I’m actually crying as I write this. Or have just finished crying. I was remembering going to the David Bowie Is … exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. It was November 2015. I shed a lot of tears that day too. Tears of joy, gratitude, tears of being touched by this man’s invitation to fully embrace who I am, to express myself, to bring it, especially around music.
And out of this experience came the inspiration and creative power to write, produce and perform the theatrical solo show How the Beatles Nearly Ruined My Life – And David Bowie Saved It, which is excerpted here. It’s a clip from the piece as it ran at The Skokie Theatre (just north of Chicago) on January 21st, 2017.
I’ve enjoyed watching this clip and preparing it for you today. Sure, I have the usual suspects in my head offering their critiques of my acting, my singing, etc. But more than that, I found myself deeply loving myself for sharing this personal stuff with you. Now, and then.
One year prior to the Skokie Theatre debut of my show, to the day, I was in Evanston Hospital recovering from brain surgery. (I’m pausing here to let that in.) At that time, January 2016, I’d nearly completed the writing of the show. What I couldn’t know was if I’d be able to finish the writing. Or if I’d be able to memorize the script, or perform it. I thank a power greater than myself that I was able to complete these tasks and share the show with you. It was a gradual process for sure.
In those early weeks after the surgeries, I took it easy. I had to. I was tired all the time. Took lots of naps. Couldn’t drive. Took Metra up to Evanston for physical and occupational therapy many days. Started shooting little videos chronicling my movements along the way. Generated more love in doing so, sharing the videos on Facebook. You helped me enormously. And note: None of this was laborious or painful. I was in a positive, even happy state of mind. I’m not kidding. Even heading into it on Day One.
Now get this.
I suddenly have an understanding of how this happiness might have been possible. I think it had something to do with the process I experienced before, during and after the surgeries, the process of letting go of my ego, my agenda, my need to have a handle on everything. I felt a lightness, and I was genuinely happy. What does “happy” even mean? Well, I think it means this: I was largely free from negative thinking, free from self-criticism, free from worry, free from suffering. It wasn’t anything I made happen, by the way. It simply was.
And there were moments of joy too, moments of temporary elation. One was in physical therapy. I was in a class with other recovering people. I entered the room feeling buoyant, and when I sat down, the fellow next to me asked, “Are you a dancer?” Fantastic! I said no, not officially. Though I did add, “I do love to dance.” He remarked that my entrance into the room impressed him with its elan, its ease of movement. Something like that. Definitely got a nice dose of joy in that moment. I hadn’t been performing when I walked (waltzed?) into the room. I was simply being!
Minutes later I experienced more pleasure while playing Scrabble with two North Shore gentlemen coming back from serious surgeries too. In my mind I thought of them as “captains of industry,” you know, CEO types. Which made my resounding victory over them all the more satisfying. Brain surgery had not excised my egoic pride altogether.
But really, since the surgeries I have felt more free of what I call the bondage of self. And it comes up here, as I write these pieces and post these videos. I know it’s me I’m seeing on the screen, me I’m writing about. But I’m not tied down to all of it. There’s a loosening of the grip. I’m not even sure I know what “me” means.
And then this happened.
As I began writing, just now, I needed to log in to Substack. As I did, the computer took me to a page where I caught a glimpse of another blog, a Substack called Poetic Outlaws. In the blink of an eye, I saw the words, “Transcending Yourself,” and a short piece lifted from a lecture by Alan Watts, the Buddhist philosopher. There was more: ”…Every spiritual discipline involves a form of death, that is to say, of what is called, dying to oneself…the death of the ego.”
Brain Surgery, recovery, doing my show, now writing about it, they’re all spiritual disciplines. And I’d have to agree with the quote. Definitely some dying going on around here. More will be revealed.
Too Late? What's That Even Mean?