Random Thoughts From A Busy (Internal) Friday ...

It's Friday afternoon.  The PBT will gather around the table in a few hours (well, most of us, anyway).  It feels like it's been awhile since we've been together.  Time continues to move funny, things blur together.  It'll be three months soon, since everything changed.  Some days it feels like much less, some days much more.  Wibbly wobbly timey wimey.

Yesterday moved slowly.  I spent a decent chunk of it at Starbucks, using their slow internet since mine wasn't working at home.  It was nice, out of the corner of my eye, to see E in her native environment, being the welcoming, light filled kid that she is.  In the evening, I went to work, and yet again, my Muse went out of her way to avoid me.  Breaks my heart every time.  Truly.

My head and heart have been so full of motion since waking up this morning, even though I am still sitting here with bed head and no pants on after 4pm.  (Depression is a bitch.)  Amy called to check on me, and I've shot a few letters back and forth with Brian, and I feel blessed and lonely all at the same time.  Why can't I find peace in my solitude anymore?

There was a bit of something in the air, just a bit, a little before noon.  I heard a new tune from Tim Bowness, whose voice I adore, and watched a video about a cartoonist I'd not heard of who died recently.  (The fact that she was a trans woman pushed all kinds of buttons for me.)  I watched a Daryl Hall webcast and was saddened to hear that T-Bone Wolk died last year.

The last tune Daryl sang was The Weight, and I found myself singing along, thinking again about how much I need to sing.  When I sing, I am not the public Icarus, nor the private Icarus.  I am not the words I am singing.  I am something else, in love with melody.  I'm not explaining it right.  But there is something in there.  Something I need to find.

Alright.  Out for a little fun.  More tonight.

Enough Fucking Rain Already ...

Oh, how it rained today!

Well, it's been raining for days, but I don't start to care until it threatens a Wednesday.  Then I care.  Then I get cranky.  Mercifully, there were two breaks in the constant deluge, around 1pm at Sandy Hook, and from about 4 - 6 at Avon.  This was enough time to walk around, to take some pictures, and to ground some of the ever present angst.

I've been dreading taking "press" photos for Icarus, as you might imagine, but with The Institute launched, and with Coilhouse set to expose Idirlion to the world any day now, obviously some changes needed to be made.  E was kind enough to take close to 40 pictures of this unfortunate, scowling mug, and I think we got two or three I can live with.

We ate Chinese food in the gazebo, sat waaaaay too late at the Perk and after a stop at the Windmill, didn't get home 'til around 1230.  Quite a miracle, considering the rain had me ready to phone the day in at around 3pm.  Thank you to The Lady, of course, for the miracle dry spells, and to the roiling, rambunctious sea for showing me what power and mystery are all about.

A Quiet Day ...

Today was a quiet day.  Mostly very slow.  Cool up in The Womb.  I got into a groove in the afternoon, listening to Tony Bennett & K.D. Lang and Bill Evans and Chet Baker.  I spoke to Amy for a bit, and was finally able to share with her the ending of The Muse story.

I went to the 'Seed for my usual Tuesday night shift, and Brian came to sit with me.  We talked about Institute stuff, Icarus stuff, and he reaffirmed yet again what a tremendous friend he is.  After I closed the office, we went to the diner and kept talking and it was grand.

Some days are simple.  Not many.  But some.  Ahhhhh ...

I Believe A Man Can Fly ...

I try very hard not to go on and on about sci-fi / fantasy / comic book stuff in here too much.  Though these types of stories have long served as some of the most potent metaphors in my life (this goes back to seeing Yoda in The Empire Strikes Back when I was five years old) I wouldn't want to bore everyone to tears with my geek acumen.  So despite the fact that I think about genre stuff pretty much every day, I mostly keep it to myself.

I think the last time I shamelessly went all out was when the Tenth Doctor regenerated on New Year's Day 2010.  Maybe it's something about endings that inspires me to break my silence?  I don't know.  Anyway, as you may have guessed from the picture above, Smallville ended a few days ago, after ten seasons, and E and I watched the two hour finale earlier this evening.  It was everything I could have wanted, from an ending that was also a beginning.

Despite my own darkness, or maybe because of it, Superman has always been my hero.  I got my first Superman comics from my grandfather, who died when I was seven years old.  He taught me all about Krypton and Ma and Pa Kent and the whole thing.  (He planted lots of seeds, that man.  Bless him.)  Growing up, I always wished I had parents like the Kents.  They were so kind.  Maybe I could've been from another world then too, y'know ... ?

I worshipped the Christopher Reeve movies growing up (yes, even the one with Richard Pryor) and though I missed large chunks of Smallville over the years, I've been watching this final season religiously.  Tom Welling grew so wonderfully into the role of Clark, and his relationship with Lois, played by Erica Durance, really struck a nerve, even before March.  It's been an awesome nine months getting reacquainted with old friends.

I'm not ashamed to say I cried a few times during the show.  The suit.  The flying.  The visions of Pa Kent (played by the still cool John Schneider).  For the second time this week, I was so glad to be a comic fan, and was grateful that the great characters always seem to find a way to be there for us somehow, no matter how difficult life may be.  Sure, two kids from Cleveland created him in the 30's, but something bigger than that stepped through.

Other than all of this, today was a ugh sort of day.  Mondays are always my home alone days, which doesn't sit well, of course.  Bug and I did manage to do a flier for the Institute in the evening, which turned out nice, then the three of us all scrambled down into the basement to do some cleaning, in order to avoid any trouble with the landlords.  It was tough work, but the result surprised even us.  Nothing like a fear induced deadline, I suppose.

Alright.  Enough for now.  Bed.

The Work of the East ...

I was just gifted with a beautiful poem, a private poem about the sea, which pushed the ache away for a few minutes, which is all one can really ask for.  Before I was gifted with the poem, I was reading about the letters of Emily Dickinson, and thinking about silence, which I need to learn to embrace again.

In all of my new bios, I say that Icarus is a writer, photographer, musician, shaman and chaos magician.  Though I do write in here every day, it's not the same as WRITING.  For me, writing has always meant silence and solitude, two old friends I am not currently getting on with.  All of my good poems come from that quiet.

I am stating the intention that on my pilgrimage, in addition to the music I will make and the photos I will take, I will create time for that silence, to become a WRITER again.  Maybe I'll bring back the three line poems.  Maybe I'll write a completely different autobiographical book about transformation than the one I think I am writing.  I don't know.

But sitting here on the floor, listening to K.D Lang, looking at the spines of all the books on my shelves, I feel something stirring, something that's telling me to do the work of the East, to make something useful of all this pain.  All the great poets have done so.  If I wish to be great, I suppose I should try.

I saw The Muse at work this morning, for the first time since her final rejection on Monday.  The pain and fear in her eyes hasn't gone anywhere, and it just keeps breaking my heart.  I simply can't take seeing her anymore.  She graduates in three weeks, I leave in six, and that will be that.  Obviously that's not what I want, but it's just so destructive at this point ...

(On a lighter note, speaking of destructive, we went to see Thor this evening, which was great fun, as all Marvel movies are.  Loki, in particular, stood out as being particularly compelling and realistic, from a certain perspective.  Huzzah for Kenneth Branagh, for taking the material seriously.  Makes me glad to be a comic fan.)

Alright.  Enough for one day.  Good night.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams ...

It's Sunday morning, and I am down in the tomb (errrr ... I mean the Starseed office) with a little time to write between classes.  I wish so much that I could have written last night before bed, but I was in such a state (in a good way, for a change) that what came out would have been barely coherent.

After spending the afternoon at Whole Foods with Amy, promoting The Institute, I was feeling very vulnerable about my new name being public.  I don't know why, but for some reason, it feels harder explaining this regeneration to people than the last one.  I really don't know why.

Heading back towards home in the late afternoon, I sank into a morbid depression.  Mercifully, E was into spending some time together, which led to our second consecutive evening of time spending, on the heels of Friday's walk around Packanack Lake after my Flame Shift.

We went up to PPP, which still feels like a novelty after eighteen months of sequestering.  We had a tasty dinner at the food court, then decided to go to the AMC to see a strange and wonderful film called Cave of Forgotten Dreams.  What happened next was amazing ...

We were both tired, and expecting an IMAX type film, full of inspiring vistas and uplifting music.  What we got was a mind blowing European exploration into ... I'm not exactly sure what!  It was beautiful.  It was existential.  It was downright hallucinogenic in places.

The avant garde soundtrack (mostly chamber music) really enhanced the experience, as did the fact that we kept falling asleep.  Normally you would think that would be a bad thing, or indicative of a lousy film, but no ... this was quite the opposite.

I honestly think this would have been awesome in the middle of the day, wide awake to the world.  I really do.  But seeing it (maybe feeling it would be a better description) this way felt like such a treasure, such a fleeting, magickal moment.

We drove home in a daze, wondering if this is kind of what people feel like when they are stoned.  Bug even told me that the message I left on her voice mail before I went to bed (she was out late herself) sounded like I was high, which in a weird way, was a good thing.

Of course, the best part of all this is that I wasn't morbidly depressed anymore.  Thank you Pal-o!  Thank you Werner Herzog!  Thank you long ago people from the past who painted that cave!

Flame Shift #36 ...

Finally, a productive Flame Shift!!!

After several lame Shifts in a row, The Lady finally blasted me with enough Fire to get through my ever present fog, at least for 24 hours.  Last night was huge, obviously, with the whole plane ticket thing.  Today was busy and inspired, a fair amount of it spent getting the brochure for the Shamanic Institute into shape.

She also helped me to make the final decision about my last name, which I've been weighing for weeks now.  (I never intended to be a single named individual!)  Her requirement was that it was Irish.  Mine was that is was super simple, preferably one syllable, to balance out the rather extravagant first name I find myself with these days.

As you can see by the amended profile to the right, Quinn fits all the requirements  It means wisdom, which is always a good thing to have more of, and for someone who likes to sign my name using initials, I.Q. is tough to beat.  And so, the process is complete.  Icarus Quinn will walk those hills, until such time that this form no longer serves.

What a strange, fluid life I lead.

My Wandering Times ...

It's possible, though unlikely, that long time readers of mine might remember a reference I made on March 9th (on my previous blog, actually) to My Wandering Times.  I was on top of a mountain, which is as good a place as any to have a crystal clear vision of your future.  It's taken a little over two months to make the vision a reality, but now that it is utterly and completely real, I am allowed to speak of it, magickally and shamanically.

On Thursday June 23rd, I will be leaving on a pilgrimage / vision quest / mad adventure to England and Ireland.  My passport got here a few days ago.  This evening, I got my one way ticket.  I have absolutely no idea when I will be coming back.  The Shamanic Institute begins on September 25th, so I suppose I will need to be back in time to prepare for that, but I simply will not put limits on this.  It's too important.  Maybe the most important thing I've ever done.

Do I really have to explain why I am doing this, why I need to go alone and walk the moors and shout at the wind and hear the stories of people I've only ever known in books?  Shamanism is about walking headlong into the unknown, into things that frighten you.  I've never been away from North America, never traveled alone, never traveled for even remotely this length of time.  Terrifying?  Damn right.  Exhilarating?  What do you think?

The places I will go are like something from a story : London, Oxford, Glastonbury, The Cotswolds, Devon, Cornwall, The Lake District, The Hill of Tara, Bhride's Well at Kildare, Donegal, Iona, The Outer Hebrides, etc etc etc.  I have no itinerary, no plan.  I will be light on my feet, the better to hear The Lady, the better to let the land tell me where my feet should take me.  Honestly, I can't even imagine what this is going to be like.

Clearly I will not be the same person whenever I do return, and that scares me.  (Nevermind the fact that I know in my heart that I won't really even WANT to return.)  Change does seem to be the prime engine in my life, though, along with shape shifting and the acquisition of power, so this adventure feels exactly like what I need to be doing right now, the culmination of this last eighteen months of insanity.  My god, I cannot wait ...

A Late Starting Wednesday ...

It was a late starting Wednesday.  I carried more than my share of melancholy with me to the sea, which was lovely and blue and full of life.  The horseshoe crabs were back at Sandy Hook Bay, where the seeds for my love of this area were planted one year ago.

The warmer weather means the return of people to the sea, which is difficult after seven months of deep quiet, but at least it means new places to eat are opening up, like TR's in Belmar, which had some rather interesting decorative touches.  Aliens FTW!

There was mystery at sunset. There is always mystery at sunset.  Such a pity I can't carry it with me, that it can't sustain me.  Maybe one day.

Four In The Morning, In The Womb, Alone ...

(This is the last of the three eaten posts.  I lost another comment on this one, about my photographs.  Grrrr Blogger!)

It's almost four in the morning, and I just finished listening to the stream of the new Moby album, Destroyed, two times in a row, uninterrupted.  What a beautiful, synthetic, melancholy masterpiece.  Though I love Mister Hall's dance inclinations, as well as his raiding of the Lomax collection, it's always his darker, softer pieces that lure me back for repeat listenings.  (The bonus ambient disc of Hotel springs to mind.)

While listening, I read a couple of very revealing interviews, on The New York Times and Quietus sites, where he talked about moving to Los Angeles and getting sober, among other things, and I found myself really connecting with what he was saying, though I neither need to get sober nor am planning to move to Los Angeles.  It's probably a good thing I've never been one for debauchery, though.

When I get down like this, when I feel lost and alone to the Nth degree, I think about places like LA, full of people like Gerard sings about in The Black Parade, the "broken, beaten and damned."  I can't pretend to be like those people.  I have far too many blessings despite my deep ache.  Still ... walking through a grocery store parking lot after work tonight, alone under the flourescent lights, I felt my own micro version of that.

It's funny to be thinking about desolation and concrete jungles, considering the lovely green wonderland I got to spend an hour walking through this afternoon.  E and I returned to the Laurelwood Arboretum, for the first time in a year and a half, even though it is ten minutes from the house.  The last time we were there, it was the day before the first frost of '09.  Today, of course, spring was in full bloom.

I can't move one foot in front of the other without seeing something I wish I could show her.  I suppose life is going to be like that for awhile, as I explore how best to go on living the kind of life I wanted so deeply to share with her.  A single flower.  A burbling stream.  "LOOK AT THIS", I want to say to her, "IT 'LL CHANGE YOUR LIFE".  But of course I can't, and it won't, so there you go.

I spent the afternoon at the salon, getting my hair and brows done (some things never change!) and was happy to connect with my pals there.  I had a particularly deep chat with Ali, about the public and private selves, and eventually shamanism came up.  I am always so careful talking about my work to "civilians", but there is more to her than I knew, and she is actually signed up to come to the Healing Circle on the 22nd.  Very cool.

The rest of the day was typical.  Chatted on the phone with Amy a bit, went to work from 6 - 830, took calls from T and Paulstro, who both were checking up on me in light of what's going on.  At home, I had dinner and we watched Game of Thrones and I've been up here since 1230, wide awake, wishing I were anything but.  I think I will go read a few pages of Coldheart Canyon, then try to get some sleep.

Goodbye Sweet Muse ...

(This post was also eaten by the big Blogger crash.  Luckily, I had a backup of this one, though I did lose two lovely comments, which I am still grateful for.)

It's just over an hour since that last entry, but this one deserves it's own space.

On Friday, I wrote what I thought was a very good letter to The Muse, to try to reopen communication between us.  I sat with it for three days, made little changes here and there, showed it to E and J, waged war within myself over whether I would actually send it or not, and decided that I had to.

Knowing that I had a day of distraction planned, I sent it off with a deep prayer just before Paulstro, Laura and I left for The City.  All day, I was aware that there was a good chance I would get a reply of some sort, and that life could change irrevocably as a result.  Well, I got a response, and it did change.

In four or five lines, she made it abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with me.  Utter teflon, her response was.  A wall that is impossible to climb over or go around.  So that's that.  There is nothing more I can do, if she won't even engage.  I will not become a stalker.  I will also not get angry.

I guess she just becomes a character in a story now.  Those six months are trapped in amber : the Fripp concert and the big Christmas tree and the Solstice Salon and, of course, all the shamanic circles.  I would not be drumming without her.  I would not be Icarus! without her.  So I suppose I should be thankful.

But all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry for awhile, and grieve over things that are lost.

A Band, A City (Redux) ...

The original post that lived here was eaten by Blogger, in the great Blogger crash of May 11th, 2011.  It was all about the rebirth of my band Cyber Garden, about spending the day in The City with Paulstro & Laura and T, about sharing subterranean things.  It was about the joy of playing music again, the joy of singing, the joy of seeing T in love.  It was about meeting his new partner Flip, about walking along the Esplanade and eating at Izzy & Nat's one more time.  It was such an important day, full of meaning and resonance and hope and fear and a bunch of other things, and I am heartbroken that the original post was eaten before I could back it up.  But there's nothing for it, and I at least wanted to acknowledge its passing.

Ungrounded, With A Nice Ending ...

'Twas a moody, ungrounded day today.

I worked a few hours at the 'Seed in the morning, then was relieved by Amy, who came for teacher training.  After stopping at Callandra's for fresh rolls, I went home and had lunch with E, before heading out for a bit of a wander.

We ended up at Greenwood Lake, which as you can see, had a lovely mysterious sky.  We sat in Spider Gazebo for awhile, had a lousy snack at McDonalds, and drove around a little more before deciding we'd had enough, and headed home.

The best part of the day was as we were wrapping up a late dinner with Bug.  The three of us got into a big, meaningful, very open discussion, the kind that only people who have known each other as long and as deeply as we have can understand.

So much is changing in our lives.  Our family is in flux in so many subterranean ways.  Honestly, I don't remember the last time all three of us checked in like this.  It was not easy, the things we talked about, but something essential was conveyed, and it was grand.

Gig Day ...

For the second day in a row, I found myself turning onto Sylvania in the early afternoon, for an afternoon of rest and grounding.  As it was the first Saturday in May, with a bright sun shining, my formerly quiet paradise by the sea was crawling with people.  This was inevitable, I suppose, but I still liked it better when it was deserted.  Mine mine mine.  Down down down.  Go go go.  Miiiiiine.

After my usual walk up to the Pavilion then South along the shoreline, I went and got my chair and my book and my Pad and settled in at Happy Cove.  (The pic above, of course, is the view from my chair.)  It's always a good day when I get to spend several hours in that spot.  Today, however, I allowed myself to be more plugged in than usual.  It didn't ruin the vibe.  Not at all.

I chatted on the phone with Bug for awhile, then Lisa called and we got ourselves all psyched for the gig.  Then in a moment of psychic tomfoolery, I sensed the presence of That Dear Boy and figured he must've either written to me or blogged or something.  Sure enough, not a half hour before, he had written a big post, which screamed for a comment.

A short while after commenting, he texted me and I called him straight away.  We proceeded to have a lovely, long conversation, about his cousin and Bhride and transformation and the Shamanic Institute and probably a few other details that I am forgetting.  Needless to say, it was marvelous.  I miss him every day, and though calls and emails and Reiki shares are not the same as being in a space together, they do help.

Around 5pm, I needed to get moving, so after a stop for a snack at Yummy Yummy, I made my way to Asbury where, sure enough, there was again no parking.  I walked into Yoga Basin a little after six, and hung out with Reggie and Enrique while waiting for Lisa.  When she got there, we set up and before you knew it, it was 7 o'clock.

We didn't actually start the gig until around 715, as we figured people were having a hard time parking.  (Apparently, Lisa has Barbara DeWalt powers, though, which I need to take advantage of at future gigs!)  When we did begin the show, it was as lovely a beginning as I could have hoped for.  She led the group in three oms, and then on we went.

I already knew that she had a great voice, but what impressed me the most was her comfort on stage, and her ease with the audience.  She connected with them and told them stories about the tunes and was just top notch, especially for someone so new to being a featured performer.  My job was easy : just frame the tunes, support that voice, hold the space.  I'm good at those things.

The music only lasted a little over an hour, but our audience of 13 didn't seem to mind.  When it was finished, we were both happy, and in talking to a few people, it seemed we made them happy as well.  After Lisa left, I stayed and talked with Reggie for a bit, about Bhagavan Das and a few other things, before it was time for me to head North as well.

My little reward to myself was dinner at The Windmill, where I am starting to get to know people's faces, since emerging from my 18 month cocoon.  After sitting at the counter and enjoying my meal, I got on Ocean Ave, talked to my new musical partner one more time (who just seemed so happy about the whole thing, bless her) and blearily made my way home.

Dress Rehearsal ...

Well, that's not entirely true.  We didn't really run the show down, as if it were a show.  We stopped and made adjustments and made some last minute changes and tomorrow should have a little extra rocket sauce to it precisely because we are slightly less than prepared.

'Twas lovely to see Lisa again, as always.  Such a great spirit she has, willing to jump into the unknown.  We rehearsed this time at her apartment in Long Branch, as the harmonium is far too ungainly to move around.  She made me a potent cup of yerba mate, we chatted as we always do, and it was grand.

I went down early so I could have a few hours to find my space at Avon.  I also stopped for a short while at Pier Village just before rehearsal, and couldn't help myself as the sun was setting at Monmouth Beach as I was heading home.  Well, my other home, as I always say ...

The best part : I get to do it all again tomorrow.

Yaaaaaaawn ...

After another quiet night at work, Bug and I finally had our meeting with Amy, which seemed to go remarkably well.  (Though it was a pity that Raymond's wouldn't serve me the french toast in the evening!)  As long as she lets us get on with it, Starseed is going to have not only a sparkling new website, but also a totally new branding campaign, come September 1st.  Stay tuned ...

Other than the evening, today was a rare stay-in my-sweatpants rest day for me.  I woke up feeling that cold in the back of my throat / sinuses taking root, so I figured with the upcoming busy-ness, I better stop moving for a few hours.  I read, I listened to some music ... basically I just stayed in The Womb all morning and afternoon.  Yeah.  I know.  Yaaaaaaawn.

Feeling Other ...

Right, then.  There's the light I was looking for in those shots yesterday.  Ahhhh ...

'Twas a kind of intense day today.  Slow moving, lots of inner work, yet breathtaking in places.  Honestly, it took 'til about six o'clock for the wonder and mystery I look for on these wanderings to present itself, but when it did, well ... just look at the colors and textures above.  It was like hitting the side of a barn, getting those shots.

I'm exhausted, and I feel a cold coming on, so this short entry will not really do justice to the labyrinth of emotions I traveled through today.  So much of the time, I feel other, with no words to explain my otherness.  At least I have the sea on those days, and my beloved Avon, where those feelings matter a little less, at least for a little while.

North, With Discouragement ...

After the brief visit on Sunday, I didn't feel quite finished with the Hudson Valley, so Seven Lakes Drive, Bear Mountain and the Walkway Over The Hudson (which joins Highland and Poughkeepsie) were all visited briefly this afternoon.  (The light was lousy, but at least I had my good camera this time.)

Unfortunately, just before getting underway, I got a call from my boss / friend Amy to cancel (for the third time) our scheduled meeting to commence the web redesign project.  This really discouraged me, more than you'd think it should, and without getting mad or making drastic statements, it has me thinking about my future.

Dear god, so much keeps changing ...

Reiki share in a few minutes.  Better get to that.

A Day of Heavy Lifting ...

For once, I actually mean that literally.

I spent today helping my teacher Jason move house.  It was only a couple of blocks, from one side of Bloomfield Ave to the other, but it took all day.  These things always do.

A friend of his helped us for the first couple of hours, and we had some hired help with the furniture and big things this morning, but for about two thirds of the day it was just the two of us.

I've probably said it before in this blog, and I know I've said it to many of my dear ones, but having no birth family anymore, Jason has become like a father to me, which is really kind of amazing.

Doing this task with him all day, making my bones ache as they do, felt not only like the right thing to do, but it felt important, like something I should do.  I wonder if that makes sense ...

We talk so much at our yoga studio about service, and about giving back, but those are just words until you do them and find yourself understanding why you are doing them, and just breathing into them.

All the trips up and down the stairs ... All the sweeping and getting blisters on my hands (during a week when I'll have at least three musical encounters) ... Even up to the end, when I was exhausted, I was able to meet it all joyfully.

I'll never be able to repay him for what he's taught me, and that isn't the point.  But I can do things like this, in boring ol' consensus reality, to let him know I appreciate him.

I'm glad to say that he knows.

(A not unimportant PS to this entry : during the move, I got a voice mail from Paulstro, and HE FOUND T AND WE ARE GOING TO PLAY THIS WEEK!  Actual rock and roll, on the drum kit, on a stage in front of people, if we can swing it!  How desperately I've been wanting this, and after all these years away, it's going to happen this week!  Unreal, all the things are opening up for me since I regenerated again ...

Garrison, Paulstro & Possible Futures ...

After putting in four dreadfully slow hours at the 'Seed (and running into The Muse just as I was getting ready to leave) my day really got underway at 1230, as I turned onto the Palisades Parkway and headed North into the glorious Hudson Valley.

Up up up I went, with Spring springing all around me, up to Bear Mountain and over the bridge, further North still up to Garrison's Landing.  Having forgotten my usual camera, the picture above was actually taken on my iPad, which is a toy in comparison.  Still, I am pleased to have gotten the shot.

It was fun to sit on a bench down by the River, over by the gazebo, across from West Point, and use Face Time to have a video call with Bug.  To be able to be in one of my places, yet still connect so viscerally with home is something that will be quite useful this summer.

The whole reason I went up that far was to meet up with my band mate Paul, who was doing a workshop with Jean Houston up at the Garrison Institute.  He and his partner Laura invited me to lunch before they were set to head back down to Philadelphia.  I, of course, need very little arm twisting for things like this.

We actually ended up meeting at the Mount Ivy Diner, a fair bit back down the Palisades Parkway.  I hadn't seen them since January (the night of the Bhagavan Das gig, actually) and though they knew about me stopping my transition, they hadn't actually seen Icarus.

Their reaction was the same I always get.  (How are you?  I must say, you do look healthier.  What do we call you now? Etc etc etc.)  It's still so amazing to me to be surrounded by so many wonderful, supportive and loving friends, who are all really stepping up and providing continuity as the world moves too fast under my feet.

They wanted to hear the story, so in between bites of my inordinately late breakfast, I told them everything from the last two months.  I've been privately referring to the whole business as The Ballad of Mary & Icarus.  Each time someone asks me to tell the tale, it makes me sad, but it also keeps her close to my heart.

As important and heart opening as it was to share all of this, what meant just as much to me was when Paulstro started talking about playing music together again, and about tracking down our wayward third member and, as they say in The Blues Brothers, putting the baaaaaand back together.

Do I really think there is a snowball's chance in hell that he will find T, much less get him to commit to playing?  Hells no!  But at the very least, it will be wonderful to play with Paul again, after so many years.  Maybe we can improvise some things, maybe record a few things.

Still, I would love to get behind the kit and REALLY have a go.  It's been so long ...

Getting home after 6, Bug and I played with our Pads a bit, spending time getting to know Evernote and Flipboard.  When E pulled in around 10ish, it was so lovely to see her, especially after such a long journey (which I will let her tell you about in her own blog.)

I'm getting very tired, to the point of nodding off between the lines of this entry. To bed, then.