To Be the Who, To Who the Be.....

To Be the Who, To Who the Be.....

A few days ago my daughter Sage started middle school... As she continues at school it is going to be intriguing to watch her try on selves like jackets as she discovers the one that fits best...


Her journey to self-discovery helps me reflect and look back over my life (and particularly my time at UCSC) and marvel at all those Dereks that I have tried on ---> Personalities I wore and discarded...


I think we try on selves that are available around us... So down in ol' Santa Cruz I found super hippy Derek on the street.

This is the derek after Dr. Metal....

and Captain Cleancut at end of high school through the rest of summer...

In Santa Cruz fall of 1985/spring of '86, I had found this red shirt with little mirrors on it at the flea market which I wore all the time and decided to stop brushing my hair and wearing shoes (and underwear!)... Basically to be a 'soily.'.... I developed these thick callouses on the bottom of my feet... I even went so far as to go backpacking barefoot wearing a 40-50 pound backpack!...

I discovered something very interesting on this trip: our shoes are good in that they protect us from the sharp rocks of the trail but they also keep us from feeling the soft forest duff that lies there waiting to envelope our soles in a plushness beyond words... I took this as a metaphor for comfort in general: By seeking a cozy or agreeable life, we level out the natural curves of the external world--yes we miss the storms but we also miss the scents of the sunrise and the dawn chorus of hundreds of birds... a trade off we often don't realize we even made... (For the record, I put shoes back on once I left Santa Cruz and moved to San Francisco. There is just too much fecal broth in that great city to walk barefoot in...)


So here today I marvel at this Derek that has settled into my shoes: Dad, husband,mixer, ukulele player... What other me's await discovery? Or am I stuck with this fine life I am wearing now? Which other whos could I be? Teacher? Rock star? Wandering inspirationalist? What choices did I make to become these mes?... Is there a better Derek waiting to be unearthed? What does the future hold and how will I react to find the next derek? Do all my whos correspond to Chapters in the Book of Derek? Does each chapter have its own Derek?


It's funny, as I wander this forest of memories it seems most of these mes are just changes in clothes and or hair—external reflections off of the internal, eternal gem.... Does this mean there is only one true Derek and all those vehicles were built on the same chassis? Where does the water end and the wave begin?

That is part of the joy of hindsight/nostalgia... Turning the focus knob to see the details of my days at different depths of the microscope, but like they say in the Tao Te Ching, 'surface and depth are in essence the same thing- words making them appear different...'


But back to Sage...This is one of the best parts of being a parent... watching and learning how the sausage is made (so to speak)... Seeing how the clay of who-ness is shaped as our kids grow... I have always felt a great responsibility to the rest of humanity to try and grow good humans--> Sane girls and respectful boys. Inevitably, one has to question nature/nurture... What is DNA versus life experience versus place/culture?


But with this Derek here, this vehicle I am driving---I just hope to be as present as I can: To try and know whichever self I am wearing as best I can... (again the famous phrase... 'the more you learn, the more you learn that there is more to learn')


So here is a poem I thought seemed relevant that I wrote when my Dad was sick, and on through after when he died...


You don’t have to look far to see yourself
This piano is tuned to the sidewalk.
In sympathetic resonation
to silent conversation
between the bass and the treble
footsteps.
And as if these piano keys
were leaves in the wind of my senses
then these hammers can be seen as the banks of a stream
while my strings are the clear waters
-that either rush or reflect
everything except
the frame that holds them apart.
Thus
when blood dripping from my soundboard
scabs a 3-d crucifix
this is a personal apocalypse.
Not unlike
falling in a sky of knives
only to be eviscerated,
behold though my grain is articulated!
And this grain when placed in flame
yet again reveals my nature.
(Tree limbs still branched from the tree cannot into themselves see)
But this is no limb from no tree
I am the instrument of harmony
and as such how will I burn?
Will embers leave only metal debris
and charred and splintered ivory?
Can notes still emote from wisps of smoke?
Or what songs remain in my ashes?