Unblinking
i'm telling you a tale of a time and i embellish the memory
wework
she had the hottest vibe. when compared to some other woman who was selling who knows what, some kind of secret creepy product on the internet, Britney was plain and open about how weird her interests were. she liked making artsy non-fungible tokens, walking laps around las vegas athletic club, and owned a bamboo farm for investment purposes.
when i got off a plane from new york to visit the city in time for a tech event held at a wework i was ready for the same public of would-be investors, would-be entrepreneurs and poseurs that i had some affinity with, i was there with eyes on the future of my startup on my mind.
after the second pitch i leaned back against the wall, Angel was off chatting or doing a backflip, and the woman next to me seemed to be keeping to herself like the way so many women do at tech events. i made the assumption in that moment that she was into software and out of her element. i was wrong on both counts, she was into mortals and anywhere they gathered she was in her element.
by the end of the event Angel and I were chatting with a creepy woman and Britney, the four of us parted ways and the two of us got the contact information from the two of them; the next morning i woke up and flipped a mental coin on who to follow up with from the last night and so Britney received my message.
me: "thanks for weirding with me last night"
the first sign that indicated her genius to me is that in our morning not-out-of-bed-yet text exchange we got started writing in german. she mentioned she was learning it, i began writing it, and she wrote back.
coffee bean and tea leaf
we found a place for a follow up. she arrived in a white coat, long as her body, and sat in the armchair next to mine for an hour or so. she was working on a retreat center called the hrrc. she bought a plot of land in the arizona desert, had designs on a place for her followers to express themselves, rejuvenate, and escape reality into her heavenly oasis.
i was in las vegas to do pushups. hard pushups. impossible pushups.
she showed me a video she recently shot in the desert. she was on a yoga mat, she was in all white, she was performing an asana of her own making. in my heart i was moved by the visual, though i could do nothing to express it while sat there in a coffee bean and leaf. far from the usual yoga attire of sports bra and eye-catching tights, she wore a loose flowing outfit that caught her skin in the desert breeze, in a color that was in no way fit into the normal palette of yogis in dime-a-dozen studios across the world, the pose itself was unabashedly made up in stark contrast to the demonstrations that all-too-often feature the subject doing a pose, even when done well, that has been done so many times to the point of becoming cliché.
i do not think i was being shown this video because i was the only person around, i felt it was displayed because a woman with wisdom beyond beauty saw the world with eyes like mine. mine are on the constant lookout for the weirdness, the strangers to make friends, the friends to make stranger.
whole foods
those eyes were looking back at mine. i was reciting a poem called as above, so below. i wrote it after she she shared the concept with me. up until that point, i had no concept of true reciprocity in poetry. i had written poems before and the women would either receive them with sympathy and write back or receive them with flattered reactions and thank me, neither of which were the reciprocation that meant anything to me at all.
as above, so below
It's better to light a fire
Than to damn the night
the children wonder the meaning of right
Rightly they question
"Why as above, so below?"
Below the surface
They already know
Know their ins and their outs
Their highs and their lows
Lows in their souls and minds
"Mind your manners"
"don't fall behind"
We shove them off
"off now, it's time to go"
As above, so below
Whomever we trust
Wherever we roll
Roll life from dust
Live in the magical flow
Flow from child to adult
Now slowly they grow
Grow love in their hearts
Now love's all they know
Know we can do better
As above, so below
Britney watched me perform.
unblinking, unblinking, unblinking. it's all i can recall about the entire time we sat at that whole foods.
years prior i had a moment with a monk in the catskill mountains in new york, he sat across from me with the agreement to answer a question honestly, or at least as honestly as any mortal can.
me: "what promise did you make and swear to keep?"
monk: "i vowed to never avert my eyes."
there was Britney as i was reciting a poem from memory, keeping the monk's promise.
why did a holy man answer a question about promises with a response about unwavering eyes?
i was aware of the magical power the ancient mediterranean world associated with language while being equally aware that in their culture felt there was no more powerful magic than that bestowed in an audience. with language a man could lead a nation state to start a war or bring it to peace, without an audience that man could only maintain the world as it was.
the monk's comment to me about unwavering eyes was not a riddle or an esoteric statement meant to provoke reflection. it was a direct pointer, the type of comment we all aspire to, that transmitted wisdom from his brain to mine, wisdom that was present in Britney.
whenever i can remember it, when in the audience of a man working magic to change the world, i aspire to the monk's promise, to Britney's delivery of that promise, to be unblinking. the man proposes to change the world, i give my full attention. he's asking for nothing but attention and it is all i have to give. whether the man is making any sense, whether i agree with him or not, whether any of what he proposes comes to pass, can only be determined by me as his audience.
when i was delivering poems receiving poems in response, receiving flattered replies, i was not receiving attention to the ideas i was proposing.
Britney also happens to be disarmingly hot by any measure of temperature, especially in spirit.
i stopped the poem before finishing. there was no need.
in the more than a year that has gone by since i last saw her i have gradually stopped giving speeches looking for the immediate responses that i once sought.
having had her eyes and her brilliance beyond them i have already had the perfect audience.