Our Eternal Friend

It is almost impossible to describe the experience of a night with Leonard Cohen in mere words. But let me put a few out there for you, just to give you an idea......

Magical. Sublime. Epic. Enchanting. Transforming.


And these are just the 'tip-of-the-iceberg."

The show consisted of two sets, with a 20-minute intermission in between. Just prior to the intermission, he introduced each member of his band, but not mere introductions were they at all. With each of his colleagues, he brought them into our acquaintance via a poetic mini-story; a tribute in itself. This was the epitome of his grace.

Throughout the concert, he thanked us all - "his friends" - for making the night so special for him, and being a part of it all. He is a truly grateful man, and a spiritual friend to every person on Earth.


There were a succession of special moments throughout the night, but my very favorite one was at the end of the show, when he recited "A Thousand Kisses Deep" with almost no accompanying music (just a light, wavering keyboard tone was all there was). I put both my hands over my face and started to cry.

His live performance last night at Madison Square Garden touched the spirit of every man, woman and child, whether you were in the arena or not. Simple perfection is what Leonard Cohen is to me, and he was all of that last night and more.

Thank you, Leonard. You are an eternal treasure....

Painful Change

There's a notable concept in the area of self-help that a wonderful friend of mine recently reminded me of. I had posted a Facebook status about me being "in some pretty uncomfortable territory at the moment," to which she commented "uncomfortable = growth."

Ah, this is so true, isn't it? It's virtually impossible to travel to a place of personal betterment without passing through a valley of discomfort. I know this not only from my own personal experiences, but also from seeing friends and family traverse this same painful path.


Change is difficult, there is no doubt. We all seem so programmed to just be comfortable with what is, even when it brings us pain. In an old Pink Floyd song called "Wish You Were Here" the writer asks the main subject of the song whether he had exchanged "cold comfort for change." Cold comfort. Wow. Such profound words. Because that's exactly where we can be left when we resist necessary change. In a state of cold comfort.

I've been thru a few periods of cold comfort in my own lifetime. Sometimes, it's simply been what we would call a rut, and in those cases, it was fairly easy to redirect myself and get back on a moving track. But lately, I have realized that I've been in a sustained period of cold comfort, and knew that it was time to for something dramatic. Dramatic, but courageous. And so it is that I sit here tonight, having taken a purposeful action that will hopefully end the drama I have been experiencing of late. And the cold comfort.


More and more, as my own self-awareness strengthens, I observe that just about everybody is walking around in this state of somnambulance, and is wishing that they could create change for themselves.

But they don't.


Why? Because change takes courage, and we don't always have the courage to cross the bridge to the unfamiliar (read "uncomfortable") territory that lies on the other side. Change as depicted by crossing a bridge. Yes.....


There are famous bridges all over the country, and also the world. But there is one that has recently taken on special meaning for me. It is a bridge in New York City's Central Park called the Gapstow Bridge, but it is more familiarly called the "Love Bridge." Apparently there have been many marriage proposals made on this bridge, leading to its informal moniker. But as I look at this particular bridge, I see it in higher terms, and as a metaphor for so much more. The bridge represents a dividing line between what is and what can be, if one has the courage to put their foot on the bridge and take the first step.

I am a runner, as many of you know, and in running long races like marathons, there is a saying that goes something like "Courage is not what it takes to finish the race. Courage is what it takes to step up to the starting line."

I have just stepped up to that starting line, folks. Please wish me luck, and in return, I will send you back lots and lots of love and rewards. <3

The Only Living Boy In New York

There was a very specific day about three years ago when I remember walking around the city streets and being struck by the theme of an old Simon & Garfunkel song. I felt like the only living boy in NY.

Most days I just meld right into all that is going on around me, but on this day I felt ominously removed from it all. There was darkness in the time-space miasma, and the people I passed as I walked along the sidewalk all looked lifeless. No joy of life, no spirit, no nothing. I don't know if it was that they had no life in them, or if I was somehow removed from the situation in such a way as to sense lifelessness in what was around me. But I felt both alone and emancipated at one time. Suddenly I was in a moment where no physical laws applied. Where nothing made sense. 3 plus 3 did not equal 6 in this moment. I was in what felt like great despair, but I was totally free at the same time.

The city is an interesting place. It draws the masses to it like moths to a flame, but the only thing that it offers is financial prosperity. The rest is just a big tease, like a hooker on the corner of 27th and 9th, waving a scarf at passing cars. If I were a religious sort, I might equate this place to the devil, and call the Lincoln Tunnel and the Brooklyn Bridge the mighty Archangels Lucifer and Uriel. There is no purity of spirit here in these concrete canyons. It is complete selfishness and contempt. There is no place where one can find sanctuary, or a sufficient path to self-discovery or self-fulfillment. The island of thieves has captured the souls of so many unsuspecting.

Have any one of them been struck by the realization that this place today is mine, and mine alone? I wonder....

On this day, I was the only living boy in NY. I was scared as hell, but it felt so good.