Ohasashiburi da na, y'all! Long time no see!
Um, also--I guess I'm not seeing you right now either. SEMANTICS.
I gotta' be honest, these months have been chock full of ups and downs. Primary among them was a dread/paralysis that I'm very used to and very tired of. Internally, my stomach starts to get hot, I begin to sweat, and I get tongue-tied. For like...weeks. I don't want to leave the house, since any interaction feels like it's got the highest stakes in the world. It turns me inward--to the point where I can summon up loneliness like a wizard. ACCIO DELUSIONS!
Granted, this has been a familiar feeling for me for quite a while--but never so intense as it's been this time, so after a chat with some of my...ohh...let's call them my Spirit Trust, I finally just got curious. And quiet. In dropping the heaviness and profundity of it all (OMG LIFE IS SO SERIOUS ALL THE TIME) I could actually explore where this thing came from and why I hold on to it so tightly. I could ask myself why this 'game over' scenario seemed to hang over my head like sweet mashup between The Pit and the Pendulum and the Sword of Damocles. Truth be told, it was simpler than I thought. I wanted to be everybody's hero...and not my own.
Four year old me got hurt. Four year old me felt like a pawn in everyone else's game. I never wanted anybody to suffer what I did--in the way that I did. In my mind, I could protect the world. More profoundly--I thought I had to.
So then what happens when I fuck up? What happens if I fail to perform? What happens if I slip on a banana peel and land face-down ass-hilariously-up in a pyramid display of EXTRA ABSORBENT SPORT PADS FOR THE LADY ON THE MOVE™ ? Well, what I thought happened was: in my failure to be a hero, I was letting down an entire world that I was supposed to be fixing. Or 'making safe for everyone'. I tried to perfect, I tried to be perfect, and I tried to make perfect. It felt inescapable--because it is.
It's also limiting. How the hell can I respect everything I am if it's all gotta' fit into this 'hero mold' of perfection? The answer is--I can't. Truth be told, I'm far too much of a rebellious, goofy, out-of-left-field kinda' guy to fit everybody's mold for what a conventional hero ought to be. Oh, also, it's not my job.
For decades, I'd been living according to principles I'd created as a fear reaction before I had any deep understanding of the world. I refuse to allow that to color my life anymore. I'm nobody's hero but my own.
And so are you. Fuck the dogma. Wear your cape. Use your powers for what YOU decide is the greatest good. Aquaman doesn't patrol Metropolis.
I'll see you in the skies.
Love,
Dak
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
VR Goggles
Nobody perceives reality as it is. Now hold up a sec--this gets way more and less esoteric. Y'see, as human beings, we only have so much ability to understand and engage in the world around us. My understanding is this--our senses constantly reinterpret information from reality, and those senses are, like us, beautifully imperfect. We thought the world was flat! Then we thought it was the center of the universe...now we are ABSOLUTELY certain that we know what we know and that's the way it is. Thing is--neuroscience has recently discovered that our brains function more like a computer desktop than a lens through which we perceive the truth as the truth. When you double-click on a folder, you understand that you aren't opening a physical object which contains other physical objects. Our computers serve to reframe ones and zeros so we can manipulate them as we see fit. Those ones and zeros are reality and our senses are our monitors.
Mind.
Blown.
But to step back from Matrix-style neuroscience and place a foot firmly on practical application, this means that everyone is right and nobody is right. Personally, I find an incredible amount of freedom in this realization. As someone who spent--well--a whole lot of time trying futilely to polish the lenses of my VR goggles, the realization that the most uncluttered version of my reality is still MY version of it is incredible. You mean it isn't about finding the truth, but finding my truth?
Well shit.
That must mean everyone has their own personal version of reality. They're all correct...and all totally unabashedly wrong. So all that perfectionism? Yeah, self-constructed. Not real. The ink on our stories is never totally dry. Not only is it ever-changing, but it's SCIENTIFICALLY ever-changing. Those 'realities'...those ideas about myself I held so dear--they're constructions I've used to make sense of my life. You too. You wrote your narrative to support your present.
So why dress up make-believe and call it "the way it is"? None of it is "the way it is". We don't even know what "the way it is" is. So let that rattle around in your brain a bit. And while you're at it, you now have a scientific reason to ditch the bullshit that doesn't serve you.
See you in the editing room!
Love,
Dak
Mind.
Blown.
But to step back from Matrix-style neuroscience and place a foot firmly on practical application, this means that everyone is right and nobody is right. Personally, I find an incredible amount of freedom in this realization. As someone who spent--well--a whole lot of time trying futilely to polish the lenses of my VR goggles, the realization that the most uncluttered version of my reality is still MY version of it is incredible. You mean it isn't about finding the truth, but finding my truth?
Well shit.
That must mean everyone has their own personal version of reality. They're all correct...and all totally unabashedly wrong. So all that perfectionism? Yeah, self-constructed. Not real. The ink on our stories is never totally dry. Not only is it ever-changing, but it's SCIENTIFICALLY ever-changing. Those 'realities'...those ideas about myself I held so dear--they're constructions I've used to make sense of my life. You too. You wrote your narrative to support your present.
So why dress up make-believe and call it "the way it is"? None of it is "the way it is". We don't even know what "the way it is" is. So let that rattle around in your brain a bit. And while you're at it, you now have a scientific reason to ditch the bullshit that doesn't serve you.
See you in the editing room!
Love,
Dak
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
What's Left in the Embers
Don't mind that title, I've been listening to the new Modest Mouse album, Strangers to Ourselves, recently and it's putting me in a 'make up cool-sounding sentences' mood. Even so, the album title lends itself to writing out what's new with me.
(You'll also have to pardon the months I was AWOL. I spent this Spring touring a show across the state, clowning and speaking ASL for 111 sweet performances. Sometimes four(!!)-show days. Cah-raziness. I loved it and I miss it. I miss using 100 percent of my faculties every day. I miss problem-solving when the inevitable hurdle rears up--considering the three months of travel. Anyway--I find during tour times it's really tough for me to split my focus. Now, when it's all said and done, I'm like a kite tied up to a laundromat. I fly high when the wind blows, otherwise I sit there like in a colorful rumple, watching people file in and out.)
ANYHOO, for the first time in my life, I'm feeling like I straight-up have no clue who I am. After a talk with my spiritual advisor/yoda/life coach/Mom, I came to realize that so much of my reality has been my 'narrative', that I'm now in the process of sorting the truths from the stories. Granted, that's sort of my perpetual state, but this one's different (I swear..!) Deep down, I know I spend a lot of time husslin' for acceptance/love/respect because it supports this story that I am inherently powerless.
Whaaaat? Sheeeeit.
What I mean by that is, the story I told myself about my folks divorce, the stories I told myself to get through those long days waiting waiting waiting, the stories I told myself to soften the blow of my mistakes (which, if you think you've got no power, only serve as evidence to support the claim) were all constructed based on the most profound 'story' I had--a story I wrote when I was five years old. Which...I mean, yeah. Of course I felt powerless at 5. I couldn't even drive. I couldn't even buy pants without the help of a grown-up! I mean, I'd need SOMEone to tell me whether my toddlin' butt looked fly.
Y'see, the point I'm getting at here is, what's the use of living by a past you created before you even truly met the world? Before you even met yourself? I mean hell, it served me to some degree--that's why I kept it up. It's really easy to deal with mistakes, missteps, and failures when they're beyond your purview. Then, when you like what's going on, you can chalk it up to just being especially lucky. Or special. Or unique in some capacity. I paid for that. I paid for letting "fate" take my hand and lead me about. I paid for it in empty successes that I had no control over, I paid for it in fearing any tasks I deemed insurmountable, because whether I gave my all or gave a scrap, the outcome was beyond me.
And now, realizing that I've spent a lifetime reacting...denigrating stubbornness because it was for stupid people who refused to give up when they met with failure (I mean, didn't they know it makes no difference what they do?) And realizing that this is not, in fact, The Perpetual And Unchanging Nature Of The World, but a security blanket I've carried since I was old enough to need one. Realizing that nobody has laid out a life for me, not even the people I've accused of doing so. Realizing these things--and letting them be okay--and letting them go...
I don't know, you guys. It's left me kind of a blank slate. A blank excited slate, because I fully expected to burn down this house and find nothing left standing. Who the hell knew that the house was a fortress--and after the fire--what's left in the embers is me?
Love on! Rock on! Kick ass!
-Dak
(You'll also have to pardon the months I was AWOL. I spent this Spring touring a show across the state, clowning and speaking ASL for 111 sweet performances. Sometimes four(!!)-show days. Cah-raziness. I loved it and I miss it. I miss using 100 percent of my faculties every day. I miss problem-solving when the inevitable hurdle rears up--considering the three months of travel. Anyway--I find during tour times it's really tough for me to split my focus. Now, when it's all said and done, I'm like a kite tied up to a laundromat. I fly high when the wind blows, otherwise I sit there like in a colorful rumple, watching people file in and out.)
ANYHOO, for the first time in my life, I'm feeling like I straight-up have no clue who I am. After a talk with my spiritual advisor/yoda/life coach/Mom, I came to realize that so much of my reality has been my 'narrative', that I'm now in the process of sorting the truths from the stories. Granted, that's sort of my perpetual state, but this one's different (I swear..!) Deep down, I know I spend a lot of time husslin' for acceptance/love/respect because it supports this story that I am inherently powerless.
Whaaaat? Sheeeeit.
What I mean by that is, the story I told myself about my folks divorce, the stories I told myself to get through those long days waiting waiting waiting, the stories I told myself to soften the blow of my mistakes (which, if you think you've got no power, only serve as evidence to support the claim) were all constructed based on the most profound 'story' I had--a story I wrote when I was five years old. Which...I mean, yeah. Of course I felt powerless at 5. I couldn't even drive. I couldn't even buy pants without the help of a grown-up! I mean, I'd need SOMEone to tell me whether my toddlin' butt looked fly.
Y'see, the point I'm getting at here is, what's the use of living by a past you created before you even truly met the world? Before you even met yourself? I mean hell, it served me to some degree--that's why I kept it up. It's really easy to deal with mistakes, missteps, and failures when they're beyond your purview. Then, when you like what's going on, you can chalk it up to just being especially lucky. Or special. Or unique in some capacity. I paid for that. I paid for letting "fate" take my hand and lead me about. I paid for it in empty successes that I had no control over, I paid for it in fearing any tasks I deemed insurmountable, because whether I gave my all or gave a scrap, the outcome was beyond me.
And now, realizing that I've spent a lifetime reacting...denigrating stubbornness because it was for stupid people who refused to give up when they met with failure (I mean, didn't they know it makes no difference what they do?) And realizing that this is not, in fact, The Perpetual And Unchanging Nature Of The World, but a security blanket I've carried since I was old enough to need one. Realizing that nobody has laid out a life for me, not even the people I've accused of doing so. Realizing these things--and letting them be okay--and letting them go...
I don't know, you guys. It's left me kind of a blank slate. A blank excited slate, because I fully expected to burn down this house and find nothing left standing. Who the hell knew that the house was a fortress--and after the fire--what's left in the embers is me?
Love on! Rock on! Kick ass!
-Dak
Sunday, January 25, 2015
"The Big 3-0" or "Dax Must Die!"
There are a lot of ways to take that title the wrong way, let me explain:
I turned 30 a few days ago, which has been excellent and completely surreal. I tend to be one to dwell. To consider events, situations, and choices, rolling them around in my head until I've memorized all the nooks and crannies so I can find meaning in it. Well yeah, duh. Big gasp there--but it's not often that I allow myself to let these things GO. It's all well and good to learn your lesson, but keeping your pop quizzes tacked up on the fridge for an entire life is just a waste of fridge space--and that's a shame for all your sweet macaroni art.
I've been pretty terrified of death and dying for as long as I remember. Yeah, I've flirted with being invincible and all that (jumping out of a plane, being a teenager, etc.) but I've never quite felt like I was out of danger. Growing up how I did, feeling--for the most part--like a fugitive, then a disappointment, then shiftless and discontented, despite many successes and wonderful things in my life. Y'see, as it turns out, what I was trying to do was cling tightly to some long gone but well remembered vague feeling of "Things used to be better." followed by "I used to be better." After much frustration I would capitulate to "Things were different." and that alone was cause for self-doubt, self-hatred, and self-get-drunk. I don't know when I attached such negative associations with change, but it was always the great unknown--from which anything could jump out and rear its ugly head and serrated teeth. I taught myself to be afraid of it, as it was the domain of monsters.
Um...but yeah...that don't work.
What's wrong with change? The unknown isn't hiding monsters, it's hiding brand new bits and pieces of life. Sure, there are hurts and scrapes and bruises and mistakes and failures, but there are also successes and loves and happinesses and awesome (in the original sense) moments. In fact, change is what brought us all everything good in our lives.
Change is the death of the old for the sake of the new...and I was so afraid to 'die'. I was afraid to let go of all the things I assumed comprised the complete human being I am. I thought I'd be saying goodbye to safety. By embracing change, I was also embracing humanity's biggest inevitability--and that was the scariest part. I thought I was giving in. Yeah...giving in to a natural amazing aspect of life that you can't actually opt out of. So yes, three decades down the road and I've come around to accepting life's timeline, and godDAMN if that doesn't feel good for the soul.
I don't plan on kicking the bucket any time soon, but not because I'm clinging to safety at any cost. I just have lots left to do.
And so do you!
Stay fresh. Love,
Dak
I turned 30 a few days ago, which has been excellent and completely surreal. I tend to be one to dwell. To consider events, situations, and choices, rolling them around in my head until I've memorized all the nooks and crannies so I can find meaning in it. Well yeah, duh. Big gasp there--but it's not often that I allow myself to let these things GO. It's all well and good to learn your lesson, but keeping your pop quizzes tacked up on the fridge for an entire life is just a waste of fridge space--and that's a shame for all your sweet macaroni art.
I've been pretty terrified of death and dying for as long as I remember. Yeah, I've flirted with being invincible and all that (jumping out of a plane, being a teenager, etc.) but I've never quite felt like I was out of danger. Growing up how I did, feeling--for the most part--like a fugitive, then a disappointment, then shiftless and discontented, despite many successes and wonderful things in my life. Y'see, as it turns out, what I was trying to do was cling tightly to some long gone but well remembered vague feeling of "Things used to be better." followed by "I used to be better." After much frustration I would capitulate to "Things were different." and that alone was cause for self-doubt, self-hatred, and self-get-drunk. I don't know when I attached such negative associations with change, but it was always the great unknown--from which anything could jump out and rear its ugly head and serrated teeth. I taught myself to be afraid of it, as it was the domain of monsters.
Um...but yeah...that don't work.
What's wrong with change? The unknown isn't hiding monsters, it's hiding brand new bits and pieces of life. Sure, there are hurts and scrapes and bruises and mistakes and failures, but there are also successes and loves and happinesses and awesome (in the original sense) moments. In fact, change is what brought us all everything good in our lives.
Change is the death of the old for the sake of the new...and I was so afraid to 'die'. I was afraid to let go of all the things I assumed comprised the complete human being I am. I thought I'd be saying goodbye to safety. By embracing change, I was also embracing humanity's biggest inevitability--and that was the scariest part. I thought I was giving in. Yeah...giving in to a natural amazing aspect of life that you can't actually opt out of. So yes, three decades down the road and I've come around to accepting life's timeline, and godDAMN if that doesn't feel good for the soul.
I don't plan on kicking the bucket any time soon, but not because I'm clinging to safety at any cost. I just have lots left to do.
And so do you!
Stay fresh. Love,
Dak
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