I got up early Wednesday morning and drove up to Philly, to meet with Kermit*, a brother in the spirit who does sacred healing and ritual work in the west side of town. In fact, he was in the middle of a ritual when I got there, so we didn't actually meet until a bit later. That worked out fine: I was able to hang out in the window-corner at the Green Line Cafe, a very pleasant spot to eat one's pain chocolat and sip on a latte while checking email and journaling. Around mid-afternoon, when he was finally free, I drove him out to Pendle Hill where he sometimes stays while leading workshops. It was good to have the chance to talk with him, and get his take on some of the ideas and questions that have been turning over in my head these past several weeks.
It rained on my way back into West Philly for my evening dinner with the bride and groom. We went to the neighborhood Eritrean restuarant, which I imagine at one point was an Ethiopian restaurant. I'm happy that they like the draft of the wedding. I'll get their adjustments back in the coming days, and we'll soon settle on the final version of their ceremony.
I left around 8:15, which gave me time to get up to River Edge, New Jersey, before it got too late ... I was glad I googled all my directions for the week while I was in Baltimore. I got to the Central Unitarian Church parsonage around 10:30, and my departing colleague Justin Osterman was the perfect host. He walked me through my next home (as of August 11 or so). I liked the space and the improvements he'd made. The guest bed was very comfortable, and I fell into a deep sleep at the end of a full day.
After breakfast, Justin toke me over to the church, where I meet the church administrator, Shailja, for the first time. We'd talked on the phone a few times before, and I can see why Justin enjoyed working with her so much. She's very personable and conscientious of her work ... able to anticipate needs and concerns well in advance. A great skill to have in church life! The two of them helped me lighten my load for the balance of my leave. Where I started out five months ago with a full trunk, full back seat, and full passenger seat, that Thursday I was almost down to just a full trunk. I told Shailja I would be back Friday morning to lighten up more. Later, when I would park my car near my old friend Jaime's* apartment in the South Bronx, I didn't want to even have to think about emptying out the cab so no one would be tempted to break in.
Justin took me on a driving tour of River Edge, Paramus, Oradell, North Hackensack and Ridgewood. We ended up having afternoon coffee at on of the Starbucks at one of the ritzier malls out of the many malls in Paramus, along the very developed commercial strip. I'm glad the church and the parsonage are on streets that are a bit removed from all the six-lane traffic and retail busyness for which the town is known.
That night, I went to a book reading and discussion at Gay Men's Health Crisis downtown on 24th Street. Jaime invited me. The author, Terrance Dean, is fielding questions about his memoir Hiding in Hip-Hop: On the Down-Low in the Entertainment Industry. I introduced myself to him afterwards and congratulated him, and I told him I was working on a book or two myself. When I told him one of my projects is a memoir, he asked me if I had read Eat Pray Love. I replied yes, and that the first of the books I expect to publish will be based on my own journey over my sabbatical leave (What would be a good working title? Hmm ... maybe The Six-Month Break?). Jaime and I went to dinner with two of his friends and then called it a night. I headed back out to Jersey.
Friday, I said so long to Justin, and dropped more things off at the church. Shailja had already created new letterhead, with me listed as the Interim Minister. Like I said, she's one step ahead. I go down and visit with a friend in East Orange, then end up parking in Harlem. I head downtown, and, after I tend to some outstanding business and Jaime is free, we catch the train back up to my car and drive over to his place. Saturday afternoon, I got a rush ticket to see Passing Strange, the Tony-nominated musical about a young African-American man from San Francisco who goes off to find what is real in life in Amsterdam, and then Berlin. The production was (and is) closing in a few days, so that was the only chance for me to catch this show on Broadway (though Spike Lee is said to be making a film of it). I loved it. It's crazy, kaleidoscopic, funny and a touch manipulative, but in a forgiveable way. I'm very glad a god friend recommended it to me. I had a great theater companion, Karen*, who was behind me in the ticket line. She is also a writer and travel-lover. I hope we are able to stay in touch.And, five minutes after I stepped out of the Belasco Theatre, who came breezing down 44th Street but Jaime? I was supposed to meet him in Brooklyn at the Audre Lorde Center for a monthly meeting of Adodi, the black gay men's spiritual group he belongs to. Riding out with him was better. The discussion was about black gay men and depression. I had an insight while the conversation was going on -- maybe one of the friends I reached out to while I was in DC wasn't just ignoring me: Maybe he's withdrawn and depressed. Something to follow up on.
We went to a restaurant down the street and around the corner in Ft. Greene, and as it turned out, there was drama about the check at the end of the evening. I hate drama about the check at the end of the evening, which seems to be a given when you have eight or more people on one tab. I was glad I had paid my portion and was standing outside talking on my cell phone when the confusion started. Jaime and I didn't get back to his place until almost 2:00 a.m.
Still, I managed to get myself up and packed, and I drove down to the Fifteenth Street Society of Friends in the East Village for my first Quaker Meeting by 11:00 a.m. I've been thinking a lot about the Quakers lately, especially their encouragement toward simplicity and trust in Spirit to open doors along life's journey. This was absolutely the least ornate worship hall I can remember entering. It was along the lines of the colonial style that has become so familiar to me after six and a half years in New England, but with pews on all four sides facing the center. I did have the experience of anticipation, not knowing from which mouth Spirit might speak ... from the other side of the room? The person behind me? Me myself? ... the possibilities were as numerous as the 70 or so people who drifted in over the hour. I fell into deep silence ... and was half asleep for much of the time. I hope I looked like I was meditating. Four men and one woman spoke, on themes of love, community, reconciliation, contributing to the lives of others
-- and I did leave feeling refreshed and connected. I thought about how different this was from ecstatic dance, the drumming circle, the rock band and the ordained minister-led services I have participated in over the past several months -- none any more or less valuable or valid than the other, and all expressions of communion with That Which Is Beyond Ourselves.I left the church, and drove up I-87, all the way up to Albany, and out to Easton Mountain, the rustic retreat center that I'll be assisting at over the next two weeks. I found out last night that next week will be third time EM has been host to a camp for queer young adults, ages 18 to 25, from a spectrum of locations, ethnicities and gender identities. I'm glad to know that I am part of the preparations for this week-long event, that will provide a sense of connection and community. I'm contributing to the prevention of depression among queer young adults, and that's something to feel great about, especially having been in their shoes myself 20 to 25 years ago.
* a pseudonym
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