Greetings, Friends,

Today, two very different topics are united in one post!

Two nights ago, my partner and I were driving en route to our favorite falafel shop in D.C., and we began to discuss dreams. I’ve always been of a mind bent on finding meaning in mysterious places. Hidden in plain sight, are the answers to life’s most complex questions. And yet, through the miasma of social conditioning and an inability to dismiss affairs in the real world, often, we miss what would be otherwise very obvious. In dreams, perhaps, we discover answers to questions that the waking mind stumbles over.

When I asked him what meaning he assigned to dreams, my partner answered that they are a product of the subconscious. So we agreed.  I then posed the following: we use only the merest part of our brains to accomplish the many wonderful and terrible objectives of civilization and art, so contends many a scientist and scholar; does it not, then, stand to reason that the subconscious originates in that portion of the brain of which we use no part? And further, that if dreams there orginate, are they not also the proof that we are capable of thinking in ways very different from those to which we are accustomed? Are dreams not confusing precisely because they are the product of a brain we never use and a way of thinking we never engage? I wonder if we could somehow determine a way to harness that extra brain power, we would all of us be ten times, even one hundred times more perceptive, more capable of answering vexing questions. Might we, then, be truly enlightened? And might not the meanings that we stretch at length to find, appear plainly before us and within our reach? Might we not see the planes that hover all about us, forever lost beyond the third dimension? I am not suggesting anything supernatural, but as a point for debate, the place where our dreams orignate. And whether we ought to heed them, or else disavvow them as nothing more than arbitrary assemblies of images we’ve seen during our waking hours.

I know I am not alone in contemplating questions that my logical mind seems impotent to answer. Where else can we turn? Do we even have the capacity to answer such questions? That we are able to ask the question, is this not proof that we are able also to answer it?

Anyway, enough philosophy. Last night, I attended the National Christmas Tree Lighting ceremony at The White House. The tree was quite stunning, bedecked and bedizened with a million shimmering lights. It is also the first energy-efficient tree in the history of the ceremony, decorated entirely with LED bulbs, which means that it will consume less than half of the power that it has in previous years. The wonderful thing about LEDs is that, while they are more energy-efficient, they are also far brighter than regular bulbs. So the finished product is better all-around!

The program was also lovely. My partner and I sat in the third row from the stage, with the rest of the Colorado delegation, including Congresswoman Betsy Markey and her lovely husband, Jim. Why the awesome seats? Because the ceremony is hosted by the National Parks division of the Department of the Interior, and it so happens Colorado’s own Ken Salazar is the Secretary of The Interior. Instant VIP treatment! Thanks Ken!

A few of my favorite acts from the ceremony:

Michelle Obama reading “‘Twas The Night Before Christmas” onstage to a covey of wide-eyed children

Jordan Sparks’ rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”

“Carol of The Bells” performed by the wonderful Irish quartet “Celtic Woman”

and, of course, President Obama’s fantastic address.

Afterwards, my partner’s sister and I took a picture in front of the tree (thanks Jo!):

Last, but not least, a humorous photo showing Santa’s Workshop, which was arranged a few paces from the stage. Note the snipers on the roof (a regular sight here in DC); I, in my wonder at all the pretty lights, mistook them for Green Army Men (the toys!) I also think it’s quite cool to see Washington Monument in the far background:

All Pictures: Jordanna Schutz 2009

Greetings, Friends, and Happy Wednesday,

I write today with just a few fun and note-worthy updates.

The holiday season is fast upon us, and all around are its unmistakable heralds: the lights, the music, bows and wrapping paper. But what does it look like in Washington, DC? 

On rages the healthcare debate, but in its midst, jollity appears to be taking hold. For a few, brief days in December, the world will shed its woes for happier garments of optimism and gratitude. I love the quiet contentment of December; its gently cascading snowflakes; its empty streets. Of course, all of this happens after the shoppers have done with their wars, and the spending is at an end. It is the moment when the world shuts down and we are commited to staying home. For once, we excuse ourselves from the tables of the world,  to remember why it is a gift to be alive. 

Jared and I have now received our invitation to the White House holiday party. It comes printed on beautiful, red cardstock, with gold embossments:

“The President and Mrs. Obama request the pleasure of your company at a Holiday Ball in honor of the Members of Congress to be held at The White House on Monday, December 7, 2009 at seven o’clock”.

That same day of the 7th, I will also attend a Democratic Spouses Holiday luncheon, and in the evening, a ceremonial tree-lighting at the White House.

It will be nice to meet everyone on the occasion of something more uplifting than politics.

One last trick…here is a photo from our family’s Thanksgiving celebration in San Diego, California:

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

Half an hour ago, I received a frightened text message from a close friend. It was two lines long, and read, “”Help! X is being held in immigration detention Chicago!”

My friends have been partners for ten years. One is American, the other is English. But for the admirable length of their relationship, they have suffered under the yoke of our country’s broken immigration system. Much is written, and little done to reform this little-known travesty in an otherwise free society. Like so much in our civilization that is not civilized, injustice lurks in places few of us ever think to look. How many of us can claim to truly understand the terror and hopelessness of having a loved one imprisoned on nameless accounts? My friend’s partner had with him all the proper documentation. He had his passport, and his papers showing that he lived and worked in England. He had proof that his trip to the United States was just that: a trip. Yet, as he made way for his connecting flight in Chicago, these things were ignored and he was escorted to a room where he was made to wait without any line to the outside world. His passport was confiscated and his papers seized. At this point, let it again be said and heard that my friend was merely en route to Colorado to spend time with his partner of ten years. By fault of yet another blemish on our nation’s conscience–the Defense of Marriage Act–as a same-sex couple, my friends are unable to wed. Owing to that law, for the last ten years, each time X comes to visit, they relive the fear that he will be detained by immigration authorities. Has our country gone mad that we allow such things to take place?   

And what does one do when one has no one to call, no friends in high places? One waits, perhaps indefinitely, before being deported. Imagine all of this happening, simply from a desire to spend time with one’s family! It’s beyond shameful.

I am so happy that my friend contacted me when this happened. I was able to bring it to the attention of my partner, whose special interest is immigration reform. As a Congressman, he has more clout in these circumstances than the average citizen, and within seconds, preparations were made to solve the problem. But I am sensitive to those who, as I said, have no connection within the system of government that seizes them. They have no one on whom to depend.

After speaking with my friend, he told me that after this experience, X no longer feels that he can make the trip to the United States. The stress is too much. And because of these foolish laws that help no one, my friend must now consider either ending his relationship of ten years or else leaving the United States to be with his partner in England. Our country is tearing apart families. It’s a tragedy that deserves our utmost sensitivity, our unconditional compassion, and our adamance that this system be changed.

Hello, Friends,

Last week, I was lucky enough to participate in a special CNN profile of Congressional Spouses. I carried a camera around for all my daily routines and learned that it is no easy thing, talking about oneself on cue! Nevertheless, this was an important opportunity and one that I hope you find worthwhile. Without further ado, I present “A Day in the Life of a Congressional Spouse”:

www.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2009/10/14/freshman.year.ep18.cnn

Think of all that we do not see in the inner workings of civilization. Untold numbers of operations underly the simplest of modern comforts. And the things we take for granted, are the same in whose absence, we would complain bitterly of living as if it were the dark ages. 

A toilet flushes, transporting into oblivion the objects of our distaste. Garbage disposals pulse and draw down our discards. Fumes emit profusely from our vehicles, and wisp into thin air. Crops are dusted and doused, and our apples seem to redden with the effort. Somehow, the food we eat appears neatly packaged on grocery shelves. But how is all this accomplished? Who is the wizard behind the curtain?

It seems a necessary concession to living in a civilized society, that we remain ignorant of its most basic mechanics. Think of what we condone simply by not knowing or not looking. For example, suppose that instead of disappearing into the vast dome of the sky, the fumes produced by your car somehow ended up in your house, where you live and eat and sleep. Would anyone still drive if, in so doing, they stood personally to suffer the consequences? Likewise, would we think differently of what we flushed down our toilets if we were the ones on the receiving end who had to clean it up? Would we eat differently if we knew how most of our food is produced?

And what are the consequences of ignorance? As my father always tells me, “you pay in this world for what you don’t know.” So blithely, we chatter away on our cell phones, not knowing whether they are carcinogenic. We eat food said to be FDA-approved, yet most of us have never bothered to visit the FDA and to discover what their licensing authority requires of manufacturers. We gulp down vast quantities of pills so that we can be productive citizens, never coming to grips with the fact that we are born entirely capable, and over-medicating only creates problems where there be no problems. 

There is so much that we do not know, that by disassociation, we nevertheless come to accept. Frankly, it frightens me how detached most people are from the act of living. Most simply resign themselves to doing whatever is best marketed to them. Sadder still is the fact that life itself has ceased to be appealing on the strength of its own merits, people requiring drugs of all kinds to make it worthwhile. They watch movies because simply looking out one’s window is no longer sufficiently thrilling. A flower is no longer miraculous. A cloud that pours out rain no longer amazes. It is not enough to eat vegetables and fruits, and to drink water; we must modify everything for it to be palatable. I’ve met people who will not touch a vegetable! Imagine that! It’s a good thing they don’t live in prehistoric times when vegetables were the only game in town. 

So, where does all this leave us? We need desperately to get in touch with the decisions we make. If, by our resolutions, we also come to grips with their outcomes, then rightfully, we can claim to have done our due diligence. But right now, we make too many choices for which we are never made accountable. Someone, somewhere deals with the byproducts of our living. Who are they? Where do they work? These are the questions we must ask if we are to become a better people.

It never ceases to amaze me just how inexpressive most people can be. It is one thing to be passionate, still another to be stoic, but to be entirely without a feeling response seems inhuman and totally non-animalistic. The human brain is hard-wired to respond in an emotional way. To whatever degree we have lost that tendency, it must be ascribed to cultural conditioning. It simply is not an animal response to encounter something provocative without feeling something. And yet, so many idolize stoicism that our culture would be led to believe that emotions are no more than imperfections in the code. When they arise, it is mortifying and entirely unrefined. Whatever.

It never fails to depress me, especially when I am excited about something and fully expecting my friends to share in that excitement, that instead, I am met with impassivity. And this goes beyond the question of sexual orientation, in which it is often mistaken that real men express nothing. No, people in general express very little, even when feeling nearly overwhelms them. Ah, there’s the conundrum. To be overwhelmed! To try and fail at battening down ones emotions! We have them, but we ignore them. Then, in private, we express them hysterically because we spent so much energy in stifling them. It is unhealthy not to ackowledge that which is perfectly obvious to one’s heart.

What a lot of good it does to lack joyful accomplices in that moment of ones greatest joy! It feels awful to be alone; to feel secretly ebullient over something that most consider trifling, or to feel despondent on one’s own. These are tragedies, and yet we sustain them as if it were in our nature to ignore that which is powerful and passionate.

In a larger context, who really lives that does not perceive life to be a grand and wonderous adventure? The unexpected waits around every corner. How, then, can one go uninspired with so much that is surprising? It is a lie when, in the presence of good news or terrible news, a person simply shrugs. It is a lie to be composed in desperate situations. 

One of my regrets for the human race is that petty complaints occupy so much of our time. It’s a recurring bill; a car that will not start; weeks of exercise that do not end in fitness; a birthday planned special, but ended in disappointment; a trip rich with expectations, instead ending quietly. I think people miss out on the things they could enjoy, because they are too preoccupied with what is dismal, with what has failed, or what never came to be.

I suppose this post is yet another exhortation to live in the moment; to be appreciative for what we do have; to not waste time lamenting the things that never worked out, because time is fleeting, and all we have to count upon is in our hands. If you have strong emotions, express them now. Don’t wait, lest they fall on deaf ears.