From the Wastelands of Portland, Part 1 (of 1)

(reprinted from November 2, 2008 on www.WeAreTheLovers.com)

Journey into the Spaceship of Time Travel

A rainy night, fallen autumn leaves scattered about the boulevard as a man steps out of his car, dressed in 80's-style Reebok high-tops, torn jeans, and a Megadeth t-shirt so well-worn that it consists of as many holes as it does fabric.

Destination: the looming, spaceship-like building in the distance

I head towards the building. It's a little wet outside, but warm, especially for an evening in November. I don't pass many people, which is interesting, because thousands of others are expected to be arriving.

Hmmm. Perhaps I've taken the road less traveled.

Nevertheless, I continue on, finally arriving at the Rose Garden to see the show. It's been a long time - sixteen-and-a-half years, give or take. I know I'm cutting it close, and hope to make the second opening band after intentionally skipping the first.

I'm a little late. Down, the New Orleans-based metal band with a southern groove, has already begun its set. I quickly make my way to my seat, settling in and grooving to the music. Even though they've been around since 1991 and feature two former members of Pantera, the crowd doesn't seem to know who they are.

I'm disappointed that the crowd is so blase about such a great and influential band.

Nor do they care; they're there to see the headlining band, the pioneers of a style of music born in the Bay Area of San Francisco called Thrash Metal. Down finishes up their set, and we wait in anticipation. Finally, the lights go down, and the spaghetti-western piece, "The Ecstasy of Gold," comes on. It's been used as the show's opening music for almost 20 years now, and we all know what that means: Metallica is about to take the stage.

The Rose Garden and miscellaneous streets, Portland, Oregon November 1, 2008

Metallica in concert, date unknown

The Long-Haired Freaks

We're all piled in my 1986 Mazda, a group of long-haired, black t-shirted and blue-jeaned teens heading west on the Garden State Parkway. It's either the second or third show, and we're back for more, sponsored by free press-box tickets scored by David from his babysitting gig.

How ironic.

The ride is loud; music blasting, testosterone pumping, passengers getting a little rowdy.

Ok, a lot rowdy.

"Holy shit, look out!"

Distracted by the internal vehicular chaos, I look up just in time to swerve and avoid hitting the slowed car in front of me at 60 mph. Somewhere in the ethers where time and space are relative, Anakha rolls her eyes and groans at David's driving.

This music is symbolic of where I'm at in my life. Angry, rebellious, resentful towards the world and critical of society's injustices and hypocrisies, I can relate to it. In it, I find one of the few places of solace, and a sense of being understood.

Locked up in my room for hours, I play along to Metallica's records over and over again, creating the foundation for my guitar chops, interestingly enough later to be applied towards classical music. My anger is often present; anger towards my dad, anger towards kids in school, it becomes the shield, a way to feel powerful in the face of my fear and isolation. It runs deep enough to result in having my senior yearbook blurb banned, resulting in an inquisitive session with one of my teachers.

We arrive safely at the show.

Three hours later, ears ringing, bodies worn out, necks sore from headbanging, we emerge, stopping at the 7-11 for diet cokes, snowballs, and other unhealthy celebratory snacks. These trips are like rituals, one the few times when I feel like a part of something, when I feel connected. We return home, tired but satiated.

Briarcliff Manor, NY, The Meadowlands Arena, East Rutherford, New Jersey, and points in-between, March 1992

David, ca. 1992

Enter Light, Exit Night

Metallica kicks in full-force, music blasting, drums pounding, guitars crunching. I rock out, singing along and playing air guitar to the songs that I know so well.

Somehow, it's different. Not better or worse, just different.

It's been an interesting year. It has seemed circular, with many things from my long-forgotten past returning: cupcakes and diet coke, sugar cereals, meat and McDonald's, TV, video games, things that have been out of my life for a long, long time. And tonight, seeing a band who I've passed up seeing for the past sixteen years. It has seemed like my past has been coming into the present, offering a chance to heal the parts of myself that were wounded so long ago.

Earlier today of all days, I started seeing old high-school classmates on Facebook, and noticed the lingering resentment and constriction I felt when I saw their names and faces, old memories resurfacing. It was a great mirror to show me how I've held on to my anger for so long, too long, and to let go; to stop carrying around these outdated feelings and ideas. I don't need them any longer. And the truth is, they didn't serve me in many ways back then, either. Very timely, especially considering that my anger has been up for healing recently.

I have a great time at the show. Rather than a chance to vent like it was in the past, it felt like a chance to celebrate. Even the crowd was different: toddlers, seniors, clean-cut conservatives, and kids who don't look old enough to shave made up a large percentage of the attendees. At a Metallica concert, mind you.

Somehow, it seems relevant. Celebration instead of rebellion, community instead of isolation, powerful creative energy instead of constricted anger.

The circle has come around again, and I have a new perspective and opportunity to let go, to continue to shed the layers of defense and protection. I drive safely home, no near accidents, and a simple desire for some fruit and water instead of artificial ingredients and sugar.

Full circle, indeed.

Portland, Oregon November 1, 2008

- David Franklin (with love and homage to Robert ;)

"Exit light, enter night
Take my hand, we're off to never-never land."

- Metallica, "Enter Sandman"

"So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters"

- Metallica, "Nothing Else Matters"

David, ca. 2048?

All I Want is to Love

All I want is to love
That's what this is all about

This holding on
This grasping
This wanting
This yearning
This craving

To love in the midst of pain
Of fear
Of anger
Of rejection
Of betrayal
Of abandonment

It's why I keep coming back
Over and over again
Breaking my heart
Over and over again
Until there's nothing left to break

Shattered into a million pieces
Over years
Decades
Millenia
Eons

Wear it down until there's nothing left
No armor
No defenses
No protection
No excuses

Nothing to get in return
But Love

Grief

I've been experiencing grief over the past few days, a deep sense of sadness and loss. There have been many things of been letting go of recently: relationships/ways of relating, old ideas and beliefs, fears and insecurities. Time seems to have slowed down: I feel both the grief of the old alongside the power and joy of the new. Everything seems still and quiet, like the calm after a storm.

Matthew Fox spoke last night about the need to heal shame, particularly amongst the masculine. Once we go beneath the anger, we begin to touch upon the layers of grief and sadness beneath it. We mourn for what we've lost, or even for what we never had. Indigenous cultures have regular grief rituals to help access the grief and let it go; as part of the shame/grief comes a sense of not belonging, of being left out. These rituals create inclusion and community, a place where we can come together to share and acknowledge a powerful aspect of the human experience, one that we all carry.

As I move into the new, I experience the grief of the old: old lovers, loves that never were, ways of staying safe and protecting myself, ways of hiding, habits of separation and closure. Like an old blanket, comfortable and familiar, it's time to let go; with that comes the grief, along with tender vulnerability that comes with dropping the defensive armoring. I feel the blanket slipping away, and I mourn its loss. I surrender control, surrender knowing who and what I will become. It is new, unfamiliar territory. Old David leaving; new David arriving. Can I trust the process? At the core lies the belief that I can't have what I want, and the more I let go, the more I want to hold on to the past; it gives me a false sense of security - if I let go, then I REALLY won't get what I want.

And so I've been trusting, slowly, letting the mediocrity slip away, the mediocrity of sort of having what I want, seemingly just around the corner. I allow the grief to wash away the past, stepping into the new reality of the now, new, fresh, unfamiliar. I choose to believe and to have faith. It is the only way.