been reacted to just as fast, but it’s not clear what’s happening next. Even the challenge of this question and the confusion of responses is happening quickly.

Past movements had only physical presence to convey a message. The current movements have that plus online tools that can weave us together and involve many more than those who are able and willing to put their bodies on the line.

This has been called a leaderless movement. I beg to differ. It strikes me as a movement that calls on each of us to bring out our own leadership and creativity to create a world that believes in the rights of individuals and the collective good. If everyone does a part, there will be no limit to what we can achieve.

When people ask me what it’s like at Burning Man, I tell them that it’s impossible to describe because it’s so many things. And because I couldn’t possibly predict what their experience would be like. And because it’s always changing. I tell them it can be everything from a non-stop dance frenzy to a chance to connect on a deep spiritual level with yourself and others to a mind-blowing art show to a weird carnival-like ride of unpredictability. You can spend the week anywhere on the spectrum from totally sober to decidedly not. You can stay in one place under the shade and watch a mad cast of characters pass by or you can be in constant motion pedaling across the desert sparking little happenings everywhere you go. The only thing I can guarantee is that you will be dusty. And I expect that something will surprise you.

I find my answer to be informative, intriguing and somewhat unsatisfying. It’s the best I can do.

It still doesn’t answer why I go. For that, I want to share with you one of my highlights from this year, the kind of experience that is rare in the regular world but which I think should happen all the time. As you read this, know that I was completely sober, sipping nothing but water all day.

It was late in the week and I was off on my own. I left my campmates to go dance outside to Random Rab while the wind was blowing (I happen to love immersing myself in the elements). Afterwards, I rode around a bit, bumping into some friends by chance and purposefully visiting others. When I heard a good friend of mine had gone to Center Camp, I decided to try to find him there.

I walked into the large tent that surrounds the social heart of Burning Man, taking in the high energy of the mass of people, such a contrast to the majority of my rather quiet, connected day. I knew before arriving that I had a slim chance of finding my friend and had decided to try simply as the Next Thing To Do, unconcerned if it didn’t happen. (Writing that makes me think of Winnie the Pooh, which then makes me think that the Tao of Pooh will be on my list of required reading for all future Burning Man newbies).

Center Camp is designed in concentric rings, with a large central open area for active gatherings/performances (e.g., hula hooping, contact dance, the marching band competition), a wide band containing clusters of seating areas and art displays, and an outer ring with performance stages and the all-important cafe (selling one of only two things allowed to be sold on the playa, the other being ice).

Center Camp was really busy, which I guessed was because it was windy. Truth is, I don’t usually spend much time there so perhaps it’s always that busy in the daytime. I wouldn’t know. That day, being in the midst of all that activity felt novel and fun.

I walked around the circle in jagged path, looking for my friend and seeing no one that I knew. Just before I was going to head out to pick up my bike and continue my journey, I saw a man standing shirtless near one of the stages painting his own arm. He had a Burning Man symbol airbrushed on his bicep and was augmenting it with bright colors in acrylic paint. Since he couldn’t reach the back of his arm, it looked naked, neglected.

I stopped and asked if he wanted me to paint the back of his arm.

He looked up and I saw he had a beautiful face with bright eyes ringed in glitter. His smile was filled with light and needed no augmentation. He said yes, he would love it if I could add some paint, that he wanted more. By luck or perfection he had a second small paintbrush sitting on the paper plate he was using as a palette. I picked it up, chose one of the primary colors and began to decorate his skin.

At first I didn’t know what I would add, but just started and soon began to feel his gracefulness and decided to bring that out with flowing shapes. After a short while, he said “we’re running out of paint” and asked if I would stay there while he went to retrieve more. Yes, gladly. While he was gone, a woman began to sing on the stage, accompanied by a man on acoustic guitar. She said that usually they have a  7-piece band and were expecting their drummer to be there and they hoped that he was ok and not lost out there in the dust. They sounded beautiful.

When the man, my canvas, returned, he had more colors and a new brush for me. It was 1/2″ wide and flat and wonderful. I asked if I could paint his back and he pretty much glowed yes. (I should be honest here and acknowledge that I have thing for backs and his was particularly beautiful, being muscular and wonderfully smooth). I spent I don’t know how long loving his back with my brush.  I didn’t think about a design. I felt what I should paint. We would take breaks to dance to the music (now accompanied by the drummer who had arrived safely, “without his drums but with his mouth,” and was beatboxing his way through some fabulous tunes) and cheer our appreciation with our applause. When a woman and her child came by we turned to chat and coo and delight in – well – delight. At some point we exchanged names. And we continued to paint.

I was blending colors in a way I never had before (I’m not a painter) and they were beautiful. I was exploring this brush that was new to me and savoring its possibilities. I found that this man’s spine wanted to be brought out through geometric shapes. As I moved my brush over his shoulders, I discovered that I was painting shapes that turned into feathers. I told him this surprised me and he told me that what surprised him is that I would know that feathers were perfect for him.

A woman came up and asked if there was a line, if I would paint her, too. A cluster of older men came up to take photos of the work and just enjoy our giddiness.

As I was feeling his back was complete, we were running out of paint. I was filled with sensation. I had just had the most intimate experience of my week, and loved that it happened standing in the middle of the busiest place on the playa. I had disappeared out of my head and into my body, flowing with an outpouring of creativity, tapping into a place that needed to be released, giving this man the gift of my attention in a way that celebrated him and that he could carry forth.

It turned out that this was his first year at Burning Man and he had only been there a day or two. He was one of those who felt like he belonged there, living in flow and beauty. To top off a moment that needed nothing else, he pulled out a book of Rumi poems from his pack and read one at random to me just before he left. It felt like the perfect close to our time together. He then closed the book, dropped it in his pack and drifted out into the crowd. I returned to my camp aglow in the feeling that I had the experience that I had been wanting, the feeling of giving and creating that lifts me outside of myself and makes me fill with light. I felt full. Happy. Expanded.

———–

That, my friends, is an example of the kind of thing that can happen at Burning Man. My hope is that we can all experience that kind of connection-without-expectation, that kind of creative flow removed from the constraints of time. My hope is that there’s a way to find this in our regular world, that it doesn’t require the creation of a temporary city of 50,000 people in the middle of a desert, doesn’t require being pushed that hard by the elements in order to let go of our usual internal checks and hesitancies. Until we get to that point, though, it’s a great place to practice.

My greatest strength is also my greatest fallibility.

I know this is the case for most people. I’m just trying to sift through the implications of my particular combination.

I am insatiably  curious, always wanting to learn. I love learning for its own sake, and it’s an extra bonus if I can simultaneously be helping friends on interesting projects. Because I seek out information from everywhere, it feeds my ability to see things from many sides and view multiple perspectives as equally valid and true.

I am also loathe to turn down opportunities to learn and do new things, and often find myself stretched way too thin. I value the act of learning itself over any material gain, and as a result find that I’m often overcommitted in terms of time without a complementary large flow of income. Right now I have a full time job, am trying to start a new business, and am trying to be sure that I also spend enough time on various activities that feed my soul, including seeing my friends. I have been feeling recently that I have lost this balance. I am already feeling guilty for having stepped back my current role on my films. I have also recently been approached about other interesting work and feel myself pulled to see if I should do them.

I see many options as valid and often find I have a hard time figuring out what I actually want. I’ve been trying to tap into feeling my own excitement and am confronting the fact that it’s often catalyzed more by novelty or difficulty than anything else. If it’s new or if I’m going to have to learn a lot to do it, I’m more likely to feel engaged and excited.

One thing I have had a lifelong resistance to: routine. In the past, as soon as anything got too predictable I felt the urge to change it. I have the capacity to be insanely focused for a period of time but then after that have generally either felt the need to augment, change, or depart. This has maxed out at 3 years so far.

So where this leads me: One of the things that I’m starting to understand is that consistency may be the key to success in the areas that I want my life to grow. And I’m feeling afraid because that’s not really my strong suit. I’d say that I’m more likely to have been criticized for inconsistency than anything else.

I’m not sure how to get through this. Maybe I only need to lock in to a consistent routine for 3 years and then figure it out after that…

I’m going to be thinking about this a lot. It feels like a big one to sort out.

This weekend I sat by a river. I fell asleep to the sound of crickets and falling water. And a frog or two. Mustn’t forget the frogs.

My arrival was frenzied. After a late departure, I rushed to be sure that I could hike most, if not all, of the trail while there was still light. I had been warned that wayfinding was difficult, the entrance to the trail eroded, the end of it a rock scramble. My mind was cluttered with internal chatter about being careful not to re-injure myself, particularly carrying a heavy pack. I was aware that I preferred this chatter to the heavy emotional weight I felt in reaction to some rough news earlier in the week.

The hike was a bit over an hour long, particularly at my cautious pace. I started in twilight and ended in the dark. As I descended from the dirt road above to the rushing river below, I felt figurative weights drop off of me even as the literal weight of my pack seemed to increase with time. About halfway through my solitary journey I reminded myself to look up from the path and take in my surroundings. And that’s when I remembered: This is what restores me. Here I feel connected. I can sink into my body and smell the earth and damp and feel a smile that starts at my toes and spreads upwards.

I dropped my pack on a huge boulder just above the river. By the light of my headlamp, I finished the scramble to the waters edge. My friends – now found – pointed out the deep waters of the swimming hole. I shed my clothes and dove into the icy snowmelt-fed pool and felt ALIVE.

That night we danced in the starlight atop boulders as the water rushed around us. We chatted quietly, nibbled fruit, massaged shoulders, stretched out on rocks to watch falling stars. Late late, after the moon had finally made its appearance, I crawled into my sleeping bag, letting my muscles fully relax for the first time that day.

And I remembered to pause. To still my thoughts. To drink in the fullness of that moment. To hear and smell and see and feel everything that was right around me.

And now I write about it to remember to do this when I’m not surrounded by trees and rivers and rocks. That I need to pause, to drink in my life in every moment, to be in my body and in the world as much as I can be wherever I am.

I’m completely taken with YAK films right now. A friend posted “Turf Dancing in the Rain”:

The rain, the music, and the echoes of gang posturing made the film feel incredibly sad to me. Only after did I notice that the header included “RIP Rich D”

Then I saw this incredible piece:

It’s entitled “RIP 211″.

These young filmmakers are working in East Oakland, an area rife with violence and conflicts with the police. These films are a gorgeous response, “youth-led multimedia production which provides a voice of resistance and an alternative to played-out mainstream media.”

OK Go continues to delight me. If you haven’t seen their latest, check it out. Or even if you have, it’s fun to watch it again:

As I close in on the end of the year of my transformational coaching and leadership training, I was sent this song by Ryan Montbleau:

It’s just perfect.

Many years ago, when I first heard about this thing called the Internet, I immediately saw the possibility for something that has yet to happen. Now, with the kind of thinking that is triggered by the iPad, I am having that dream again and still don’t hear about it happening. So I’ll write it down here because ideas stuck in my head hurt after a while.

Will someone please make a true encyclopedia of dance?

The way I’m thinking about it is quite different from the limited book + tv versions of “interactive textbooks” concepts that I’ve seen so far. An example:

When I was in college, I studied Balinese dance and theater for a little while. Many of the pieces were inspired by the Ramayana, an ancient text originally written in Sanskrit that is used throughout much Hindu art and in other cultures as well.

I thought: What if I was watching a video of a performance of a Balinese dance of a story from the Ramayana? What if I could stop the video at any point and: Read the original story in a variety of languages? Ask about the name of the piece, the orchestra that’s playing it or the instrument that did that last solo? Could I hear some other pieces using that instrument? Are there other instruments like it in other cultures? Could I hear some pieces and see dances using those other instruments? Can I hear them side by side with this performance? What if I could see other forms of dance that were based on the same story? How about seeing paintings, books, or plays that told that tale? Or could learn about the costumes – what material is that? How is it made? Show me something about the village that specializes in making those shoes. That makeup was originally made of what? Who invented that – the Egyptians? What’s the recipe? That move that the dancer just did – what’s it called? What other kinds of dance use movement like that? Can I watch them overlaid on each other? What’s the history of this performance style in the culture? What other things were happening in that culture at the time this dance emerged or when this performance was recorded? What’s happening right now in the country that this is from? What’s the importance of the Ramayana in a spiritual sense and can I be taken to various religious events that refer to this story? Are there modern dances or films that use this story? How about a comparison between this story and another from a different culture’s canon (or version of the Ramayana)? Can I see those side by side? How is that set made? What’s the significance of … well… just about anything? Can I link to that right now please?

And then could I have the same kind of experience while watching a video of a modern hip hop dance? Please?

Yeah, I know this probably hasn’t happened because it’s a giant project that would involve experts, aficionados, and collectors in dance, music, history, anthropology, pop culture, literature, art, and more. And it would probably be a project of love that is difficult to turn a profit on. But if we could crowdsource/wiki/collaboratively create something like this, how amazing it would be!

Then after that I’d like to think about how to redo telling stories. Like an entirely non-linear movie. Beyond choose-your-own-ending. Nothing difficult.

Yeah, I’m most interested in thinking about ways to get us out of the habit of envisioning projects that continue to feel like paper+tv or that are wedded to a linear timeline. I’ll be even more excited when this becomes something I can play with!

[Note: "IdeaHO" means "Idea Hand Off" - something I started doing when I was blogging for Sexiest Geeks Alive. They're ideas I have that I'd love someone else to do because I can't.]

My New Robot, originally uploaded by cianna.

For many years I took photos of a little plastic buddha. He was a travel buddy and photo subject and I adored taking his picture. Two years ago, I went to China and found he wasn’t with me. I had him in the Philippines, but apparently he wasn’t interested in returning to China.

I’ve been looking for another good subject and nothing appeared until today when I got this robot as a belated Christmas present. He’s big for travel but I can already see how much fun I’m going to have photographing him out in the world. It’s exciting to have a new subject!