this photo of me and michelle comes from the Equator Books website. it was taken at a party they had about a year ago, which was sponsored by red stripe and featured music by chuck dukowski. The caption on their site reads, "Young hip couple holding Red Stripe," I like it because it called us young and hip, and I like being called young and hip, although the caption writer was probably mostly looking at michelle. Also, I liked being on the same page as chuck dukowski. anyway, I just now got around to adding it to my site (I've been working on updating the photos section). I put it on my site just in case the equator site moves it or takes it down one of these days, you know.

the plan this morning was to have breakfast with susan at the hot at 9:30ish and then follow her down to long beach to drop off the geo tracker to be shipped to hawaii. so, being up a bit early I went to the coffeeshop and read the paper and had a coffee. she called and left a message changing plans and so I waited for her at my place and we skipped breakfast because we were running a little late by then.

this was the first time I'd seen her since I stopped talking. she came by, we got into the car and maybe there was a minute or so of uncertainty, but then she started talking and it all came out. it was great, very intense and emotional. she unleashed about all this stuff that was frustrating and angering her and that had happened over the weekend___ it started with her telling me about somebody breaking into her car and stealing the radio and her reactions and feelings about that, and then it went on from there as she drew connections to other aspects of her life. it was wonderful, and the thing that made it even more special is that it was understood that I couldn't say anything. in one way, it made me powerless, but it also relieved me of any pretense of being able to solve anything or help with words. ordinarily, I think I would've tried to say something to show that I understood or to somehow empathize with what she was expressing, but I couldn't do that verbally. As she poured all this stuff out I could feel her emotions washing over me, pouring into me, in a very physical way, they were almost tangible. in the end, as we sat in her driveway, we simply shared a warm and meaningful and lingering hug. It was really a very intimate and bonding experience and I think it would not have happened as intensely had I been speaking. it's silly how we think words can solve things, when they really have relatively little power and probably too often keep us from simply hugging each other.

of course, even when I'm not, not speaking, their are plenty of times when I'm not speaking (if you see what I mean). I'm noticing a difference between now, when I'm not speaking__ and so I know I'm not going to speak, and the ordinary not speaking which carries with it the everpresent potential of speaking. my focus, now when I know I'm not going to speak, can be on all kinds of other things, because it's freed up from any attention to what I might say next. It seems much easier to remain in the present and appreciate my surroundings. I see so many things and notice the beauty, this might partly just be due to the novelty of my experience___ kinda looking at everything with fresh eyes, I don't know what would happen if I did this for a longer period, I might just get used to it and take it more for granted.

Not speaking is very much like traveling, not just because of the emotional vulnerability and sense of isolation, but also because it is new and different, I feel "out of the usual" I'm in unfamiliar territory. there are many weeks from the past few years that are indistinguishable in my mind from each other, but I know that this week, like the week I spent in vienna in 1987, will always be unique and remembered... "Oh yeah, there was this week in 2005 when I didn't speak, it was very interesting, I learned a lot," I might find myself saying in twenty or thirty years... or to my grandson someday, "Did I ever tell you about NO SPEAK WEEK? now that taught me a thing or two."

Not speaking doesn't seeem as successful in promoting better communication as I'd initially hoped, it is in many ways alienating. it demands effort, cooperation and patience from the people around me. It does allow for focus on interaction and conversation, and I think draws attention to the topics discussed simply because of it's awkwardness__ so that part of this works well and fits my expectations. there is a distinct sense of selfishness however, that I didn't anticipate, that I'm noticing__ in that there are so many thoughts and potential responses and contributions that I keep to myself because of the extra effort required to make them. the flip side of that is that it puts me in a position to really look at the things I ordinarily might blurt out with little thought (because of the ease of doing so) and examine their worth. most things we speak have little value other than smoothing a social scene, filling a gap, or tossing out a meaningless comment____ but, while I say, "have little value other than..." it's important to recognize (I think) how valuable those things are. it's pleasurable and lovely to make small talk... I don't know that I would've appreciated that as much before... but abscence and the greener grass make us covet our neighbor's wife, and when you stop talking for a week, the first thing to go is small talk.

There is a forfeiture of power and control that accompanies not speaking. the question of course arises; did the power and control actually exist or were they merely illusion... perhaps what is given up is the pretense of power and control... and what is grasped is the liberation that accompanies that realization. We can not solve the problems of others or ourselves with words (although they can sometimes help), we must simply allow what we must, and change what we will, but talking only goes so far__ action, I suspect, goes further.

here's a thought concerning the misuses of power... we are drawn to the powerful, attracted to power either in ourselves or others, when we are fearful. power seems protective and brings us reassurance and the perception of safety. to overcome the misuse of power, either by others over us, or ourselves over others, we must first give up our fear. I suppose there are many things we fear, but a good place to start is in overcoming the fear of death and the fear of being alone... both are as silly as fear of the dark, or of a daddy longlegs spider___ and yet each is ubiquitous and crippling.

back to my story. Susan drove the prius and I drove the geo tracker down to longbeach. our directions weren't good, but we found the place eventually___ everything is at least slightly more complicated when the option to speak is removed. but there are pleasant surprises like the man who told us where the restrooms were without my having to find them on my own or figure out how to ask... that was nice.

I had taken two pens with me, just in case one of them ran out of ink and I needed to write a note to susan. somewhere along the line though, I lost them both, so I was forced into non-speaking and non-writing, on the drive back. we spent most of the drive listening to npr news silently and watching the bluesky day go past the windshield. on npr they were discussing the oregon assisted suicide law___ how unimagineably insane it seems to me that anybody would try to limit a person's choice as to how to end their life... this fear of death is indeed a societal neurosis__ and so odd to me that religion is at the root of it. these people are debilitated by their fear of death and then driven to impose the manifestations of that fear onto others... clearly I'm missing something.

After I got home, I went to the beach. It was a very hot day, hottest here at the beach in quite awhile. the waves were good and the water cool, so I had a nice body-surfing session and then read for an hour or so until my shorts were dry and I returned home. I painted and I worked on the website until 5. then went to the coffeeshop, saw tim. came home, felt a bit lonely and, it being a beautiful evening, decided to take a walk and watch the sunset. ordinarily, I would've called aliza to join me, but it's tough to call when you can't speak, so I went by myself. neverthelesss, I realized that it's been quite awhile since aliza and I have taken a walk and it would've been lovely to have walked silently with her. the sky was clear, the air was warm, the sunset was beautiful (if not dramatic), the strangers on the beach shared the experience silently with me. the moon rose and she was a fantastic two day old sliver resting on her back... floating above the spot where a little while earlier the sun had descended into the ocean.

I'm noticing that just being with my friends silently is more and more appealing, at first I was focusing on how to communicate without using words, now I'm just finding myself enjoying the presence of people around me. the silent drive back from longbeach with susan, the time spent with tim at the coffeeshop, the way I imagined walking with aliza would've been, and the way I felt connected to the strangers on the beach by our silent sharing of the sunset.