Deborah Lipp

I’ve been meme-tagged.

Four of the following things are absolutely true about me, and one is not.

1) When I was 14, a bunch of friends and I stole (”borrowed”) the school truck (private boarding school). We figured not to get caught by rolling into the school parking lot with the lights out. Which we did at the exact moment that a school trip in the van was arriving back at school, with two teachers and a bunch of students all staring at us.

2) Many years ago (1982 or ’83) I worked for a small branch of a very large corporation. My boss was fired under mysterious circumstances, accused of orchestrating a large scam, thieving from the company and yadda yadda. In 1999, I became friends with a group of movie fans via the ‘net. One of them turned out to have taken over as my old boss’s boss.

3) I get all OCD about my chairs. I have ONE chair in my kitchen that I sit in (we call it “my spot”) and ONE part of the living room couch. If a guest takes either of these chairs I get all oogly.

4) I used to date Ben Vereen’s nephew. He would regale my daily with stories about Broadway stars he had met and heard about, and backstage shenanigans. He had particularly nasty things to say about Billy Dee Williams. I never met Uncle Ben (teehe) but I heard so much about him. Via Uncle Ben, my ex seemed to have met every black person who ever appeared on Broadway. In fact, one time we were watching The Grifters, and Bob had something to say about Pat Hingle, and I was like “But he’s white!” Which made Bob laugh.

5) I have a gap between two of my back teeth that I floss constantly. Everything gets stuck back there. Ew, nasty.

Okay, I tag Tom, Amy, and Evn.

My friend has a newborn daughter. He is, like most new fathers, head over heels, and has chosen to express it in a unique way.

We’ve talked before about the spirituality and meaning of tattooing, I thought this this was an exquisite and moving example of how we can transform ourselves with sacred marks. Here is a symbol that is both an expression of love and of commitment. My friend Steve will never be apart from his daughter, because he has chosen to place her on his arm. He carries her literally and figuratively. He shows the world that he is permanently changed by becoming a father. This is really everything that a tattoo can be.

I dreamt that three of my co-workers were John Malkovich.

Which just proves that dreams are stupid.

One was thinner, one was dark-haired, but all three were Malkovich. I had a crush on one (the non-thin, non-dark one). He was in management. Then we slipped into an elevator together and hugged and held each other. It was a secret—office affair and all—but then we were in a meeting, and I was seated in a chair and he was perched on the table next to me and he put his arm around me, natural as can be, so I thought, “Guess it’s not a secret anymore” and leaned into him.

I love how hugging and holding feel in dreams; so real, so satisfying, so encompassing. And I love how smoothly things flow; from crush to affair to public relationship.

It wasn’t completely random; just before bed I was looking at movie listings and saw that Ripley’s Game is going to be on. Still, I find the banality terribly funny; I dream about Malkovich and it’s hugging at a management meeting.

Dave Cockrum passed away on Sunday. He was 63 years old.

I adored Dave Cockrum’s art. I was reading the X-Men pretty much from the time I could read, and when the New X-Men were introduced in 1975, written by Chris Claremont and drawn by Dave Cockrum, I was over the moon. It was John Byrne who became “the” artist for the X-Men. Byrne, who replaced Cockrum after, I dunno, a year or two (do I really need to Google all this?) became the artist of record, and the one who got all famous. But I loved Cockrum’s work; loved his blocky, square jaws and swashbuckling goatees, loved his playful sensibility and his heavy, confident linework. Dave drew like it made him happy.

And now he’s gone.

This is a lovingkindness meditation, designed to create love and share it with the world. I don’t know if it’s possible to change the world through meditation. I do know it’s possible to effect local change; to make a neighborhood more peaceful, for example. I wish I had the citations at hand; I’ve read such interesting things about it.

Anyway, this is best with a partner. It can be a lover, relative, or friend: Someone you love. You can adapt it to private meditation without difficulty; instead of receiving love from your partner, receive from yourself or from the Gods.

Ground and center.

Sit comfortably and gaze into each other’s eyes.
Think about the love you have for one another, and allow yourself to feel love.
Let love suffuse you, your body, your thoughts, your feelings.
Breathe in deeply, feeling the love from your partner, and breathe out fully, sending love to your partner.
Notice you are filled with love.
Love.
Full of love.
You are breathing love in and out.
Allow the love that comes out of your breath to surround you. You are surrounded by a bubble of love.
Allow the bubble to spread.
Breathe love out into your home (or the place where you are), and in from your partner.
Breathe love out into your neighborhood, and in from your partner.
As you receive love, continue to give love, out and out, in ever-widening circles.
In from your partner, and out into the earth upon which you rest, loving the plants and the soil.
In from your partner, and out into your neighbors, your friends, your family.
In from your partner, and out into your co-workers, your employers, your employees.
In from your partner, and out into the spirits that surround you; nature spirits, elementals, whatever may be near.
In from your partner, and out into your community, town, county, region.
Love.
Love for your country, love for the world.
Love.
Open your eyes if they have fallen closed, and gaze again at your partner. See the source of love as both individual and universal. Right here and everywhere.
So be it.

I have a very dear friend, N., who evacuated safely from New Orleans. Of course, during Katrina, phoning a friend from New Orleans was impossible, so I just crossed my fingers until I heard.

N. decided he’d had enough of the South after that and moved back home to Massachusetts. Only to be there in the middle of the worst flooding the region has had in decades, prompting an email from me; “Love you to death, please don’t move to New York.”

So, you know where my friend lives? Danvers.

You know what? I’m tired of being thankful that N. is okay.

Okay, so it’s Thanksgiving. I like it. Nice, secular holiday, suffused with Americana and the abuse of native peoples. Okay, but other than that.

I am thankful for:
Food on the table, of which there is always plenty.
My son.
Telephones and Internet connections which allow us to communicate with one another and touch those who are physically far from us.
Democrats in a majority in the House and Senate.
Freedom of religion, imperfect though it is, threatened though it is, that allows me to celebrate my Paganism right here, in public, under my real name, without fear of reprisal.
A wonderful, diverse, insane family, in all its neurotic glory.
The ability to discuss, to understand, to re-group, to ask forgiveness, to be forgiven, and to forgive others.
Babies. Damn, they’re cute.
Most of all, I am thankful for those odd moments when I suddenly realize that whatever is on my mind, whoever I am in this moment, whether I feel good or bad, that I am happy. Maybe it’s a flock of birds overhead, or a light breeze, or just the right kind of sunshine, but I can hate my life totally and have that moment and know that being alive is good enough, and look, here it is, and I’m alive.

I need my employee ID in order to get into my office (scan card). I never forget it. Yes, I keep it in my car, and so it’s where I need it. But what I mean is, I never get up to the door of the building and realize I don’t have it. Very occasionally (like today), I’ll get out of the car without the badge, take one or two steps, and immediately go back for it.

How is it that I don’t forget? It’s that I’m thinking ahead.

We talk about being in the moment, about “be here now,” about Zen consciousness, and yet, when I am getting out of my car, I am visualizing my next steps. I am visualizing entering the building, and I am visualizing needing the badge. If I was living in the “now,” it would be possible to notice my lack of badge only when I was at the “now” of the badge reader (and then I’d have to go back downstairs). But I never have to go back.

It’s nice, you know, because going back would be a pain in the ass. But it’s sad, in a way, to realize how far I am from being in the moment even in my most ordinary moments.