As many of you know I've been pulling back from so much personal exposure on the internets the past year or so. My reasons are well-founded and it feels good to be respecting those reasons and being more cautious about what gets shared publicly. I'm going to depart just a little bit from that this morning and share with you something that's been on my mind a lot and also very relevant to where my life is at right now.
For seven years I lived alone in a small apartment at the end of Newport Bay in a quiet and unpretentious neighborhood called Backbay. (southern california) My bedroom in that apartment is pictured above. It was my sanctuary from the world. No TV, no computer, no electronic clocks, no stereo. Just a king size water bed with all natural bedding, down pillows, down comforter and a fabulous wool & cashmere Chuli blanket that Lisa Souza gave me.
On the wall behind my bed was a full-sized Tapa Cloth that a Tongan family in Hollywood gave me many years ago when I played the organ for their son's wake and funeral. I had declined payment for playing for them and so they handed me this extraordinary and fully intact Tapa Cloth that measures some 15 feet wide by about 7 feet tall. It remains to this day one of my most cherished possessions and even just the sight of it fills me with comfort. To have it near me when I sleep imbues my often restless nights with something very grounding and special. And I miss it. I miss the comfort of knowing that no matter how difficult the day I always had my beautiful sanctuary to retire to.
On the table beside my bed sat a well-worn brass dog & pony lamp that Les and I bought in Santa Barbara.
We were window shopping there one Sunday afternoon and stopped into a second hand shop where I immediately spotted this little lamp with a beat up shade on it. Les and I called our singing act "Dog & Pony" because he was often called bulldog and my nickname at the time was pony. So this dog & pony lamp, which looks like it's probably from the fifties, immediately called out and said, "buy me!"
The tag on it said $48.00 dollars and I thought it must be priced wrong because that sounded too low. So I walked up to the cashier with Les standing beside me and asked if that price was right. The clerk said she didn't think the tag was right but that she would call the owner and verify. I started to get indignant and argue that they had to sell it to me for what the tag said - and as I started into my rant Les was elbowing me in the side making it clear he wanted me to shut the fuck up about it already and just let the girl make her call. I think you can imagine my embarassment when she hung up the phone and said we could have the lamp for twenty bucks. Les rolled his eyes and walked away as I paid for the lamp with egg streaming down my face. He never let me forget that incident and loved pulling it out at parties to prove what a handful I was. (In case people couldn't figure it out on their own.)
My bedroom was simple and yet at the same time elegant and rich and covered with natural fibered blankets and fabrics. It was a place where only a few of my most cherished possessions were kept - things that would add to the feeling of sanctuary rather than dominate it. Over time I consciously chose to create a space wherein I could feel safe no matter what was going on around me out there in the world. At night as I would crawl into bed alone I would pull my big pillows in underneath me, pull all of those fabulous blankets up around me and draw a big deep breath and realize how lucky I was to have such comfort. I literally felt like I was crawling into a nest; the room was dark and quiet and most of the time I slept really well there. For somebody with a long history of insomnia that was pretty wonderful.
I lived in that apartment in Backbay because I worked next door. Literally. It was faster to walk than to drive but I usually drove because I needed my car during the day. It was a simple life unlike any I'd ever known before. I went to work and came home five days a week and spent most of my weekends fifteen minutes away on the beach in Laguna. When I was home the windows were always open - the breezes rolling in off the ocean and up through the bay blew in through my bedroom window and out the windows in the living room. Across the street and down a little hill was the estuary created by the meeting of the ocean waters with creek waters. It was also a wildlife sanctuary and occasionally I would see a white heron standing in the reeds. I always knew when it was high tide because the waters in the bay changed accordingly.
Five minutes away was the John Wayne Airport and though many found the sound of departing jets to be intrusive I found them to be quite wonderful. Every time I heard one overhead I imagined myself on it heading to Rome or some other exotic destination. And I don't know how many thousands of times over the years I wished the jets well with the words, "safe journey." It was a ritual that created serenity out of what could have been a bother.
I had a collection of orchids on the balcony that bloomed and rebloomed and bloomed again. There were some miniature bunnies that lived in the complex and for years I would smile to come home and see a black bunny and a butterscotch bunny nibbling on grass in front of my living room window. Towering palm trees outside my terrace gave a feeling of strength and permanence and made a beautiful sound when the rain fell on them.
It wasn't a perfect life but it was a good life and one that I was pretty much able to manage on my own. But as the cost of living went up my salary went down and I got to the point where my income wasn't enough to cover even my basic bills. I had been lied to by the man who owned the company I was working for. He'd promised me raises and I believed him but later realized that trusting anything a coke addict says is foolishness. I planned my departure from his company with great misgiving. I liked what I had there and I liked the simplicity of the life I'd created. But it was untenable and I finally was able to leave when I felt like I had all of my ducks lined up just the way I wanted them. It's a testament to how clever I am that I was able to pull it off without anyone suspecting a thing. The departure had literally been in the works for a year by the time I made it happen and the only person who knew anything was my co-worker and close friend Lisa.
I gave up my apartment, put everything in storage, quit my job and got on a plane and headed to Rome all within the space of a week. I was overwhelmed and exhausted but I had a plan and it felt good to be finally getting on with it. The plan was to come home after a month of traveling and start my life over in Hollywood where I could get back to doing my photography again fulltime. But as fate would have it a few days after I got back from Italy I ended up unconscious in a hospital on a respirator, nearly dead from bacterial meningitis. That was almost three years ago now and it's been a very long and winding road finding north again. My belongings remain in storage in the heart of Hollywood; occasionally when I go there to get something I see a box labeled "Master Bedroom Bedding" or "Dog & Pony Lamp" and I start crying. I go there because I have to but it's painful.
Each of us in our own way creates a sanctuary, wherever and however we can. Sanctuary is not the same for all of us; for some of us it's another person and for others it's in a bottle of vodka or in a cigarette. I know, I've been there. For me sanctuary was a blending of a nest-like bedroom and the beach in Laguna. The beach is still there where it's always been but the bedroom is packed away and waiting for me to find a home again.
I have a plan and I'm working on it. I get easily distracted and pulled off course because so many things are so interesting to me. But three years without a home and without a sanctuary has created a very singular focus in me now. I've wandered long enough. Staying in other people's homes and sleeping in other people's beds has grown old and difficult. I've been grateful for the generosity and the warmth at night. But it's time to go home and put my sanctuary together again. I don't know how that's going to look right now but I know how it's going to feel. And that's what's moving me forward.
Even free spirits need to land once in awhile and rest.