I’m so proud that my partner is using part of his stage to emphasize the importance of providing vegetarian options in schools. Here’s a video from a press conference he did on this important issue:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJ6P-PDAJdg
P.S. Big thanks to my friend and fellow vegan, Matt Bear, who came all the way to Washington, D.C. to lobby on behalf of reforming our school lunch program!
There are people who would rather forget the identities they left behind. They are happier in the present, or in contemplating the future. But I am nostalgic, and always have been. It must be some quirk in my personality that always, I am happier in working out a way to return to something foregone, than to find merit and worth in what I have become. The result is never good enough, so I return to the parts, to find the broken link.
I began this day poring over old music. A friend recently confessed to me that her music rarely changes. I suppose she is listening now to what she listened to ten years ago, and before that, twenty years ago. There is a comfort in having music that stays with you. But I have thousands of songs saved to my computer. They represent the phases of my life, the thoughts that consumed me, the feelings that would not let me rest. It seems every time I wanted to change, I found music to guide me on. Or perhaps the music found me, a song that hinted at a new possibility, and so commenced my searching for a new identity. Whatever it was, I left behind the old songs, because their messages had grown tired. They reminded me of what was old and needed to change.
Now, as I listen to songs from long ago, I find they are markers of moments past. It is hard to recapture the unique power that inspired or the circumstance that compelled. When we attempt to recover that which was ardent, often, we find it burnt-out. It fills us with longing, though we do not know precisely for what it is we yearn.
So it is with these songs. They remind me of something, something I want back, but what is it? Who was I then? What was it in the notes, in the lyrics, that so perfectly reflected my sense of self? Who was that boy who found solace or hope or even despair in these songs? Is it possible that I was better off then, or is it simply the mind as it gilds and romanticizes that which it cannot entirely recall? Memory is imperfect, and when it is time to remember, if what we seek is not there, then we fashion something out of nothing. Always, it is a happier memory if it is one we must fabricate. For what good do sad memories do us? And this is why nostalgia confuses me. It is hard to see past the present, because it is so much in our faces. How can we get past what became our reality, to see what we hoped the reality would be?
Hastily, I attempted some semblance for the songs that sounded in my ear like the past. But I found my memories jumbled. So much that was distinct–or that seemed distinct–is now murky. There is no common theme. There is no thread that I can see, that I can again weave into a whole.
I think this is a long process: recovering the past, learning from it. It won’t work simply to try organizing songs, because songs are feelings, and feelings never make sense. They are naturally out of order. So perhaps I’ll start with one, and slowly step back, slowly remember. Perhaps that is the only way to lay bare the secrets that were once mine to keep. How strange to think that I can keep secrets from myself.
Now that Halloween is past, I feel I must dwell upon its successes, but also upon the hollow that it leaves behind. It is very much more to me than a simple holiday. Its promise is not merely of masqueraders and surfeits of candy. Nor is it altogether an excuse to frighten with possibilities of evil incarnate. For me, Halloween is a chance for imagination. It is a reign of twenty four hours, in which dreams come to life, not all of them felicitous. That which is terrifying or dazzling or enchanting, may stalk the Earth in earnest, without fear that its guise be judged doubtful or its existence, untenable. I adore that suspension of disbelief, that willingness to see what is unusual, not to dismiss it or debunk it, but to marvel its aspects. Such is the plight of adulthood, that its eyes are too jaundiced and its mind too rusty to accept what is fantastical.
For me, it is tragic to be uninspired simply because things are not logical. Much is illogical that, nevertheless, we embrace. What is more at odds with the rational mind than the feeling heart? Emotions are entirely inexplicable, but we feature them without question. We are, to our feelings, inextricable. How can a person lay eyes upon the colors that burst with juice-like quality, and not savor the notion that magic truly exists? Impossible, that shadows lurk in our midst, trembling, yet impotent to capture our fancy! I say that these things are real if only we allow them the dignity of their suggestions. A dream may be nothing more than a series of images strung together nonsensically, yet we waken in the morning with something to think about. Those images that seemed incoherent bear long in our memories and affect what we do in our waking moments. They inspire us to see what is too terrible or too wonderful to accept.
Poring over the photos from my Halloween party, I was too aware that what I designed was an illusion, and that the revelers saw it all as nothing more than a sophisticated set only to be dismantled at 2am. I wanted those scenes to capture the imagination and to teach my guessts the beauty of a life that could truly exist. For my own part, I have always felt an affinity for anachronisms. All that I admire is a throwback to earlier centuries. I am enamored of the customs and the etiquette of former societies. I love the clothes of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. I love the styles of writing and music and art. I love the gloom of a world unilluminated by electricity, and uncongested by media. There is an elegance about times that forewent our own. There is a communion lost, that people of those eras enjoyed with nature and art. Many of us cannot imagine the appeal of living in a world absent the modern conveniences to which we are accustomed, but I can!
As always, I will continue to live my life according to my passions, be they antiquated or new-fangled, foolish or wise. It truly means something to embrace the unknown and to believe in that which may seem unbelievable. I hope everyone had a fantastic Halloween! Hold on to the magic!
Greetings, Friends,
It delights me to present these lush documentary photos of my 2009 Halloween party.
Copyright: David Mejias 2009
