Sea of Limbs

I have never been aware of my own place in the universe.

I have floated through it, hovered above it, and observed it from afar. But only on a small handful of occasions have I felt the sensation of my feet on the ground.

Once was on a family vacation, playing basketball with my cousin. I was very young and I do not know why this memory has stayed with me for 25+ years, but there was a moment, running around under moonlight in humid air, where I became suddenly aware that I was there. I was right there. It’s so vivid that I’m not actually sure it happened.

The other was on stage, at a place called The Crazy Donkey. It was a venue not far from my hometown, and it held about 600-700 people. This place was Madison Square Garden to me, since it was a big upgrade from the gymnasiums and VFW halls where I frequented shows as a teenager. But in reality it was a shithole. It was built for “Thirsty Thursdays”, Bon Jovi cover bands, and Friday nights that ended in the back of police cars. It was not built for punk rock shows. For the all ages shows, they’d build a temporary stage on top of one of the bars, and I still remember the giant box protruding at center stage to mask the beer taps. The stripper pole mount just beside it. The creepy 70s motorhome in the parking lot that served as a green room because there was no actual green room. So, in reality, a very long ways from MSG.

Photo by the one and only Emily Driskill (Dallas, TX circa 2010)

But recalling those details is not being aware of my own place in the universe. That’s just good memory. Being aware of my own place…the space I take up in the universe, is a different thing altogether.

My band went from opening shows at the Donkey to eventually headlining it. That was a big night for us. And on that night that we sold the place out, I had that acute awareness for maybe about 4 seconds. I remember looking out during our last song, and when we hit that moment where I start repeating the line, “throwing punches at ocean waves,” I saw legs.

They were facing the ceiling, silhouetted by the lights in the club. Then I saw another set of legs, outstretched. Pretty soon all I saw was a giant sea of limbs, all the way to the back wall.

I played lots of shows after that. Bigger ones, in far away places. I didn’t recognize my place in most of those. I entertained. I performed. I expressed. I wasn’t aware though. In that moment, on that stage, I was aware of the thing I was doing, and the sound that I made, and that it was unique to me and that this was a moment that would not be repeated. This is who I am and what I do and this is happening right now, right here in this room with these people who are responding to what I’m doing. And I can feel all these things…not individually, but all at once. And I am here. Right now. And I held onto it for four whole seconds.

I know that some people would say, “Yeah dummy, that’s called being present,” but it’s more than that. Sure, I spend a lot of time in my own mind, so I’m not the most present person, but I’m also aware of when I am able to achieve a certain degree of being here in the now. This was more like a meditative dissociation. A hovering above not only myself, but the whole universe.

I’ve met people who can turn this on and off, to different degrees. They can see themselves in certain job positions, or they can visualize themselves seizing any number of opportunities. I can’t do that. I don’t have that thing. I can lose myself in making something. I can completely absorb myself in the task at hand to the point that I completely disappear, but I will have no awareness of my own position in the greater picture. I just go.

In fact, it’s often too late by the time someone else makes me aware. Opportunities have fizzled or dried up. Or it’s a moment too far in the past to bask in. I’ve missed the boat. It sailed. I was on it. I just was staring at my feet the whole time.

They say meditation helps this. I could tell you I feel the effects. But I think it’s just ritual that I’m feeling. You could tell me to wake up each morning and stare at a kidney bean. You could tell me it’ll change my life. I’ll start feeling the effects in a few weeks. It’s just ritual. Keep at anything, good or bad, and you’ll feel the effects.

Despite all that, I’m getting better at it, though the progress doesn’t feel linear. With each passing year, I feel my skin loosen and make room for me. My handshake grows firmer, my fingers finally recognizing they’re attached to my hands. My words have begun to feel stamped. Copyrighted. Like they couldn’t have come from anyone else. And if it truly is a tool, I don’t feel the need to learn to manipulate it or utilize it in any way. I just want to close the gap on those moments of impact. When something I’ve made affects someone, or I read their words or receive their gratitude, I want to feel like the ears that hear that praise are connected to the hands that made that which garnered it. I just want to be there for it.

I just want to be here for it.