Sum of my Friends

Wedding Preacher

2009-09-07T13:25:00.000-07:00

Slept with the wedding preacher. We shared a bed, although I think I'm the only one who got any sleep. I snore something fierce--that's what they tell me.

Madison, Indiana, celebrating the marriage of dear friends. Ryan was the preacher and I the wedding singer.

He's a great speaker. Passionate, challenging, insightful. A witty man, and playful, both on and off stage. I'm remembering his competitive bowling game when the boys went out for Alburn's bachelor party. Not bad, dude. We should go bowling again.

There are now three wedding sermons that I remember. One by Sam Leonor a year ago in Riverside, one by Andy at Liana and Jason's wedding, and Ryan's from yesterday: That marriages are meant to be live-action models of Grace, deployed so the world can see how God loves.

Ceremony completed, we had a smile over the ying-yang of his black-tie-on-white-shirt against my white-tie-on-black-shirt.

Then good times at the reception (I suck at blowing bubbles...) chatting with Kentucky Darren and the Michigan Smiths. That'd be a good name for a bluegrass band, right?

Found out this morning that Ryan likes bluegrass. I didn't know that. Wouldn't have guessed. And that's exactly what I liked about this trip.

I see him leading community actions in Hollywood and participating in the public conversation on healthcare reform. I hear him next door in his office, moderating a conference call between various church leaders and President Obama.

But it's these one-on-one moments when I see this man I respect in a different way.

Sitting in Starbucks at Louisville International Airport, planning the worship service for this coming Sabbath, I remember how much I enjoy working with him. I don't think I yet know half the reasons God aligned us in mission and ministry, but I know it's been an honor for me.

We board different flights to Chicago, whence he'll drive to Michigan and I'll catch Southwest to Portland. We'll both be back in Hollywood by weekend, God willing.

As he rises in the public scene, the activist minister, holding tightly to faith in one hand and reaching intently for social justice with the other, I think of him most fondly as the guy who showed me how to use the Iphone I borrowed for the weekend.

A single phrase to describe my friend Ryan Bell: Jetset Bowling Preacher

Smoke and Alcohol

2009-09-01T02:27:00.001-07:00

I loved, and I do mean loved, working for Jeff Meader and Laurent Montalieu. Their collaborative companies, Oregon Wine Services and NW (NorthWest) Wine Company produce and/or store many of the great wines of the Willamette Valley. They are also two of the finest gentlemen I've known.

Most wineries delivered by tanker-truck. The guys in production would quick-connect the tanker and pump to our stainless-steel storage and let me know when it was all in-house so I could schedule a crew for bottling.

This job was different. The wine was in two one-thousand gallon plastic tanks and we were going to bring them in by loading the tanks into the back of our 24-foot box, used-to-be-a-moving-truck.

Both tanks forklifted into place, securely strapped to railings, the roll-down door padlocked, I set about a lovely 15-mile drive through vineyard and country back-road.

I figured on driving gingerly with that much weight in the back. But even my 35 mph beginning was dangerously ambitious. Sloshing liquid so disheveled my truck that around an early corner one side of the truck started lifting off the road.

As I felt the wheels lifting, I thought,

"Wow, mom was right, alcohol's gonna kill me!"

Pleased with my own cleverness, I renegotiated a slower pace and settled in for the return trip. And then the thought,

"This is gonna be a long, hard ride."

For some reason my mind turned to the story of a guy coming home from a long, hard ride. Doesn't have a name, we call him prodigal, but I think prodigal's an adjective.

Might be the gorgeous scenery, or the woody fragrance of pinot wafting forward from my cargo. Might be the steady maintenance of adrenaline to my heightened senses. Whatever it was, the muse stayed with me while I drove, and the entire song downloaded during those 90 minutes in the cab of a 24-foot box, used-to-be-a-moving-truck.

I wanted to remember it, so I called myself on the cellphone and sang it to my voicemail.

The song is "Smoke & Alcohol" and it's available on my website starting today, September 1st. Click here to download it for $1 US:

Well, I don't need no more pictures

Took my pictures off the wall

And I tried to drown these voices

In a blend of smoke and alcohol

Leave no reminder that I'm traveling all alone

Been a long, hard ride

There's only one road coming home

Well, I'm the blacksheep in my family

And I disappoint my wife

But I'm driving this new highway

It's called the way, the truth, the life

Your folks can't get there for you

You got to drive it on your own

Been a long, hard ride

There's only one road coming home

There's only one way

When I returned to my senses, I said I wanna go home

There's only one way

I been livin' like an animal, don't wanna do it no more

There's only one way

I was thinking I could get me a job down at the family store

There's only one way

He said come to me when you get tired and you're feeling heavy laden

I'll take your load and I'll give you more than you have ever taken

One condition, you got to follow where I go

Been a long, hard ride

There's only one road coming home

There's only one way

When I returned to my senses, I said I wanna go home

There's only one way

I been livin' like an animal, don't wanna do it no more

There's only one way

I was thinking I could get me a job down at the family store

There's only one way

People, they gonna disappoint you

People, they gonna let you down

Don't leave your treasure where the moth can find it

And don't build your shelter on shaky ground

There's only one way

When I returned to my senses, I said I wanna go home

There's only one way

I been livin like an animal, don't wanna do it no more

There's only one way

I was thinking I could get me a job down at the family store

There's only one way

Well, I don't need no more pictures

Took my pictures off the wall

And I tried to drown these voices in a blend of smoke and alcohol

But it ain't workin'

My head is ringing like a phone

Been a long, hard ride

There's only one road coming home

photo by Sean Amlaner

Sit-in

2009-08-27T07:01:00.000-07:00

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave...

--From the song "Hotel California" by Don Felder, Don Henley. and Glenn Frey of The Eagles.

The 5th Floor is inescapable. Biology writes its name in blood.

_________________________________________________________

A couple years ago I met this guy. People told me I'd like him, which is something funny that people say sometimes.

"You're gonna like this guy!"

If I don't like him, do I get money back?

Plus, I like everybody, so what's the big deal?

He plays a great cello. Makes a mean cranberry and tonic. Asks direct questions. Asked me about my loneliness. Did I answer simply because he asked? Would I have answered another stranger with such depth and transparency? Was it because of his training as a therapist? He just graduated from Loma Linda University, Phd. In Clinical Psychology.

photo by Austin Bacchus

After listening to my fears, why in the world did he and his wife come over that Sunday, laden with food and good company? What made them sit with me when I was so painfully uninteresting? I was empty and they sat with me.

I had the divorce leprosy. We don't know what to do with that. How do we treat these living dead? They're not single. They're not married. Are they contagious?

I fell asleep and they were still there an hour later when I woke up. How rude of me! They said they were glad of the opportunity to help me relax.

He lives far away and I may not see him for a while. But I think in the few encounters we did have, I found someone I'm connected to by geography-resistant ties.

Blood, they say, is thicker than water.

The Biologicals are coming.

A single phrase to describe my cousin Derek Bacchus: He sat with me . . .

Editor

2009-08-24T22:40:00.000-07:00

http://www.freeimages.co.uk/

Behind Guitar Center, up one block, one block west, up another block, is a street lined with those trees with the gorgeous purple flowers. Such an amazing, vibrant color. We used to walk up that street every day at lunch-time.

First time I met her, she was a customer. By the time she came to work there, we were already friends.

Gear-head. I don't think that's a mean thing to say about her. She'd probably say the same. I admire her fascination with equipment and levels and processes. Loves to set up studios and run tracking sessions and label stuff and mix down and tweak this and balance that. When she worked in Hollywood, she'd get hired to consult on studio design and setup all the time.

There's a podcast in the works for Sounds Like Humans. Her idea. It's a behind-the-scenes look at the making of the album, some of the conversations between me and Suren and Mike, some of the sessions at the studio, some of the challenges and the triumphs.

We hung out a couple hours last night. Which sort of violates my whole not hanging out with women after dark thing. But technically, this was on Ichat and she wasn't really in my office; she's 300 miles away. Videoconferencing has been our way of meeting the last few months on this project.

Basically, she's got me taping my whole life. With this many things to check off today's list, it's hard to remember to drag the camera and tripod along as well.

Speaking of the camera...when we first talked about this podcast a few months ago, I said, "yeah this is a cool idea, but I can't afford a video camera right now. It's taking everything I've got to just make the music."

She said, "what's your address?"

A few days later my video camera showed up in the mail. With instructions to film everything and send her the tapes. She'll edit the footage. Qualified for the After; she was there for the Before. Seems right she should be part of the storytelling of God reconstructing my life.

Been a while since I walked up that street.

Jacaranda.

That's what those trees are called . . . Jacaranda.

photo by Truth

A single phrase to describe my friend Truth Knox: Tweaker of Visuals

Video Bromance

2009-08-14T18:23:00.000-07:00

I've never registered for stuff before. Say you're getting married in a few months, like November-ish. You can go to the store and make a list of stuff you want and if your friends like you enough, they'll buy this stuff for you!

I am not making this up. Seriously!

Ok, I realize this isn't news to most of you, but apparently I've led a very sheltered life...

I went with my friend and his fiancee' to register at Macy's. It's too much fun. They give you a scanner and turn you loose in the store and whatever you scan goes on the magic list.

I was like, "you get all this free stuff just for getting married?...seriously?"

Shoot, I was about to propose to the next woman that walked through the department. Then I remembered I'm already in love with somebody. Whew, that was close.

Wednesday night we went to the Icehouse in Pasadena for an evening of stand-up comedy. Good times.

Sunday morning to the studio for a tracking and mixing session. After the studio we went home and played video games. You don't understand. I do NOT play video games. Heck, I don't play games. Seriously. . .

It was crazy fun. I don't even know the name of it. Just some racing game where you go as fast as you can until you crash full speed into the side of a mountain, or get bogged in lava and melt into nothing with hardly a whimper. 'Cause you're just that tough. Or maybe 'cause you know you'll be back at the push of a button.

photo by MariaNoel

Between video games and pizza he had a prop-design project and I had to review some notes on the computer. He worked his project; I worked mine. Still counted as hangout time. Conversation comes when it comes. It's perfectly alright to just be in the same space and not say anything.

I've never been more proud of him than watching him prepare for marriage. It's not a game, and he knows that. There's no reset button, and you can tell he's taking it seriously.

Day after tomorrow, bright and early, we're going off-road to capture a photo for the single "Smoke and Alcohol," posting to my website first of September.

Single phrase to describe my friend Sean Amlaner:

My brother, seriously...

No, seriously!

Rope

2009-07-11T23:45:00.000-07:00

IM chatting with a friend who tells me she's come to the end of her rope.

I've been to the end of my rope. Yet, somehow, I'm still here and the rope continues. Which makes me wonder, was that the end of the rope I reached last time? Is this the end this time? There's more to this rope than meets the eye.

As long as there's life, there's rope. (O, that's bad, I should delete that, but I'm not going to... Scott wouldn't want me to)

I relate to my friend. Here I am, once again at the edge of Lennox.

Can't go any further. I fully expect the promise of God to be fulfilled in my life. Haven't stopped praying. Haven't quit believing. Just ran out of strength, that's all. Can't move a muscle.

Stalled in the middle of the album. Wrote these songs at a low point in my life. Now I find myself re-living those emotions as I revisit this music. I've been here before, paralyzed. Last time I was paralyzed from fear; this time exhaustion.

The effect is the same. I'm not moving. Like my friend on IM, it's gonna take a miracle to get me unstuck.

My latest miracle wears dreads. Came alongside so smoothly I didn't realize what was happening. He came by on a Tuesday evening, told me we'd jam a little. We did. Worked on a track for singer Keaver Brenai.

After a couple hours, I was ready to call it for the night. He starts having me play one of the songs for the album. Play it again. Ok, wait, slow down that part, shorten that part. Bring that part back again.

Next thing I know, dude's putting me through the paces of a fullblown musical arrangement. And by the way, what am I doing next Tuesday, same time? I'll tell you what we're doing, four more hours of the same.

He was a professor at Berklee College of Music for 9 years. Now he's a professional drummer in Los Angeles. I know this cat's got stuff to do. He's got tours and showcases, films to score and tv shows to record cues for.

His schedule has one open date before he travels to Japan on a grant to study Japanese rhythms for 3 months. I'm pretty sure dude's got more to do than pick me up and dust me off. And drag me to the nearest studio.

You know what, that's exactly what he's been doing. I was telling Suzanne the other day, I feel like a runner who's collapsed within sight of the finish line. And right when I'm about to give up and just lay there, along comes my brother to lift me up and carry me forward.

The only date he's got available is July 19th. So that's the day we're going into the studio to restart "Sounds Like Humans." Batch of three songs: Road Trip, Smoke 'n Alcohol, and Sweet Lover.

I really could not do this without you, my brother, my friend. I watched some of your gigs on Youtube tonight. You are an incredible musician and I'm deeply honored to have encountered you as a collaborator.

A single phrase to describe my friend David Cowan: Young Professor Old-Soul Brother

Sing Over Me

2009-07-03T11:35:00.000-07:00

I love Sabbath.

I told you I was sitting on the beach having conversation with God about this. It's tripping me out. Speaking of which, I should warn you now, I'm slightly crazy. I asked God to teach me how spirit works and He said, "OK, then follow me out of your mind."

Rewind a few years to when Sabbath completely sucked for me. I grew up in a conservative setting where Sabbath was pretty much The Day The Fun Stood Still.

Basic operational guideline: If there's any chance you might enjoy it, you shouldn't be doing it on Sabbath.

So although I always felt like there might be something magical about it, the possibility was obscured many years by a list of rules for the doing and the don't-ing of the day.

A few Sabbaths ago, I went to my Hollywood Church and it was a heavy day. Several of us were hurting, some out loud. There was a fog in the air over the city, a phenomenon called June Gloom. Weird that I've never noticed it before. I've lived in Los Angeles over 25% of my life, and I don't remember this?

Why this year am I acutely aware of the fog? It's 'cause I'm sad and lonely and we'll talk about that later.

As soon as church was out, I tossed some stuff in the car and headed east. Three weeks earlier I had promised Zoe and Dulce that I'd come out and play music with them on a Sabbath afternoon.

They just got all this cool new equipment.

It starts out: "hey, you should come jam with us"

Then it was: "you better come jam with us"

Then it turned into: "if you don't come jam with us, you're dead!"

Don't you love how this escalates from invite to demand to death threat?

I'm so heavy by the time I get there, I'm looking for a way to ditch this, but understand these are two of my dearest friends in the world. The absolute delight on Dulce's face as I walk into the studio is reason enough to drive 100 miles. I figure they'll notice sooner or later, so I might as well divulge:

"Hey you guys, I'm depressed right now and I don't have any music in me..."

So you know what! They played and sang and I just sat there and soaked it up. And it was good medicine. Dulce rockin' the Madonna covers and Zoe on the Pat Benatar. And my spirit peeked out from behind my pain. And that thing that music does began at my toes and worked its way steadily into my heart.

And it wasn't until later that I remembered you can't sing Madonna tunes on Sabbath.

By which time I felt much better and it was too late.

A single phrase to describe my friends Zoe and Dulce: Musical Deliverance

Dare to hope...Thank God for my Divorce! (part 7 of 7)

2009-07-01T17:44:00.000-07:00

I stand in the strength of learning remembered.

By Grace I am strong enough to love deeply and well. Interesting that it took divorce to wake me from a passive state, but now I have opinions and tastes and desires and intentions.

photo by Rory D. Peters

Shall I dare to hope that my friendship with Suzanne will last forever?

I do

Dare I hope that someday our paths will cross more substantially than the current spiderweb of emails and phone calls?

I do

And do I hope that from the ashes will rise a phoenix, a marriage recognizably similar to the old and dead, but of a newly individual beauty?

I do

Hope is a risk that's worth the taking.

I believe God is more powerful than death. I believe this dead marriage can live again, better and stronger. I believe marriage is a life-long choice, a daily choice, a choice to love when I don't feel like it or I'm too tired or too hurt. We love because He first Loved us.

Before you rush to my rescue, accept my assurance that I have no illusions about the finality of divorce. My marriage is dead. Completely. I get that. I may have a better grip on the reality of the situation than you think. Thank you. I am where I mean to be.

photo by Zoe

I lift my hands in surrender. A couple weeks ago, God said to me,

"You know, there's a difference between throwing your hands up, and lifting your hands. Same range of motion, but one is quitting in frustration and the other is submitting to the requirements of victory."

What if God allowed me to lose my marriage so I could learn to love my wife? Is that too unconventional to ponder? Are not His ways beyond searching, Her ways beyond finding out?

photo by Suzanne

Proverbs 25:2 It is the pleasure of God to conceal a thing, and the honor of kings to search it out.

There is enough Love...Thank God for my Divorce! (part 6 of 7)

2009-06-29T23:14:00.000-07:00

Love has been good to me.

photo by Jade

I was afraid that divorce meant I am not loved and nobody would love me again. What I found out was quite the opposite. Had I not been divorced, I might never have realized how many people care. Strangers and friends went out of the way to show me tender concern. It's still happening. The generosity of humans amazes me.

More than once my cousin and his wife drove 90 minutes just to make me dinner and hang out so I could relax enough to fall asleep.

Derek & Steph

I just got back from dinner and dessert with a friend I've known for 20 years. It's feels good to say I've had a friend that long. In a world where connection is steadily giving way to isolation, I consider myself blessed to have traded love with such admirable people.

That's what I like about love--you can't get rid of it. You give it away, you get more than you had to begin with.

One of my favorite gifts of Love is Gratitude. When God offers me so many amazing opportunities to know and be known, why would I ignore these blessings to dwell on the pain of love lost?

Gratitude opens my eyes wide enough to see I haven't lost Suzanne's love. It is simply speaking to me with an honesty I hadn't imagined before about changes I can make that will allow me to better serve the ones I love, including her.

If by her honesty she has taught me to love more fiercely, to believe more steadfastly, to serve more humbly and dream more boldly, how can I not be grateful?

Wings

Facing Fear... Thank God for my Divorce! (part 5 of 7)

2009-06-26T20:59:00.000-07:00

photo by Rory D. Peters

I arrived in Los Angeles, September 2005, all my possessions in the back of a green minivan. Bags and boxes. Clothes and instruments. A car full of questions.

"Will this pain make me bitter or better?"

"Will I continue to open my soul and offer whatever strength is in me?"

"Will I dare to dream?"

"Ok, there's my toothbrush, where did I put my confidence?"

Confidence and fear both took the 17-hour drive with me, but they just don't seem to get along, you know? They argued all the way down I-5, and eventually it dawned on me one of them would have to get out of the car.

I'm a very simple man. Suzanne is complex, and beautiful--she has all kinds of brilliant ideas. Me? I've had, like, four good ideas in my life!

Music was one of them. I have known since I was 8 years old that I hear music in a unique way. I have known since I was 21 that God speaks to me through music. I have known since I was 27 that I was designed to tell an important story. But for fear of rejection, fear of failure, or worse, fear of success, I hesitated and half-stepped up until that moment in fall of '05.

There's a moment in the Matrix when Neo turns to face Agent Smith in the train station, and Trinity says, incredulity all over her face,

"What is he doing?"

It's that moment in Return of the King when Aragorn turns into the cave, steel-faced, blade in hand, and says,

"I do not fear death."

It's that moment we face our deepest fears.

Out of the abundance of the heart comes the human voice. I was hurting so badly, i could barely breathe. Singing was out of the question, but that's what needed to happen. I had to sing or my heart would close up and suffocate me in a cloud of fear. And, again by Grace, I met Tom Macomber who provided the opportunity to sing into a microphone that recorded my first album.

The album isn't slick and shiny and polished. You can hear my broken heart rasping for breath. It's not my best work, but I tell you what, I may never accomplish a more important recording. It is the sound of a man afraid, and moving forward anyway. It ain't pretty, but it's real. It is the sound of defiance. Like the indomitable Love of the God who would not be stopped by death.

photo by Rory D. Peters

It happened while I was still bleeding.

In the months since, I've been supported to strength, and we're now working on the second album, making something together that chronicles a journey toward wholeness.

Without that first frightened move there would be no second. I am intensely grateful that in the moment of the question, God gave me an answer of confidence and not of fear.

Honesty... (Thank God for my divorce! (part 4 of 7)

2009-06-26T18:25:00.000-07:00

I drank the wine to numb my pain.

Too much to feel at once.

Pain, however, is a form of honesty. My heart wanted me to know that I had hurt myself. That something of great value had been damaged, maybe irreparably.

As I learned to listen to the wisdom around me, I also learned to listen to the wisdom inside. When I wake up in the middle of the night and miss her, that's me letting me know that her being there is important to me.

photo by Leslie Foster

I felt the pain of her honesty with me. When someone you love doesn't want to be around you and tells you why, it hurts.

I was able to share what wasn't working for me. She told me what hurt. I told her what hurt. Honesty clears the air. Now everyone's working with full disclosure. When you're trying to rebuild damaged trust, stick to the truth.

John 8:32 ..."The truth will set you free."

Absolutely!

So now I have a different value for honesty. Like the honesty of a man who explained to me what pornography does to my soul and to the soul of the woman I love. I had been seeking validation of my masculinity, a legitimate need met by counterfeit methods, a dishonest and ultimately ineffective approach. The counterfeit devalues the original by communicating to a magnificent woman that she is not enough.

I also learned the tenderness of honesty. This is great news!! Truth not only exposes what's not working; it also heals, and comforts and reveals what is working. To whatever isn't working, there is balance, and honesty reveals that balance.

Here's some honesty, both strong and tender: She didn't like who I was, but when I was real about it, I didn't either. Today I like myself very much, and that requires neither counterfeit nor denial.

I see eye to eye with the guy in the mirror. Honesty is now my pleasure.

photo by Terry Reid

Conversation with God...Thank God for my Divorce! (part 3 of 7)

2009-06-22T07:31:00.001-07:00

photo by Jade

"If you love me, keep my commandments."

Not the same as "If you love me, ponder my suggestions."

Or, "If you love me, consider the following recommendations."

When my ego died I came to God and asked for something I would not have asked for otherwise. I wasn't looking for suggestions. I wasn't looking for advice. I was looking for instructions, for directions.

"Tell me what to do. Talk to me like I'm two years old. Tell me to sit down, stand up, be quiet, eat my peas...What do you want me to do?"

I hear God's not saying anything these days. Earnest hearts asking the question, why isn't God talking to me? I don't know the answer and there are still periods of silence in our conversation, but I submit to you that when I stopped asking God for advice, I began to hear much more frequently and more clearly.

I don't have time right now to tell you about the vision I had with the horses and the tree and sword, but maybe we'll have a chance to talk about that another time. Let it be sufficient that I needed to know, so I asked.

It was a simple conversation, rewarded by simple answers. Straight to the point. Sincere. Honest

photo by Julie Kim

Death... Thank God for my Divorce! (part 2 of 7)

2009-06-21T21:00:00.001-07:00

I drank an entire bottle of Pinot Noir in 3 minutes!

When the sidewalk started spinning, I thought,

"Perfect, that's the way I feel inside."

My world was reeling. The woman I love no longer wanted to be with me.

One blessing of my divorce is a learning about Humility. Although I knew that something wasn't working, I simply could not find it in me to ask for help. I could delude myself as long as she stayed. I could convince myself things weren't all that bad, but on the day she took me to the judge, denial shattered.

photo by Suzanne

We weren't making it. We weren't flying. We weren't even close.

"That's the ground rushing up at you, Len. That's the end of the rope you're hanging on to."

I finally had to admit that I don't know what I'm doing. I began to realize how smart that woman is. I've read a few relationship books and listened to a few gurus, and I'm amazed at how much of what they tell me is an echo of something she told me years earlier.

The thing is, I wasn't listening. The shock of knowing that this woman I adore thinks her life is better without me in it, that shock activated a new response, something I hadn't tried before. I shall call it listening. When I finally sobered up, I began to ask questions and listen.

First question: "What the hell just happened?"

Answer: "Your wife doesn't like you or trust you."

Second question: "Why not?"

Answer: "Do you really want to hear this?"

I would ask her and then interpret the answer to suit my preconceptions. I thought I already knew so I only half listened, enough to patronize, not really intending to hear. For some reason, I finally heard the problem clearly when a man explained it to me.

At this point, she was too deeply hurt to talk to me, so I started asking around, and by Grace I happened to ask some men with thriving families who were anything but gentle in letting me know how many ways I had ignored the signals.

Why did I hear when a man said to me all the same things my wife had been saying for years? I don't know but that's the way it worked out. Somewhere there's a man reading this and I hope you hear me, cause there's a good chance your woman has already told you what you need to know and you think she's just crazy.

I am grateful for my divorce because it taught me to listen, even when I think I know.

I threw up on that sidewalk after midnight in February of 2005. Not the most beautiful ceremony, but certainly fit for occasion. A place to bury denial. A moment to confront death.

More painful than heartache, more necessary than knowledge, the death of an ego.

Photo by Rory Peters

When the student is ready, teachers appear. . .

If It Ain't Broke... Thank God For My Divorce! (part 1 of 7)

2009-06-21T20:25:00.000-07:00

I do not believe in divorce. I am a divorced man. The irony is not wasted on me.

Thank God for my divorce?

I've heard people use that phrase in so many ways. Often the connotation is "thank God I'm finally rid of that person, 'cause I really can't stand them."

I am not happy to be rid of my wife. I miss her very much. I think our relationship was highly successful and we're just getting to the good parts. Crazy as it may sound, divorce is one of the best things that ever happened to us. Let me tell you why.

photo by Zoe Pamintuan

I knew our marriage wasn't working. It wasn't all the way broken, just cracked, so I would invest only enough energy to patch it up so we could limp along another mile. We would maintain it enough to survive until the next winter. I knew that we could be more, but how to get there? At that time there were precious few examples in my life of a thriving marriage.

Thriving has always been far more attractive to me than surviving. If we're simply trying to survive marriage, or for that matter, survive life, I think it's time to make a choice. One option is to let go. The other is to grab hold with both hands and create what you envision. It's like Andy Dufresne says in Shawshank Redemption, "Get busy living, or get busy dying."

My choice was to go along, to remain passive. Just so we're clear, when there are options and one is to live, the other may cast various shades of passive complacency, but it is nevertheless a choice to die, slowly. Over against vibrant marriage, the default choice is slow death, the hope that our bodies will give out before our marriages do, at which point we can consider that a successful marriage.

Really?

About one year into marriage I realized it takes more than just love to make things work. I'd actually just read something by M. Scott Peck that left me knowing I needed to understand commitment on a deeper level.

I didn't know what needed to change. I also didn't want to find out, because that would require work. I was in love, but lazy. What I did know was that change is difficult and painful. I was afraid to face the pain of becoming the man I could be, so I just let things lie. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?

When I asked God how to engage my wife in real, unfeigned love, the response was, "your relationship is based on lies; we'll have to take it apart and put it back together the right way."

I really like something Professor Henry Foster shared with me. In a discussion about business paradigms, he said, "If it ain't broke, break it!"

I think that is what God did for me. He broke my marriage to save me from surviving it, and for this I am grateful.

photo by Jade Pondella

Inner Man

2009-06-17T15:26:00.000-07:00

30 days at the beach. My photos drew comment on Facebook. Some wished they were there. Some feigned jealousy well enough to fool me. One comment jabbed me right in the soul...

"it's beautiful there, but you're all alone"

It stuck. And it stung.

For $11.75 at the box office I can buy vicarious strength 90 minutes at a time. But the movie ends and I'm left with the reality that I'm weak and tired. Not strong enough, never was. Nobody's hero.

Some people are energized by social interaction. I have to get away and be still, alone with God. People drain me. I love people--they still drain me. It's one of the great ironies of my life. I'm an introvert assigned to extrovert duties.

When divorce took me apart, there was deathly silence on the 6th floor. I had thought to always have company in my soul, at least while I live here. Instead I find myself entertaining echoes. Time slowed and sound departed.

By various means of amusement and distraction, I set about to avoid being alone. Movies, visitors, conversations, self-improvement, study, overwork, business and busy-ness.

I went home to make peace with loneliness. Loneliness is part death, and there comes a time to face them both. For me, it is time. The conversation to which I was summoned, required that I appear on my own. To stick my feet in the sand and make sure they still fit. My soul hung out to dry from the weariness of living.

On the beach God reminded me about Sabbath and Marriage. Monument and memorial to Rest and Intimacy.

On that beach I read Graham Cooke's "Towards developing a powerful inner life." Thank you, Laura and Leslie, for that gift.

Ephesians 3:16 prays strengthening for my inner man. It's a prayer for internal fortitude. For a stronger shadow.

I've never been weaker. I'm ok with that.

Power Pilates Trainer

2009-04-29T19:59:00.000-07:00

Boeing 757.

She's reading "The Omnivore's Dilemma," by Michael Pollan. I'm in the window seat; she has the aisle. One empty between us. She opens the conversation:

"I hope nobody takes that seat. Should be a pretty light flight."

She's a fitness trainer from Florida. A self-proclaimed purist, she practices the teachings of Joe Pilates.

"Joe Pilates was a machinist. He built a machine to help people do the routine. I like the method the way it was created and I try to stay very close to it. It's a very systematic routine and it builds on itself as you get stronger."

I'm thoroughly impressed at how well she knows her subject. But of course she does--she's been doing this over 25 years.

Back to the machine... "It's not like a piece of gym equipment. You have to be present and centered. You don't have to count. Don't think too much. Just feel it."

She's on her way to see her husband. It's his birthday today.

"I'm his present," she jokes. "There's a reason humans lose their vision as they get older. It's so your husband can't see you properly so he still thinks you're beautiful."

"I use a lot of imagery when I teach. Not all images work for all people. Like I might say to one person, funnel your ribs, and to another soften your ribs. I might say, pretend you're putting on a vest and now go through the process of fastening each button. Ideao-kinesis, it's what Tiger Woods does..."

"Pilates has a rhythm to it. Sometimes it's quick and staccato, and sometimes more waltz-like. If you saw a group of teachers being taught by another teacher it would look like ninjas."

I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. I'm glad that seat was empty.

She's right--it is really hard to stand still on your toes with your eyes closed. I tried it after we landed.

A single phrase to describe my friend Sue Elliott: Excellent Traveling Company

Late in the evening

2009-04-04T23:59:00.000-07:00

First thing I remember, she's dancing round the kitchen with a cup of sugar floating in her hands, yeah...

Record player in the corner, Paul Simon's One Trick Pony.

She's a professional video editor, working in film and tv. It's very cool watching movie trailers made by someone you know.

Last weekend she produced the 48-hour Film-A-Thon, a collaboration of film-makers at Cinema Divina, creating a short film from start to finish, idea to screening, in 48 hours!!!

Next thing I remember, there's a pie crust on the counter and I'm making sure I roll the edges thin, yeah...

It's been such a fun day.

Earlier, at the tarpits, I asked for 5 things I didn't already know about her. Got more than 5...

Likes rockclimbing

Studied martial arts and fencing

Loves the smell of a photography darkroom

Had her photography published in Performer magazine

Studied theater for two years and even started a theater club

Filmed a documentary in India about a young girl sold into slavery

Salmon and broiled Chard, Big Chill soundtrack, apple pie from scratch, Coen brothers filmography.

That's what it is!

It's the way she connects then and now, contemporary with old school. It's that she's teaching me what's new in film-making, but her shoes and her dance and her art and her dreams belong to earlier times. That's what it is. It's that I'm in the 20's and the 2000's at the same time!

Last thing I remember, we're Raising Arizona and I'm heading for the door and walking home, yeah...

It's late in the evening, and the music's seeping through.

A single phrase to describe my friend Julia Alty: New Old School

At least one

2009-03-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

Office phone rings...

"Good afternoon, Hollywood Adventist Church, this is Lennox."

Voice on the other end: "What's up, Lenny Len! I'm heading your way.

Got a spot in North Hollywood to show you."

I've been hoping to catch up with this guy for a few weeks now. He's got a lot going on, so I completely understand when our schedules don't coincide.

California Subs turns out to be everything he promised. Their mixed fruit smoothie and Italian Sub on sourdough leave nothing to be desired.

We talk about his growing success as an actor. His recent performance on CBS's Cold Case airs May 3.

I once asked him why it is that he gets roles when others can't even get auditions. He said, "You gotta know what you want and if anyone says you can't have it, that should upset you. If you tell me I can't get it, that pisses me off."

Today he adds, "I would much rather live on the dangerous side, than not realize my full potential."

I ask him what he likes so much about acting. He says it's the chance to feel so many different life experiences and make them his own. "You can experience firsthand what people go through."

I ask if he has fans. He replies, "at least one"

He was on audition recently and practicing his lines when another actor, auditioning for the same role, said "You were on Eleventh Hour, right? I only watched one episode and you were in it. I thought you were really good!"

At first he thought someone was playing a joke on him, but then he realized the guy was serious. Amazing to me how humble is this friend of mine, so talented, so informed, so brilliant.

I'm also a fan. I'd say you now have at least two fans, sir. My guess is there will be thousands more.

A single phrase to describe my friend Dennis Hill: Actor Ambassador King

The Other African

2009-03-11T09:05:00.001-07:00

She pulled me aside on the ramp outside the main room at church. She's so fun. Exciting to be around. Some people just have that presence. It's not that she talks all that much or cracks jokes all the time, because she doesn't. But there's such fire in her eyes, you definitely sense a real live person in there watching you. Dancing with you, even when you're standing still.

She's said so many encouraging things to me before. From the first moment we met, she's been building me up.

She says I'm a gifted musician, and what musician doesn't love that? She says I'm a great songwriter and guitarist. I'm eating this stuff up. When she slows me down this day on the way out of church, I'm braced for another helping of compliments, thank you very much.

"You were great today, Len"

"Thanks." I'm smiling. Yeah, I like this.

"Do you believe all that stuff you were saying?"

"Yeah, of course. Don't you?"

Strange question. Seems an odd way to set up the next compliment. But I'm down with variety.

"So how come you're not living it?"

"huh?" and by huh, I mean "What the...?"

"It's called Lip Service, Len. Clever words about how much you love God and how much you love your wife, but that's not what your actions represent. When are you going to stop paying Lip Service and actually live the stuff you say?"

Emotional Response In My Head: "Who the hell do you think you are, Merna Osborne? And what gave you the idea I want your opinion right now?"

What I Say Out Loud: "duh, ah, um, well, ayah, uh, hmmmm..."

Proverbs 27:6 Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful the kisses of an enemy.

My friends don't always say nice things to me all the time. That's how I know they're my friends. About 5 years ago, my friend asked me some tough questions. I am grateful to her for caring enough to tell me the truth.

A single phrase to describe my friend Merna Osborne: Dancing Spirit Action

More Than Muse

2009-02-26T23:36:00.000-08:00

I've come often to the edge of telling, and for close or distant relatives of fear, I retired to safer stories. But this one changed my life.

So much to say about this woman. Where to start?

She's the person I want to call when I fail, and I fail frequently. She's the person I want to call when I win. She's the person I look into the audience hoping to glimpse. I know she's not there, but I still look. She, the laughter that fades beyond earshot.

A few years ago, I realized that I compare all women to her. I'd meet a woman. Confident, kind, pretty. Almost right. Only one thing wrong with her. She's got NS.

She is Not Suzanne.

At first I didn't realize what it was, but then I began to catch on. It's an Epidemic. As vision develops, I see the letters branded on their foreheads.

Spectacular, magnificent, elegant, but . . . NS

Compassionate, accomplished, intelligent, but . . . NS

Conscious, spiritual, radiant, but . . . NS!

My heart's a weird heart. It's got a space in it that only Suzanne fits. I've lost interest in trying to fit anyone else.

A single phrase to describe to describe my friend Suzanne Palanuk: My Favorite, my only favorite.

Ridiculous!

2009-02-12T11:28:00.001-08:00

I have too much to say.

I'm dying here, cause it's not yet time to say it all.

Still, I can't just say nothing...

photo by Zoe Pamintuan

I'm thinking of the song "I am a Friend of God" by Israel Houghton, which includes the line "He calls me friend."

I'm thinking that in a blog about my life experience as the summation of my friendships, this is a friendship I gotta talk about. I am having a day I cannot explain to you. I would break confidences and betray trust if I told you the details, but I can't just say nothing.

God is ridiculously good to me. Ridiculous, I say. As in, stupid crazy Good. Make-no-sense kinda Good. Completely-lost-his-mind Good. That's the kind of Good I'm talking 'bout.

I'm thinking of the phrase "goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life" and I picture myself as I often do, hunted. Followed, searched out, pursued. There is ruthlessness and a relentless intent about the way Goodness follows me. I cannot explain it. I cannot avoid it.

What's interesting is that I would ever run from it. Hunted, as I was by circumstance, and running, as I would from fear. It makes sense to run from fear, but who in their right mind runs from Goodness and Mercy?

I'm not gon' preach right now. But it's coming soon. I'm gonna tell a story about a man hunted all his life by Goodness and Mercy, until one day he stopped running out of sheer exhaustion.

And got caught by a ridiculous God.

photo by Darlene Taylor

A single phrase to describe my friend God: Ridiculously Good!

Classically Not

2009-01-15T08:01:00.000-08:00

There's something British about her. I feel I should drink more tea when she's around. There's a decorum, an elegance, a sophistication.

There's something Jewish about her. It was fun hanging out with her and Scott and Levi by the gelato shop in Venice, practicing Cherkessia (Jewish dance step).

There's something Spanish about her. It's amazing to watch Elizabeth in concert. My favorite pieces are her flamenco-style work, fingers flying, drumming the dance of the matador, at least that's what I picture.

Rasgeaudo, that's the name of the technique, that thing where she turns her fingers into a firing squad, guitar strings beware. It would be violent if not so beautiful. Amid the flurry of hands and notes and dancing harmonics, she closes her eyes and leans, smiling, into her imagination.

There's something Colorado about her. She's a still, quiet soul with a calming presence and a healing warmth. She's born of wide spaces and grand nature. Stately like trees. Peaceful like water. Designed by God and full of his glory. Captivating, like Colorado.

There's something Los Angeles about her. Just when you think you've seen this brand of classical before, she breaks into an amazing rendition of a Peter, Paul and Mary tune. Just when I think how proper and elegant she is, she inverts into a head-stand on the beach, explaining that if you fall backwards you'll land on your feet and if you fall forward you will have completed a somersault, the one a comfort, the other an accomplishment.

At lunch on Monday she said, "I wanna go somewhere where life isn't just around the corner, it's already here!"

There's something Classical about her. There's something Not.

A single phrase to describe my friend Elizabeth Busch:

Life Dance Adventurer

NO...MATTER...WHAT.

2008-12-31T21:35:00.000-08:00

Everything's negotiable.

Everything?

Today I hung out with two brilliant negotiators. What impresses me isn't their ability to negotiate; it's their choice not to.

Today is the final instalment of "The 365 Experiment," one of Leslie Foster's blogs. He wrote a script a day this entire year! A script a day!

On a film shoot in Tennessee I was up from 5am 'til 1am the next morning. As I crawled into bed for a 4-hour recharge so we could do it all over again, Leslie settled at his computer to write the day's script. Dude, seriously?

Why not just write it tomorrow? Why not take 2 weeks off while the movie is in production?

Because this was his "non-negotiable." Because he'd made a promise. To himself. Every day this year, he was going to turn in a script, a crafted slice of imagination, a soul-painting, a story worth telling.

NO...MATTER...WHAT.

Actually, I think I first heard the phrase "this is one of my non-negotiables" from Bjorn, another incredible human I encountered today. I'll tell you about him later...

Foster, I am impressed by your resolve, intrigued by your creativity, inspired by your integrity.

What are my non-negotiables?

What do I have to do today? Who do I have to be?

NO...MATTER...WHAT.

A single phrase to describe my friend Leslie Foster: Diplomatic Non-Negotiator

Third Wheel

2008-12-29T09:10:00.000-08:00

A full-grown man asking my permission to go to the bathroom!

I knew my path for the day would cross a particularly attractive woman. Amazing as she is, she is not the one for whom my heart reserves. I knew I had to walk that path, but I also knew that on that day I wasn't strong enough to face the encounter alone. So I asked my friend to be there with me.

I met this guy about 6 years ago and he stands out in my memory because he's not afraid to dance whenever the music comes on. He'll even dance when there's no music playing. He's a carrier of contagious enthusiasm.

Lately I've been reading Nehemiah 8:10 differently than before. It's says the Joy of the Lord is my strength. Ok, sure it's my strength and your strength and everybody's strength. But I'm realizing it's not just generically everyone's strength--It's specifically MY strength.

Tom Rath describes Positivity on page 141 of his book Strengthfinders:

...Somehow you can't quite escape your conviction that it is good to be alive, that work can be fun, and that no matter what the setbacks, one must never lose one's sense of humor..."

That sounds like Clayton, sounds like Dan, sounds like Jim, like Mike, like Penner, that sounds like...

I've been paying attention to which men have my back in a tight spot, and it seems coincidental they all exhibit this trait, this Positivity, this strength. I'm learning more about the way Joy both derives it's strength from Character and supplies it's strength to Character, a perpetual cycle of replenishment.

I did run into that young lady and we had a blast! Me and her, and my brother.

I needed a man I could count on that night. He never left my side. Except one time, and he asked me first. I wonder what he would have done if I'd said no.

A single phrase to describe my friend Clayton Bedell: Strong Joy Backup

English Kitchen

2008-11-29T19:41:00.000-08:00

"I'm here, luv"

British accent.

You could tell on the phone she was spunky.

I wish on anyone the beautiful drive between Collegedale, Tennessee, and Atlanta, Georgia.

I had driven to Atlanta to pick up a stranger. We'd spoken a couple times on the phone but never met. And I wasn't sure what she looked like, really.

I'd seen a headshot a couple weeks earlier, but now I'm standing in the airport amid a massive throng of people and I'm not sure how we're going to find each other.

That's where cell phones come in. "I'm here, luv," she says, "at baggage claim for flight 56."

Across the sea of people I recognized her immediately. She's unmistakable. There's a God-light shining around this woman. It was like I already knew her. An hour later we'd prayed and cried and eaten at Arby's, and I had decided this one's a for-sure keeper.

She's a fantastic actress. Played Caroline Calloway in Handwritten Pictures' "Marbles With Thoreau." Nothing short of brilliant.

Over the last 6 months, she and her husband have hosted wonderful dinners that certainly betray them for the foodies that they are. I'm so entertained by the word 'foodie.'

Is that 'Foody' if you're American and 'Foodie' if you're British?

Today I tried some of her Orange Marmalicious Pancake Syrup; ended up getting two bottles, cause I have to share this with somebody, but you better believe they're not getting mine. So then I tried the Sundried Tomato Pesto and I had to have some of that, too. Tried the Cranberry Compote, and you guessed it, had to...

If you listen closely, you can hear your vanilla ice cream begging for some of this compote.

I knew she was a bright shining human, a loving wife and mother, such a talented actress, and an amazing dinner chef. But seriously, I really didn't expect how good her English Kitchen line would be. And I hope that's not an insult, Josie. I knew it would be good, even amazing. I didn't know I'd be raving about it hours later!

SUN-DRIED TOMATO FESTO PESTO

A spicy tapenade, perfect for hors d'oeuvres

4oz - $7.50

PORT & CRANBERRY COMPOTE

"Tastes like Christmas!" Great for meats, cheeses--and ice cream!

4oz. - $7.50

ORANGE MARMALICIOUS PANCAKE SYRUP

If you love maple syrup, wait until you taste this! Orange/lemon/ginger.

8oz. - $7.50

ENGLISH HOLIDAY CHUTNEY

Date/Cranberry/Pineapple. Last year's instant bestseller.

8oz. - $7.50

GIFT BASKETS (Any combination of four) available for a $7.00 additional charge.

Perfect gifts for yourself or someone you love. To order, email josiecoleman@gmail.com

A single phrase to describe my friend Josie Gammell-Coleman: Actress Brilliant Foodie

Ask me a question

2008-11-08T19:08:00.000-08:00

I met him on February 26, 2000. It's not that often I remember the date I first met someone.

8 years ago, he booked me for my first concert

ever.

Did I tell him that? No!

He calls me up,

"Hi I'm Marcel Schwantes and I heard your music from a friend and I'd like to book you to come and perform at a venue called The Young and the Restless. Are you available?"

"Sure, Marcel, what date would you like?..."

Cause, you know, I'm trying to make it apparent that any one of the next 364 days might be already committed elsewhere. Next Tuesday? No, can't do that. I'm planning to walk around the block that day. Third wednesday of the month 4 months from now? Sorry, full. Day after that? Full too. All weekend, full. What?...

"February 26? Sure, I think I can do that."

So I get off the phone and call my sister Truth and my boys

Quinton and Mike and I'm like,

"Help, I'm doing a concert!"

It's not the last time he's gotten me in over my head. My first interview. My first record deal. I was just a tagalong to Marcel's speaking engagement at a university business class, next thing you know we're making a record.

A few months ago I was sharing with him that I've been thinking of pursuing a master's degree in Counseling because I really want to be able to help people move toward their goals in life. True to form, he asks a question,

"Have you heard of Life Coaching?"

"Yeah, that motivational mumbo-jumbo, what about it?"

"Well, I'm studying for my certificate and I think it's the sort of thing you might want to check into. In fact, I think you're well suited for it. It's about helping people move toward their goals in life. You'd be great at it. "

Hmmmm, interesting, that's what Suzanne said a couple months earlier.

"Sure, I'll check it out. Send me a link..."

I'm on track to complete the Life Coaching certificate early 2009. I have to tell you I am so excited about this new learning curve. Thank you, my brother.

Along my journey into purpose, there are at least 5 pivotal points where I remember his friendship shaping the course of my path. Some people just have a way of bringing sychronicity with them into your life. He's out of town with his wife this weekend, so I feel this is a perfectly good time to talk about him behind his back.

A single phrase to describe my friend Marcel Schwantes: Angel Blogger Right-Time-Question Coach

Stay?

2008-10-26T17:04:00.000-07:00

Ever planned to go somewhere and then you arrive and find out your friend isn't allowed to go in with you? It wasn't cause he's black or anything.

At least they gave us a recommendation for another spot nearby.

So now we gotta make a decision. Are we going to keep the group together and just go someplace else, or split up? Some go to the original destination and the rest take the 5-minute detour? I have to go with him. He can't drive, and he did come with me, so I'm responsible for him.

Not to mention, I owe him a lot. We've been friends for a long time.

Today Sandy and Kristin and I were planning to hike in Malibu Creek State Park, but when we arrived I learned that my dog is not allowed in the park. The Park Ranger was very kind and recommended another great place to walk or hike, the Paramount Ranch, just 5 minutes away.

I met Vegas at the North Hollywood pound. My guess is black lab and dalmatian. And the energy level to back it up. Always ready to start playtime, not always ready to stop. Today we hiked until he couldn't go any further. At one point he just lay down in the middle of the trail and looked up at me, like "I'm done. You guys go on if you want to--I'll be right here"

Interesting how friendships are cyclical. 10 years ago I rescued him from a small, confined, empty, hollow, alone space. Now he comes to my rescue. Sometimes it's easy to get locked into one role or another in a relationship. Like, I'm the one helping you. Or, I'm the one being helped. I truly enjoy those relationships where we help each other. Like me and my dog.

Sandy, Kristin, thank you for coming on our detour. That was very gracious of you.

A single phrase to describe my friend Vegas: Rescue(R) Loyal

Unfeigned

2008-10-16T08:03:00.000-07:00

From a thousand miles away, I can hear the twinkle in his eyes. Even on the telephone I can tell he means it when he says hello.

Everyone needs mentors. Today Leslie was talking about the Donald Miller ad campaign for mentors. I guess that's what put Jim on my mind. Haven't spoken to him in a couple weeks.

About 5 years ago when my life was at all-time low, I knew I didn't know what I needed to know, but if you don't know what you don't know, how are you ever going to find out? Well, I think that's when I recalled something Bill Gould used to say: "Find somebody who has what you want, do what they do, and you'll get what they got!"

I remember looking at Jim and his family and thinking, I want what they have. His wife and daughters love this man. I watch them adore him and I realize the secret that was not so obvious to me 5 years ago. He adores them every bit as much. More, is it possible, he adores them more?

I remember thinking if I could just hang around and watch him, I might learn to have a family like that one day. One time back at Open Door, I remember him praying that I would learn to love with "unfeigned love."

Which means what?

It means love that's not fakin'. The real deal. I'm-in-it-with-you-for-the-long-haul kind of love.

This man is crazy talented. He's a brilliant guitarist. He's a gifted and passionate worship leader. I take my shoes off when I lead worship--got that from him. As a professional, he plans timelines for public construction. And if you're ever nearby when he fires up the barbecue grill, ask no questions; just go find a plate.

I love this man for so many reasons. He's been a brother to me.

Sometimes people say they're gonna pray for you, but I don't always take comfort in that cause they may forget about it next time their favorite tv show comes on. If this guy says he's praying for you, consider yourself prayed for.

I'm so honored to know a man married 30 years and still in love with his bride. Happy Anniversary, my dear friends. Here's to the Jim & Penny Show.

A single phrase to describe my friend Jim Cook: Barefoot Worship Protector

Business Class

2008-09-27T16:50:00.001-07:00

A couple years ago, Marcel called me up and asked me to accompany him to a speaking engagement in Riverside. He had been invited to talk to a group of business students about his experience compiling a CD of christian recording artists.

I tagged along and brought my guitar at his suggestion. His rationale was, "well, you're a christian artist, so if they have questions that would be better suited for an artist, you can field those questions."

Ok, cool. Makes sense.

We get there, find the classroom, Marcel says hello to the professor and introduces me. Class begins, professor introduces Marcel, he does a marvelous job explaining the details and logistics of forming a compilation. I sit there listening, thinking how cool is it that a business class has a term assignment of recording and marketing a CD?

Q&A time comes. Marcel fields several questions about producing concert events and promoting cd projects. Then he tosses me a question about the artist's perspective.

Now, let me say this. I'm the tag-along to Marcel's gig. So I'm really relaxed. I'm not here to sell anything. I have no agenda. I'm in here-with-him mode. But I am holding a guitar and I'm being asked questions, so I start talking from the heart. I'm saying exactly what I think, because it will help these guys with their project. The better their information about the artist perspective, the more effective they'll be at producing their compilation.

Fielded some questions, sang a couple songs, next thing I know the class is singing with me. What a great feeling! One of the students says, "why don't we have this guy on the compilation?"

I'm thinking, "Yeah. Excellent question, young man." Extra credit for the brilliant young fellow in the front row there.

Professor says, "you can do whatever you want to do, but remember that you set parameters for your artists based on the demographic you want to market. One of those parameters was 29 or younger..."

He turns to me.

"How old are you?"

I'm deflating as I face the reality. Record labels aren't looking for a guy my age. Heck, business students aren't even looking for a guy my age.

"35"

Ah well, I've had a great time, and I'll certainly remember the time a classroom full of business students sang with me. Glad I could help, Marcel was awesome. It was a good evening, no matter how you look at it.

Class is over, we chat with a couple students who have more questions and comments, thank the professor for having us, and head to the car. It's gonna be an hour back to LA.

We're about to leave, the professor comes out to the parking lot.

"Hey I like your music. I own a small record label, and I'd like to produce your record."

The beginning of an amazing friendship. That was 2006. We've traveled a ways since then.

What is it with me and parking lots?

A single phrase to describe my friend Tom Macomber: Professor Attorney Banjo-man Producer

Conduit

2008-09-20T21:15:00.000-07:00

Times shift. Seasons change. Conversations rearrange. I value things that stay the same. This friend is one of those.

When everything else fades to gray, some people I still see in color.

Yesterday I saw red. Gorgeous red columns of steel at the new LACMA building on Wilshire. Jeff Koons' red high-chromium stainless steel cracked egg. That was my favorite piece. We laughed about how you can look at a piece of art and not really get what it's about, but for the sake of people in your company, you 'ooh' and 'aah' so as not to appear unsophisticated. More accurately, we laughed that neither of us felt compelled to pretend.

Never had to pretend much with this lady. Wouldn't do me any good anyway. Sees me like I am, calls it like it is. Maybe it's the photographer eye. Why do I have so many photographer friends? I'm thinking about the last 4 blog entries. All interesting personalities. All dreamers. All photographers. Whence come these people to my life, who save the world in frames?

My friend Rita once mentioned the concept of an accountability circle. I never formalized one, as in, we don't have printed badges and assigned seating. I have, however, benefitted greatly from the concept and have a loosely organized but deliberately pursued, circle of accountability.

I had lunch with two of it's members yesterday. I know when I'm being investigated. To be sure, the food at Pailin Thai was delicious, and I betrayed my inner vegetarian yet again. But I was being called before the council, and I knew it.

Having answered at least a passing grade's worth of questions to their satisfaction, I was released under my own recognizance into her custody, to enjoy the Los Angeles Contemporary Museum of Art, where I saw red.

Do you get angry when the people you love are mistreated? Do you see red sometimes?

I wonder why Jeff Koons' piece was my favorite yesterday.

I won't try to capture 20 years of friendship in a single entry.

A single phrase to describe my friend Zoe Pamintuan: Beauty Well-RED

Prayer and Pasta

2008-09-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

"Seven?"

It's the last word he says to me at close of day, typically around 10:30 in the evening, a question tossed over the shoulder as he walks away.

"Yup." My response confirms a recurring appointment. We meet at the church to pray weekday mornings from 7 to 8. I'm learning so much from this man. Learning tons.

Then there are some things I'm not even gonna try to keep up with.

It would take years to master photography the way he has. He's a brilliant film-maker. I'm happy enough to hang around said brilliance---probably not gonna rub off on me any time soon. Heck, according to some people, I can't even pick a good movie to watch, so I'm in no danger of making one, right?

I'm learning about flavors like Mexican Oregano. I'm even getting a little daring with Rosemary and Rubbed Sage, but I'll probably not master gourmet cooking the way he does it. This dude made a curry sauce for lunch yesterday that turned Pasta into the food of the gods. That's fine. It's ok that I don't know how to do that.

Photo by Kathy Khoo

He reads encyclopedias for fun. For fun, I'm saying! Don't believe me? Watch this.

I just called him while I'm typing this...

"hey, tell me a random fact"

"about what?"

"anything"

"ok, Polar bears are left handed"

I think he's just making it up, so I start laughing. "No really, all of them?"

"Yes, all of them."

"All of them?"

"Yes"

"All of them?" O, he's serious. He's dead serious.

"Yes...And they cover their noses when they hunt. It's the only part of them that's black. They cover it so they can sneak up on you"

He knows everything that happened on MSNBC today. I never watched political tv 'til I met this guy a few months ago. And by the way, Stephen Colbert is hilarious. How did I not know that?

He just released a documentary called "Kim" online yesterday. It's a powerful story about a crime that's overlooked far too often and affects way too many people I love. I'll probably never make something that important.

It's not likely I'll have the time or energy to learn Photography, Politics, Gourmet Cooking, Film-making, or Random Party Facts from him, so what do I mean when I say I'm learning so much?

I watch him talk to God in the morning. He doesn't say much. He means every word. Then he listens. That's it right there. I'm learning to listen.

A single phrase to describe my friend Leslie Foster: Encyclopedia Renaissance

Hide and Seek

2008-09-07T05:26:00.000-07:00

She still writes letters the old-fashioned way. How cool is that! Nice pens and fancy stationery. She makes candles and soap. Seriously. And plum pie from scratch. She homeschools 4 kids and they're all well-behaved. The kids, I mean. Her, not so much!

You should hear the things she's doing. Rock Climbing and Water slides and reading Les Miserable, and painting and frisbee and passports for travel.

I didn't know all of this. She's usually hiding behind the camera. Says it's her way of freezing time. Preserving memory. Capturing the moment. It just ocurred to me yesterday that it's like a game of hide and seek for adults.

That's what I do with my guitar. I keep it with me 'cause it makes sense to me and I can stay behind it and feel secure. Every so often I'll venture out from behind, but I always know where it is. You can tell if I've moved in to a place by whether or not my guitar is there. So I'm thinking about that and I said "hey, my turn, I get to take pictures this time."

Shortly I'll be in studio with Mike Turner recording Secret Place. It's a song about hiding. I think hiding is good sometimes. I was hiding back in 2002 when I wrote this song. I think you can hide out of fear or you can hide cause you're preparing something, or being prepared for something.

Same song, second verse:

It's not like I've been to the point where I'm supposed to break

And it's not like I've already taken more than I thought I could take

Not like I'd get what I got if it was mine to choose

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I was born to lose

Still, hypothetically, if it should happen to me

I think I'd run and hide, believe that I would run and hide...

In the Secret Place of the Most High...

A single phrase to describe my friend Darlene Taylor:
Hiding Seeker

Almost Conversation

2008-08-25T08:50:00.000-07:00

I try to guess what color her hair will be next time I see her.

Huge heart, this one. Selfless and compassionate, someone I count on to help with simple things like a ride from the airport, all the way up to promoting my next gig. So full of life. She deliberately lights up whatever space she occupies.

Today she says to me, "If a friend needs to hear something that's true but might hurt their feelings, I think it's important to tell them the truth." This is something that's been on my mind a lot lately. It's scary sometimes to say things that might offend someone enough to cost you the relationship. How do you choose? What would Love do?

Then she says, "It matters if they can hear the love in your voice. When I'm talking to a dog, they don't understand my words, but they can tell by the way I speak that I love them and they understand what I mean even if the words don't make sense."

So....did Angie just call me a dog?

A single phrase to describe my friend Angi Bernards: Funky Ninja Pirate Princess

What I'm Looking At: 8/18/08

2008-08-18T11:08:00.000-07:00

I'm in Oregon this week. If you're in the area, come out and join us Friday night for some music at New Horizons Church in McMinnville. I'll be playing some of the favorite songs from my first album and introducing some of the music from my upcoming second album "Sounds Like Humans".

Here's what I'm looking at:

Muse

2008-05-21T20:08:00.000-07:00

I am the sum of my friends. Each person I've met, every interaction, every encounter, every relationship, has contributed something to making me.

I was 8 when I discovered that I heard music differently than the people around me. That intrigued me for a short time; it puzzled me longer. Then, sadly, it frightened me. That's a different story for another time. For some intuitive reason, I kept this realization to myself a while. Like say, 19 years.

By the time I was 27, there was a woman on the 6th floor. The way I remember it, she grabbed me by the collar and shook me a little and said, referring to my music, "it's not a hobby, kid. This is who you are!"

I wonder if that's the way she remembers that conversation. We've had lots of conversations about all kinds of things. European Travel, Rural Homesteads, Children's Books, Sitcoms and Websites and Ceviche.

She says things that amaze me. Honestly, she has a way of saying that one thing I would never have thought of in a million years. Yet once I've heard it, I think how blindingly obvious it ever was.

She lived with me many years. I wish I had more pictures.

And of all the things she said to me, I wonder if there will be any more important than this:

"it's not a hobby, kid..."

A single phrase to describe my friend Suzanne: Gypsy Dancer Muse

Lunch With Thoreau

2008-05-13T17:04:00.000-07:00

Lately my life is a string of perfect days. Blue sky... Green field... Light Breeze... Adam's on his way with food.

I'm comfortably sun-warm. It's just past noon.

On the other side of the generator and the crew van, there's a crane set-up. I've been told it will be used for a shot later in the day. Past the crane and the Box truck, past the horses, I can see three figures frolicking through this gorgeous country afternoon. Two kids and a grown man.

Adam arrives with the food, fried rice with veggies and chicken lo mein. Good stuff. Always nice to see you, Adam.

About this time the trio quits playing and heads over to the table, the rest of the film-crew in tow. Everyone settles into a well deserved lunch break and conversations scatter in various directions.

There he is again, sitting alone this time, the frolicking man, eating nuts and berries out of a broken pot, wearing the expression of one who sees more than meets the eye. I am curious about a grown man who chases dreams through fields and eats berries for lunch.

photo by Leslie Foster

I've met few with such varied and exciting life experiences as the man I sit with today. He regales me with stories, challenges me with questions, blesses me with wisdom. I feel as though I've stepped into an earlier century.

He tells me how his life went from complicated to simple. He tells me stories that will be continued later. Maybe back in Los Angeles, where things move faster.

Back in Los Angeles, his name is Christopher Ackerman, actor, author, musician.

photo by Leslie Foster

Here in Collegedale, Tennessee, his name is Henry David Thoreau.

He was summoned through time from 1847 to this field by director Melody George, whose short film "Marbles With Thoreau" is in production for 2008 release.

Maybe I will have opportunities to learn more about Chris when we get back to California. I'm looking forward to it. That can wait...

Today I'm having lunch with Thoreau.

Poppa

2008-05-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

I was at the home of my mentor and friend Dan Bumstead, and we were talking about something or other that seemed significant at the time. In retrospect, I am amused that my indelible memory of the moment has nothing whatsoever to do with the topic of conversation.

What I do remember is that in the middle of our conversation, Dan's son Christopher came into the living room from playing outside. He surveyed the room and took in the interaction his father was having. I can only speculate at the internal dialogue that ensued...

"That Lennox guy's talking to dad again. Seems they talk a lot these days. Boring grown-up stuff..."

I wonder if there was ever a moment of hesitation before he walked between us, hopped onto Dan's lap, curled up in a ball and said "hi Poppa."

For the slightest fraction of a second, Dan took his eyes from me, placed his hand on his son's head and said "hi Chris."

An instant connection was cemented and we resumed our conversation, Christopher curled securely, oblivious to our exchange, safe, content in his place of shelter and comfort, the cares of a 7-year old forgotten, the world irrelevant.

I remember thinking, that's how I'd like to relate to God. I would love to know that I can wander into his living room while the universe hums and planets whirl by, while nations and kindreds await his command, and desperate hearts seek his consolation. I would love to know that in the middle of the conversation, without summons or appointment,

I could climb into his lap and with absolute confidence of my welcome say "hi Poppa"

And he would put his hand on my head and said "hi Len"

Sometimes after a hard day I do that.

When I do, I'm picturing a young boy in a small town, retiring from a hard afternoon at play, seeking neither audience nor authority, simply craving the comfort that is presence.

A single phrase to describe my friend Daniel Bumstead: Smiling Mentor Poppa Missionary

Back In The Day

2008-04-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

Took me 4 years to say his last name right.

One of my favorite things is introducing great people to each other. Suren is an old friend from Guitar Center and Melinda Rice is an incredible violinist I know from church. Today I'm watching them work together and I'm just sitting here in amazement as they bring to life this song about a bright boy whose name means "bringer of light."

Ever since I've known Suren we've been working on recording music. Back then we had little equipment and less experience.

I lost track of him for a few years while I was out of town. I really had a great time in the country. Met some excellent people there, too. That's a different story.

When I got back from Oregon, I learned that he'd been producing and engineering with some of the best in the business. The kind of names separated from a grammy by only a single comma. He's learned the craft and the business of the music industry, and yet managed to retain the integrity his soul-patch indicates.

As I watch him and Melinda creating the backdrop for Luca's song, I'm enjoying the sight of Suren dialing the top-of-the-line equipment we used to dream about back in the day. Now he's the music supervisor for an animated series in production. Ten years, still going, still building, still making it happen. Much respect to my indomitable friend.

One phrase to describe my friend Suren Wijeyaratne:

Soulful Tenacious Producer Craftsman

This is my work

2008-04-03T17:58:00.000-07:00

Ryan and I have been hanging out a lot this week. He's a truly brilliant man. Scary smart. Politically active. In the months since we've been friends, I'm finding myself involved in all kinds of community organizing activities.

Today we went downtown to attend a commission hearing at the Department of Cultural Affairs. MaeKeng Chinn leads a mural production project in Hollywood and there was a meeting of decision-makers and other rulers of the city, regarding the mural. So we rode a train and then a bus, and I got to meet Stash Maleski from ICUart and Suzanne Thompson from Venice Arts Council.

I was trying to get a good photo of Ryan on the train, but I just couldn't seem to figure out the settings on my camera. Everything was moving and the light was shifting, and I thought, Melody would know how to do this. I bet Leslie would have taken a great shot.

So now it's about 3 or 4 in the afternoon and we're returning to Hollywood. Just off the train, conversation turns to food. As in, we better eat something, NOW!

So we're walking past one our favorite haunts, Sabor y Cultura, and there's the new bakery, Panini Di Ambra, with the bright orange on the walls. I do like orange. Let's check this out.

We go in, Ambra's at the counter. Delightful woman. Instantly we are friends and she's going to feed us like friends with her amazing creations topped with cheese she actually imports from Italy!

How many ways can you say delicious? This is some good stuff. I'm of the opinion that food is a spiritual value and this food was doing good things in my spirit, if you know what I'm saying.

We're sitting at the tables outside the Panini watching the world roll by, and Ryan says to me yet another brilliant thing I hope to remember.

First he says, "I feel like we should head back to the office and get to work"

Then, after the slightest pause, he says...

"No, this is my work. Being in the neighborhood, meeting Ambra and supporting her business, hearing stories about her beautiful daughter, this IS my work!"

If that gorgonzola delicacy is this man's work, I hope we'll be working together a while.

A single phrase to describe my friend Ryan Bell:

Dangerously Brilliant Holy Man

Hanging with my boy

2008-03-20T18:00:00.000-07:00

I just read a bit from Sourena Vasseghi's book "Love your Life and it will Love you back"

I'm thinking how grateful I am for the life I live. It's a good time to be 37 in Los Angeles. If I could be anywhere right now, I'd be here. If I could do anything, this would be it. There's so much to look forward to, but that's in the future, and right now I'm really excited about where I am and who I am. I am the sum of my friends.

Spent a couple hours today with my friend Daniel. He introduced me to Sushi Eyaki on Wilshire, a couple blocks over from his office at Nowcom. Not so big on sushi myself, but it's growing on me. I'm finding it's an inescapable requirement of the Angeleno lifestyle. When I came here I didn't even like fish, cooked. Now we're talking about eating it raw? I had the Salmon Yaki (cooked, thank you very much!) and caught up with Daniel about what's going on in our lives. Thanks for lunch, brother.

This man truly is a brother to me. Level 4 is the highest for non-biologicals, but seriously, this cat is level 4 and a half. Like, he's halfway up the stairwell between 4 and 5.

Fierce competitor. Built for Battle. Fun to be around. When I come over to watch the game, he and his wife treat me like a relative (that's a good thing at their house) and I find that to be priceless in a town so full of lonely, disconnected people.

I appreciate the lunch, thank you for the brotherhood.

A single phrase to describe my friend Daniel Salazar:

Laughing Sportsman Warrior

Musician In The Park

2008-03-12T18:16:00.000-07:00

Melinda is one of the most gentle spirits I know. Have you ever talked to someone who made you feel like you were being listened to? That's what it's like talking to this friend of mine. She listens as if you have something to say that should certainly be heard, and treasured, and thought about, maybe even repeated.

You know, I've lived here in Hollywood for 8 months this time around, with Griffith Park just a mile away, and I haven't taken the time to get over there and explore. Today I got to do just that. Melinda and I stopped at the park cafe so we could take a couple lemonades for a walk.

My friend here is a phenomenal classical violinist who spends her days working with the Harmony Project, teaching music to underprivileged children who might not otherwise have access to such education. I've seen her with them. There's a glow that comes over her face as she watches them play.

How honored am I to know someone who celebrates her birthday by going to Mississippi to help build homes for people affected by Katrina? How honored am I that she lets her violin attend my concerts, and she even accompanies it onstage with me? How amazing is it that someone with so much to say to the world, takes the time to listen, and invites me to walk in the park on a day I might otherwise work through lunch and forget to breathe?

A single phrase to describe my friend Melinda Rice:

Musically Exquisite Compassionate True Heart

Skyline V---Sitting Room

2008-01-03T23:47:00.000-08:00

Skyline V-------------------Sitting Room
Current mood: preparing
Category: preparing Life

I know, right? I love my sitting room! Never had one before. Never sat much. I was always going, always doing. I like the way Tom Voccola puts it: I wasn't so much a human being as a human doing. I think maybe the sitting room was there all along. I just spent so much time in the office or the music room, I never came in here. I forget what JS calls this blue. It's either 'peace' or 'calm'. No wait, calm is in the storm-room. This one is peace.

I hear things. I hear the world around me. I hear the world inside me. I like the quietness in the sitting room now, but it used to drive me nuts. For a guy who's used to hearing noise all the time, it's pretty scary sometimes to hear silence. Even when I wasn't really watching, I'd have the TV on just for background noise. To be distracted, immersed in the comfortably chaotic hum of voices and pain besides my own.

Sometimes I hear music in my head from cd's I've listened to or music I heard live at the coffee-shop. I don't even drink coffee but I love that aroma, and the sound of a room-full of buzzing friendships, and the hush that falls when guitar-girl sings about young love and old beauty.

Sometimes I hear music in my head that wasn't from the cd. It's definitely one of my favorite sounds, when the new music comes. I used to think I was making it up. That was back when I thought I was alone up here. Did I ever tell you I'd been living here for years before I realized anybody lived above me? Turns out the guy upstairs is an amazing musician too. Yep, designer and musician. He goes by his initials, J.S. Not sure what it stands for. Yeah, sure I'll get you his contact info. It's in the office.

Sometimes I'd be in the office and hear this music and think I was crazy, and I found out later it was him playing; he's got tons of friends and they get together and play and I hear the bass and guitar and the percussion and the voices. It's good stuff. There's a music room back there down the hall with a sliding panel in the ceiling. We put the panel in during the remodel so I can hear better. Then I try to play it myself but it never comes out like I hear it. I'm getting better at it, though. Anyways, I'll show you that later.

Since I started using the sitting room, I've noticed a couple things. Silence doesn't frighten me anymore and, I have lots of company now. I'd be going and going and running and doing all day long and never take the time to just hang out with a friend and a cup of tea. Always on the move, hearing the noise, chasing the noise, running the race, whatever you want to call it. But I'm not gonna preach right now

I'd been hearing his music for a while and then I started trying to copy it and I was pretty good at that so I'd write down the words and sing the songs and people liked them, so I'd write down some more. After a while it got to be rather inconvenient, cause he kept playing at 3 am and I'd have to get out of bed to write them down. I wonder if that's when he played or if he'd been playing all day and I just couldn't hear anything with all the noise. Could be 3 am was the first time all day I'd been quiet enough to hear him.

Back around 2002 or so, I started really paying attention to the stuff I was writing down. I'd begun to suspect he knew I was writing them down. In fact, I started realizing that was his intention. He meant for me to hear them and write them down and show them to the other folks in the building. And I'll admit I felt a little manipulated. Like this whole time he'd been letting me think I was coming up with this stuff and when I found out it wasn't coming from me, I'm not sure why that upset me. I guess I kind of liked the idea that I was somewhat original.

Thing is, it's really great sharing a song with somebody and having them tell you that it touched them and made a difference to them. And the more I wrote them down, the more I started paying attention to what they were about and then I noticed it was affecting me to sing them. Like, you can't really sing about love and then turn around and be a jackass to somebody you love, right?

Right about that time Merna from 4^th pulled me over on the ramp by Mandate school and confronted me about what she called 'lip service'

She said, "are you for real with these songs? Do you mean this stuff?"

And this other guy from 4^th told me, "if you were living your music, the woman you live with wouldn't be so upset. She hears you out on 2^nd and 3^rdsinging about patience and then she sees you back on 6^th being impatient with her, and what she sees doesn't match what she hears…" I don't remember exactly how he put it, but I got the point. That's them right there on the wall of fame, that's Kevin with the funky bass and that's Merna over there with the braids. Turns out they know JS, too. Small world!

Yeah, back then there was a woman living here on 6th. That's her picture by the fireplace. That's another thing I like about this room—pictures. It's a good place to keep memories of the people I've sat with. People with whom I've shared tea and silence.

You know, there was one time early in '04 everything went silent for a while. Actually, it started around Thanksgiving the year before and went all the way through Valentine's Day. I'm talking absolute silence. Deathly silence. No visitors coming up. I don't know if JS was on vacation, but I couldn't hear him moving around up there. No walking on the ceiling, no music, nothing.

I'd been telling him to shut up cause I didn't like all his live-it-like-you-sing-it stuff. So at first, I was cool with the silence, then a month went and I missed the sound, and then another month and I was a little anxious, and by the end of the third month I was banging on the ceiling like "dude!! play something, I don't care what, just play something, anything!"

You know what I learned then? Silence below is uncomfortable; silence above is unbearable. Silence within lets me hear what's really going on.

When he came back, he said he was just respecting my wishes. I'd asked him to stop bothering me so he did. Now when it gets silent, I check in with him real quick and ask what's the reason and usually he'll tell me. Like right now, we're sitting here so I can be still. Stillness, that's big with him. That quote over there in the corner, that's from one of his books: "Be still and Know."Yeah, he's also a writer. Designer, musician, writer…

More tea?

Skyline IV-----Remodel

2007-12-31T23:53:00.000-08:00

Monday, December 31, 2007

I wasn't planning a remodel. It just got too cold in the winter. Several Januaries ago, we moved into a little house in Oregon that let the cold right in. Of course we didn't realize this until we'd moved in, because with the furnace on, the living room was scorching hot and you'd never guess that 20 feet away and around the corner, you could freeze your hands if you stood still long enough.

A little investigation revealed there was no insulation in the walls, which we soon stripped to the 2x4's with the intention of simply adding insulation and then closing the walls back up. But as long as you're in there, you might as well do something about that old electrical wiring or the plumbing that puts the kitchen sink right next to the bathroom door. I mean, really? Kitchen sink at the bathroom door?

I'm a simple man. At least, I think I am. I've been told I'm complicated, but usually it's a woman telling me that, which is only fair since I find women to be quite complicated themselves. That's a whole different story. I'm not here to talk about women.

It's quiet in here tonight. I'm alone on the 6^th floor, and over the dim lights I hear fresh water running into my sister's aquarium. I love fish. Not really. But I like looking at them. I went snorkeling in Cozumel, Mexico last week with some people from 3^rd and 4^th. Good times. Got some awesome (I mean 'innovative') pictures for my walls. They're certainly not bare, my walls. Didn't get any pictures of fish, though. I touched one. I don't know if he thought I was a fish too, but he came right up and touched my hand!

I'm not here to talk about fish either.

I'm really just stalling for time...

It's a little nerve-wracking having you here on this floor. It's easier to tour other floors where we party or work or invest or learn, but this is where I live. If you don't like the colors here, or you think the artwork should be different, I might take it personally. I might feel rejected. If you think the 6^th floor isn't good enough, that's a little closer to home. It is home. This is where I wake up. At the end of the day, whether I've danced with strangers or eaten curry lamb and channa with the biologicals, this is where I lay my head. Funny how it seems easier to visit someone else's soul than invite them into your own. But I'm not gonna preach right now.

Several Januaries ago, I met this guy from 7^th who completely remodeled my floor. I don't take it so personally anymore if you don't like the floor-plan, 'cause I didn't build this one. The one from before with no insulation and the crumbly walls, that was my work.

This new thing is out of my hands. It's ok with me if it's not your style. For some reason it's a lot easier for me to say, "well my designer chose that," or"you know, that color had to grow on me too. He picked it and I just went with it." If it really bugs you and you want to head back to the lobby, I'll walk you to the elevator, or you can talk to the guy upstairs.

If, on the other hand, you want to see more, come in, take your shoes off, get comfortable. I'm pretty good with hot chocolate, or tea if you prefer…

Listen, I don't even know half of what's in here. I keep finding cool things my designer put in. And the remodel is still in progress. Must be a remodel rule or something—these things take forever. On top of that, I had no idea how huge this place is! There's some weird space-time deal in here that tweaks me every now and then. Every time I think I've seen it, there's a whole new chamber I didn't even know about—could be a little tiny closet, could be a vast, green field. It's like magic, really. Take the red wall in the entry where you left your shoes. (Nice shoes, by the way.) Technically that wall's not red, that's called 'mercy.' These designers and their fancy names. Looks like red to me.

You wanna see something trippy? If you get dirt on that wall or mess it up or anything, it'll be new tomorrow morning. Regenerative paint. I swear. New every morning. Try it, get some mud on there. I have no idea how it works. You can come back tomorrow and check it out. Heck, you can stay over if you like to make sure I don't repaint it myself. You should have seen that room before it was mercy. I'm talking about some dirty walls, you know?

Right after the makeover, I used to put dirt on there just to test it out, to see if it really would clean itself up every morning. I don't try to get it dirty anymore. I just know it works, plus there's way cooler stuff further in, and I don't need to prove it anymore. I try to keep it clean as much as I can, but it's the mudroom, what can I say? Oregonians know about the mudroom. You know what else is weird? How my mudroom's in Oregon and my living room's in Los Angeles. Like I said, 6^th floor's a trip.

I'll make some tea. What would you like? Peach Ginger for me. Kristi from 3^rdgot it for my birthday.

Skyline III------Biology

2007-09-30T22:13:00.000-07:00

Chemistry is exciting. You put things together and colors change, solids vaporize, crystals form, heat and smoke and light and sound! No wonder everyone's looking for a little chemistry!

Physics has solid rules of engagement, requirements like gravity, equal and opposite reaction (you push me, I'll push you back), velocity, acceleration. Business. All Business. Cause and Consequence.

Biology, not so much. Just the meandering study of life, ongoing and physiological. Mundane. Things can explode here too, though you'd rather they didn't. Bound by all the same laws as Physics, Biology is Chemistry on auto-pilot.

As long as we're talking about subjects, I hated Geography. Ironic that I love to travel. I'll never forget the night before my Geography O'level exam, my Mom stayed up and studied with me all through the night because she knew I hated that subject and would need a little extra push to get over the hurdle. And wouldn't you know it, I got a Distinction! Wouldn't have gotten that without her.

My Dad worked ridiculously hard to take care of his family, so much so I'm not sure he took any breaks in between. I don't recall him saying, I'm too tired—I'm taking some time for myself. Just kept on pushing.

You shouldn't mail apples across country in the summertime—they might not survive the trip. Granola bars will make the trip just fine. I know what I'm talking about. My sisters mailed me food when I was hungry.

Why am I telling you this?

Because if Chemistry missed a whole night of sleep for you, it was probably not to study Geography. And Physics simply won't work that hard for you without a paycheck at the end of month. I love Chemistry as much as the next man. And I understand the obligations and commitments that Physics binds. But when the chips are down, Biology will be there for you.

Chemistry: feeling, romance, what I WANT TO do, dancing with tonight's guest on 6^th.

Physics: knowing, rules, what I HAVE TO do, business on 2^nd and 3^rd.

Biology: balance, relationship, who I AM, personal mirror, reference library on 5^th.

My family lives on the 5^th floor. When God sent me here, these people already lived on that floor. They were there when I moved in. They didn't have to take me in. It's funny how we grow up and grow apart and decide we like people on other floors better. Hmmmm. I'm gonna stop there.

I make more frequent trips to this floor now, to learn about the amazing people who sacrificed so I could have the education that allowed me to articulate my dreams. These incredible people made sacrifices so that I would have resources to pursue my goals. They hurt every time I failed.

I also remember how important it was to discover the 6^th floor. My family did a good job preparing me to design my own space even though it turned out different in style than the floor I grew up on. Sometimes there are pressures, both real and perceived, that can leave you feeling like your 6^th floor has to look like your 5^th. As much as I love visiting with the amazing people that live there, I am often aware that my interior design is significantly different than the décor on 5.

I remember the awesome joy of freedom to arrange my own values on the walls and stick pushpins in my own mantras for display. I also enjoy the realization that many of my values are simply my paraphrase of ones hanging on the wall a floor below.

For some people the 5^th floor is a frequently visited place of comfort and camaraderie, like a VIP lounge one level higher than Ohana. For others, it's a community service program to which we are sentenced at Thanksgiving and Christmas, a basement of the most specialized tortures.

For me, it's a safe place. I know I am loved here. I know that whatever happens on other floors, the biologicals will welcome me home.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like…the 5th floor...

Next stop 6^th…

Skyline II-------Ohana

2007-06-12T15:29:00.000-07:00

I learned so much in Hawaii. I learned that orchids by the roadside make a very pleasant driving experience. I learned that orchids by the roadside make an even better stopping experience. I learned that although lava moves slowly, it engulfs and overcomes anything in its path. I learned that nature speaks to me as loudly as any sermon. I learned that I am a hearer of the muse. I learned that excellent customer service is its own reward. I learned that sometimes sand is green. And I learned the power of Ohana.

According to Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia, "…ohana means family in an extended sense of the term including both blood-related or extended. It emphasizes that family and friends are bound together and members must cooperate and remember one another."

Marcel Schwantes lives on the 4^th floor. He entered my building about 8 years ago on the 2^nd floor, an acquaintance of an acquaintance. Over the years he has shown amazing generosity and respect for the vision, passion, and purpose of my life.

I openly share my past with anyone. It is, after all, a matter of public record. What's done is done, I cannot change it, nor can it be affected by strangers and acquaintances. I find that my daily trips to the 7^th floor result in deeper and better and quicker conections on the 4^th floor. My advisors live here. The ones I look to for guidance in steering my future. I find that advisors are being drawn to me to teach lessons that equip every aspect of my journey.

I learned from Michelle Armstrong that I can rearrange my perception of past events and re-negotiate the beliefs that distilled from those events. Armed with new beliefs and fresh perspective, it seems I have the power to change the view from the 6^th floor. What an interesting idea! That I can rearrange my very building blocks. That I can see old information with new eyes.

It's exhilarating to meet a stranger who goes directly to the 4^thfloor. I've known Tom Voccola for a month now, but already he has given me information that impacts my future. In his book, "The Accidental CEO," he introduces the idea of a 'game worth playing.' That resonates with my spirit. I don't just want to play any game well. I want to play a game that I had a hand in creating. A game that is, without question, worth playing.

It's fun moving up. That's the natural progression of relationship. The faster the move, the more thrilling. 1^st to 6^th in 60seconds, that whirlwind romance we envy on the big screen. The stranger who invades your soulspace. Be careful not to let anyone higher than they were meant to go, no matter how thrilling the ride. Returning them to the right floor will be painful or impossible.

The 6^th floor is a sacred space. Until a few years ago, I thought it was the top of the building. It's where my soul lives. Here I keep my heart. Here my spirit sheds defense, releases protection. I'll tell you more about that later.

I lean on the Ohana, not only to help me decode the messages that come down from 7^th, but also for support and strength. I depend so heavily on the 4^th floor. These are the ones I confide in, the ones to whom I admit weakness and weariness, these are the ones I count on to hold me accountable. Scott Wilson, phenomenal singer and songwriter, describes the 4^th so perfectly in the opening of one of my favorite songs: This is the place I come to dwell…

Here are my warriors, in whose company I feel safe, even when I'm wounded. Many of them hold day passes to the 6^th. Some of them have project-duration clearance. 2^nd and 3^rd floor advice would move someone new into the vacancy on 6th, but 4^th floorers temper the wisdom from above with an intimate knowledge of my heart, and recommend instead that I allow daytime consultants to assist and supervise the remodel until it's ready for a new tenant.

For 10 years a woman lived with me on the 6^th floor. I was a poor host. That's another story.

To be continued…

Skyline

2007-06-09T00:05:00.000-07:00

Last night, driving home from Montebello with Irma and Chris, we rode the 10 freeway past downtown Los Angeles. What a beautiful skyline! Impressive buildings that seem rather imposing in the daytime, blend into a perfect mix against the backdrop of moonlit mountainscape.

Lately I've imagined my life as a 7-story building. (No, there weren't any drugs involved.) First of all, I'm not made of glass but if I was, I would point out that the sleek, shiny surface belies a steel spine imbedded in a concrete footprint designed to withstand the California shakes. Not indestructible, but certainly not fragile.

My initial thoughts have not been so much about construction as about occupancy. Let me give you a tour...

Strangers live on the first floor. On a planet with a population over 6 billion, you must understand that the first floor is magnificently expansive. I see these people everyday and smile. Sometimes they smile back. There's a weird rule on the first floor about strangers not talking to each other. I don't always abide by the rules. If we don't talk, how will I invite you up to the second floor? It is my building, after all. Well, I don't own it, but I'm the manager.

Acquaintances live on the second floor. It's really a short climb up the stairwell from first to second. Look someone in the eye and smile. A conversation begins. You find out you have things in common. You begin to realize they're much like you in ways you might not observe at first glance. Next thing you know, they're on the list of familiar faces which bring to your eyes the light of recognition. Next time you see them, it's easier to rejoin the conversation in progress.

This is where Azin lives. She's the beautiful lady at the cleaners, who went out of her way to have my favorite green shirt ready for an important workshop.

Many of my business relationships live on the first and second floors. The premise of networking, however, is that we would rather do business with our friends. My friends live on the third floor.

From first to third you can take the stairs of ride the elevator. Have you ever met a stranger who went directly to friend? Ryan Penner did that to me. He just hopped out on the third floor and introduced himself. I had no choice but to let him stay. He brought all his stuff with him. There's a permanence about the third floor. In my building, we promote from within. Once you make it to the third floor, you've demonstrated a desire to move up. Friends seldom go back to being acquaintances or strangers.

It happens, though. I guess it really comes down to the basis of the friendship. Sometimes acquaintances who know I like to do business with friends will hitch an elevator ride just to get high enough for a sales pitch. I say hitch a ride, because you need an access card to operate elevators or to open stairwell doors.

You can always visit or relocate to lower floors, but to access higher floors you must be accompanied by someone with appropriate clearance.

To apply for higher clearance, you may contact me directly. I live on the 6th floor.

Hello! My name is Lennox.

To be continued...