Alive in the World

"Alive in the World" is the title to one of my favorite Jackson Browne songs. It comes from his "Looking East" album released in 1996. The album represents Jackson's return to more socially-oriented themed music through lyrics, which must be why I love this song so much.

It was during a peaceful drive home from Palm Desert heading west to San Diego, when Jackson's song began piping through the car speakers. I was alone in my car, the sky ahead was blue and clear of clouds, with fresh white snow blanketed the sides of the road. Just as I crested over the pass through the San Bernardino National Forest, the song came on. The lyrics as clear as the sky made their way into my mind and out my eyes in the form of tears streaming down my face. 

It's not the first time lyrics have spoken to me in this way. But in this moment, the combination of them colliding with the view surrounding me, was just too much to take in while driving. I could barely see the road behind my blurred vision, so I pulled over to absorb the magnificence of the moment. 

It was what I call a divine intervention moment. One that cannot be described or explained—like the "you had to be there" kind, and even if you were there, you would have needed to be inside of me to experience it. 

The lyrics from "Alive in the World" became my mantra that year, and beyond as mantra for my life. When something speaks so loudly, I have come to pay it the deserved attention—without question. And this was one of those times.

The lyrics from Jackson Browne's song speak to the coming of a new world, where fear and cynicism is trumping our humanity, where technology is redefining community and the human experience, and the idea of self preservation prevails over all others. By all accounts, his words speak to him opting out of these (my words) dangerous ways of being in this world, and I am with him. 

Below is an excerpt from the lyrics "Alive in the World" and I encourage you to read them and take them in fully. Find the song on line and have a listen. 

I want to live in the world, not inside my head

I want to live in the world, I want to stand and be counted...

I want to live in the world, not behind some wall

I want to live in the world, where I will hear if another voice should call...

To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world

To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world...

And the infinite power of change

Alive in the world

How many times have you seen or been a part of not extending a hand to another who has fallen? The action of non-action out of fear for self, or thought as you walked on by "Someone else will get that." I'm not saying that I am perfect in my everyday human interaction, however, I am aware of the dangers before us and strive to show-up awake and alive in the world. 

Will you come with me?

I Saw Me—In You

Have you ever caught a DNA glimpse of your parents, siblings or children in you? In some families I have seen that unquestionable repeating of physical pattern, yet in others—not so much. Once in a while when I look down at my hands, I'll see my mother's hands or I will look at a photograph of my children and recognize my nose or the shape of one lip as identifiably me. For the most part, however, I have found my physical self to be uniquely me—often joking that I must have been left on my parent's doorstep. And as far as my children are concerned, one born a blue-eyed blond, the other one with a copper-top, I've wondered "Where did my genes go?"

My life as a portrait photographer has offered me the opportunity, in close range, to roam the landscape of people's faces. Very intimately during the post production phase in the computer "light-room" applying what I call, "Photoshop kindness." Never pushing that beyond what feels natural, the camera not as forgiving as our eyes. Not only do we see what is in physical form, we also see with our senses, experiences and our hearts. Adjusting for the harshness of life, smoothing over the contours of skin and form, seeing below the surface and peering deeply into the "window of the soul." The eyes.

It is an occupational wonder looking into someone's eyes. I have studied my own, fascinated by the range of color, the spectrum of layers in the iris bursting out like fireworks from around the pupil. The limited category for eye-color on a check-this-box document, falling very short of what I see. I wish for more boxes to choose from. How about a box that says "Other" with a line where you would write in your own descriptive color—mine, would be amber.

My dad's eyes are blue. Baby blue. Icy blue. His features—Germanic in lineage, and up until yesterday I never saw anything of me in him—that is to say, in a physical sense. I arrived in the Latin package, wrapped in olive skin, high cheek bones and skinny legs. While we were chatting it up at lunch, I held his gaze in mine (like we are supposed to do—always look someone directly in the eyes), listening deeply when I drifted off to somewhere I had never been before. The shape of his eyes. Circling the rims sent me into a momentary lapse in listening—his eyes were in the shape of almonds. The same shape as mine. How had I never noticed that before Dissuaded by quite-the-opposite in colors—maybe? All I know is that my dad, in his eighty-something year, was sitting opposite me, and in a strangely beautiful moment of recognition, I saw something of me—in him. What I refer to as a God moment.

Whistle While You Work

My home office is toward the front of my house. It faces the ever-so-busy-with-people street; neighbors chatting, dogs walking their owners, stroller-pushers and occasionally a glimpse of the fun lady on her tricycle—waving her giant bubble-making wand along the "mountain view" drive. I love this neighborhood. From the driver's seat of my ergonomic desk chair, I can hear everything! From the conversations collecting on the corner to dogs barking their territorial reminders. Some of my personal favorite sound bites come from the neighbors giving personal tours to their friends and family of my garden and the mosaics I have created on my front wall and fireplace. This makes me happy—knowing that I have created beauty that others enjoy as much as I do. Very happy indeed.

This morning, as I was pounding away on my computer keyboard, I could hear a very beautiful tune being whistled, and by no one I audibly recognized. (You get to know these things around here.) I pushed open the drapes to catch a glimpse of a man on a bike, fashioned with an extension of small wheels, carrying his treasure of recyclables. He pedal-pushed in an unhurried cadence, something along the lines of a Sunday afternoon stroll in the park, except its Wednesday and he's in the middle of the street. There was something striking about this picture, a man collecting cans and bottles presumably for his livelihood, pedaling a bike loaded down with the weight of aluminum and glass and whistling a happy tune.

It made me wonder. Does it make you wonder, too?

Work happily interrupted, I wandered out to catch up with the man whistling a happy tune. Juan from Uruguay. I started out with English and asked if he understood. He shook his head no, explained in brevity that he didn't understand much English, even after being here for 34 years. In my best attempt at Spanish laced with awkward motions of basic sign language, I told him I heard his whistling and how beautiful his song was. I wanted to know if he was—happy. He smiled into the lines carved deeply into his face, and nodded his head with a universal "Yes." I smiled back. I was happy too.

My instincts rarely let me down, my senses very keen—I see and hear everything. And more than not, I follow the path and signs that are lit up for me to follow. As I progress through my life journey, my senses heighten and my heart yearns to mingle with more moments like these. Today I was blessed with Juan from Uruguay—whistling while he worked.

What would it take for you to whistle a happy tune—at work, or anywhere in the moment?

I'm whistling right now.