Christmas Miracle 2006

This is basically an elaboration on the last blog 5 Year Christmas Journey.

When I visited Singapore for the first time during 2005 Thanksgiving week, I totally fell in love with that spot. Their performing arts scene was growing, their food is just indescribably good, the weather was hot year round, the cost of living slightly lower than the San Francisco Bay Area, and the women were just hot and attractive all around! I resolved to make a life out there.

Back-story here:
When Brenda and I split up after a 3-year "live-in" relationship in 2004, I moved back home to where I grew up in Oakland only to learn about my mom's newly discovered battle with cancer which she eventually succumbs to in June 2005. My life takes a gradual spiral from July 2004 to a complete out of control crash down throughout 2005. My anger at God was at an all time high. My core church support group moved to Austin the same month that my mother passed in 05, and I literally drifted from one church to another throughout the Bay Area. I was accepted to a Master's program with Fuller Seminary but after a futile attempt in taking Old Testament and Hebrew two months after my mom's death, I dropped out. Eventually, I sent out a mass email renouncing my Christian faith in April 2006 and shortly after was led to an auto accident later in May. Luckily my saving grace was a second trip to Singapore in May where I met an agent with Fly Entertainment in Singapore. She said I needed new headshots and wondered aloud why my headshots were "still in black and white." I acquired new color headshots in October/November 2006 shortly after creating a network at the 1st National Asian American Theater Conference. What saved my already fragile faith was 1) an appointment with Dr Wyatt where he recommended that I read Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell, and 2)a visit to the Mosaic Church in LA.

Still, I was determined to move to Singapore especially after dropping out of Fuller.

Did I mention that when I went "church-hopping" during my May 2006 Singapore trip, I met this enchanting young lady? Ironically before I departed on that trip, I complained to a friend of mine that I've given up on the idea of meeting someone of the opposite sex who'll make me go "wow." When I met her at a church service one Sunday afternoon, I was continuously in a "wow" frame of mind throughout our encounter. Count her in as another "factor" in my resolve to move to Singapore.

So Thanksgiving 2006, with new colored headshots in hand, I trekked for the 3rd time in a 1-year period to Singapore. Took in new sights, caught a couple of live stage performances, re-connected with friends that I made during the previous two trips, and eventually returned to Fly Entertainment. Naomi from Fly agreed to represent me and assist me on finding acting work, and public-related work. While shopping around Orchard Rd, I took the infamous "Christmas Photo" where I'm flipping the double birdie.

When I returned to the Bay Area at the end of the first week of December, I thought I was going to say goodbye to everyone. I mass-emailed my "Two Turtle Doves" Christmas photo declaring "I'm Outta Here!"

Upon helping my friends taking care of their then newborn in San Jose, I came upon a medical emergency. The plan was that I would stay for three days and help my friends get ready for their trip to Hong Kong by caring for their newborn in their home in San Jose. What happened in day 1 was that I was dropped off in the emergency room of Santa Clara Valley Medical Center with a 103 temperature and a very swollen baseball glove-sized infection of my left hand.

The emergency physician on duty took a look at my hand and immediately checked me into a hospital room. My hospital roommate was this Jeckyl n Hyde character who had these extreme mood swings, and at that point, I was in violent pain with my left hand. I was not able to place any sort of pressure on my left hand whatsoever and even the slightest touch caused an immense jolt of acute pain. I was receiving IV antibiotics, hoping to awake the next morning with a normal hand.

The next morning, more pain and more IV drugs on me including morphine. The doctor examined my hand and upon the minimal amount of contact, shot the most intense pain. Apparently the anti-biotics did nothing to clear the infection, and I was immediately scheduled for emergency surgery that day. I awoke post-surgery with a cast and plastic tubes inside my opened wounded hand. It was the first surgery I've experienced in my life. Upon returning to my room, I found immense discomfort, pain on my left hand, and antagonizing taunting from my roommate. My reference God was nothing but a series of heartfelt consecutive series of four-letter words. It should come to no surprise that the more intense the declaration of four-letter words to God, the more taunting from my roomie.

Upon examination the following morning, the physician on duty merely shook her head in discouragement. A few hours passed and I was visited by another physician who explained that the next scheduled surgery the following week was amputation. An hour afterwards, the hospital social workers entered with a preliminary application for disability and a notice of transfer to a San Mateo medical facility to take place prior to the scheduled amputation. As a resident of San Mateo County, and without medical insurance, I was not considered a "priority patient" to the center and was treated in a demeaning manner from the hospital staff from that point on. At that point, I debated whether or not to leave the hospital without authorization and to end it all. I did not see a point to fight and continue to live since I lost so much during the past two years. The idea to lose an actual body part would be the straw to break the camel's back. When I was visited by the hospital chaplain, he was encouraged by the fact that I kept my Bible at my bedside. I asked for which verses to read and study, he gave me a Psalm to read, and upon his departure, I turned to that Psalm and spat on the heading, then closed the book.

I don't know what came over me while sleeping after that moment, but I awoke and grabbed my phone, text messaged with my right hand to those that I considered "prayer warriors" that my left hand is scheduled to be amputated that following week. Within a few hours, I received phone call after phone call of encouragement and prayer. What was surprising was to receive calls from the actual hospital phone considering I did NOT give the hospital number out, nor information of which hospital I was at. But the word spread that I was lying alone in a hospital with no family. That was Thursday morning, and I began to receive floral, plant and gift deliveries to the hospital room. I began to place my suspended cast on a wheeler and started to walk myself around the hospital.

When I received a voicemail from my Sifu about a scheduled liondance performance that coming Sunday, I returned the call explaining my absence. He was surprised about my medical predicament. The friends who I was supposed to help out that week came by to drop off a Christmas Ogre. It was some sort of green furry creature who "grunted" out a medley of Christmas Carols. In both sound and appearance, that "toy" resembled my taunting roommate, who quickly demonstrated his "likeness" to the toy while my visitors observed in amusement. When they left, every time my roommate attempted to taunt me from his side of the room, I played that toy and laughed at the resemblance of behavior. Believe it or not, he eventually tapered off in his taunting and the room gradually became more and more quiet.

Saturday rolls around, and I found myself to be in better spirits. I don't know if it was because I took initiative to reach out and received support or because I found the situation to lighten. Even with the issue of the scheduled amputation and the supposed transfer of hospital, I let that go. I remembered one call I received on my cell. I didn't recognize the phone number, but I answered it anyways. On the other end was this very determined voice. She identified herself as Lorreene. She explained that a mutual friend had called her a few days prior about my situation. She went on the explain that she survived three major health ailments and fully recovered from all of them through the power of prayer and told me with the most utmost confidence, "I believe that you will walk out of this hospital Monday with your hand completely intact. That's what I prayed for, and that's what I believe will happen." I believed her considering the fact that my belief in a Higher Divine Power was shot to the ground at that point. It wasn't more than a hour that passed when I received a call on the hospital phone. Irene was on the other end of the phone, and she was my training-mate at an actors' conservatory, landlord, and like a simultaneous mother and sister to me. She was en route to her reiki circle and wanted more details about my situation. She explained to me that the "ki" in "reiki" is identical to the concept of "ch'i" from ch'i gung (hay gung in Cantonese). She had been a reiki practitioner for about 3 years at that point, and was a firm believer in distance reiki treatment. She also explained that because it was a circle and there were more than one practitioners were participating, the power of the ki was multiplied. After I hung up with her, dinner arrived and as I was eating dinner, I thought about my Sifu who was a regular practicer of Hay Gung. Guess who knocked on my door as my dinner was being cleared? My Sifu arrives and asked how I was doing. I apologized for not being able to make it to the performance the following day and he simply said not to worry that they had enough people to help. He looks over my cast, places his hands around the cast and concentrates. He steps out and his wife enters the room to see how I was doing. Towards the end of our conversation, we hear this declaration without a knock, "JARRETT, WE'RE HERE!!!"

Melinda and Vanessa where these two young ladies whom I hadn't been in contact with for over a year and a half. They were from Oakland and were determined that they would have their pastor "bless and annoint" some healing oil for them to take to me. In other words, they trekked from Oakland to San Jose just to place drops of oil into the opening of my cast. They too made a strong conviction declaring healing. We then chit-chatted about what else we were up to since we last saw each other.

I awoke Sunday morning refreshed. The nurse entered in to open the cast and to clean out the wound. At that point she insisted that I clean out my hand myself instead of having one of the staff doing it. She glances over the hand before placing in back in the cast and says, "hmmmm." At one point that day my roomie started his taunt and I immediately played my toy and chuckled. His taunt was short-lived. When dinner arrived, I requested to the staff that I were to cut my own meat though my hand was still in a cast. When the evening nurse arrived to cleanse my hand, my lion dance partner Jan arrived and gasped in disgust. "Hiiiii," I declared. I laughed to myself knowing that my open wound grossed her out. I asked her how the performance went and who she partnered with. She then presented me with a box of pastries from Golden Gate Bakery, including my favorite duntats. For someone who was in a cast awaiting amputation, I was in Heaven. At the same time, those words from Lorreene kept echoing in the back of my mind.

Monday morning arrives and I'm awoke from the shift physician. He opens my cast, takes a quick glance and declares, "oh no, I need to find your physician to take a look." I was immediately in a panic after hearing that. I persisted on why the sudden urgency. His reply: "it seems that your body finally accepted the anti-biotic treatment. I need to have her take a look at this and maybe she'll release you home." He excuses himself, and I drop to my knees in the most highest state of relief and gratitude. Then an hour passed. Then another hour passed. Then lunch came. The shift doctor re-enters the room explaining that he's about to end his shift and the physician in charge of my case has been backed up and should be there "any minute now." He shakes my hand and wishes me luck. Each passing minute felt like an hour. Finally my doctor arrives, opens my cast, examines it quickly, turns to me, "you wanna go home? I'll sign the release papers." Within an hour life begins to re-fill me. Then I came to an overwhelming thought...

"how the hell am I gonna get back home? how can I get my car???"

When I was dropped off at the hospital, I left my car and my overnight stuff with my friends. I was there to help them out because the husband was out of town on a business trip and his wife needed me to help her take care of their newborn. They were scheduled to fly out to Hong Kong for a Christmas family reunion that Saturday which was why they came by that Thursday to drop off my overnight stuff and keys. However my car was still over at their home. Then my phone rang. It was Jan. "Hey Jarrett, I wasn't sure if you were still gonna be in the hospital or not, but I was visiting someone in the SouthBay. Did you want me to stop by, and did you ever find out when you'll be getting out?" I told her I was getting out "NOW." So within an hour, I was "wheelchaired" out of the lobby of the hospital. (Policy) Now it may not have been a big deal, however my partner Jan resides in the Central Valley, and rarely would she be in the Southbay area, let alone of two consecutive days.

Then during discharge I was given an appointment for physical therapy in San Mateo County. Also, I had to sign a release form stating that in the event the infection returns and because the amputation was cancelled, if I were to "lose" my entire arm or anything beyond my hand, the center was not held liable. Then they further explained that I would regain only 70% of full motion and function of my left hand within 6-8 months following the release, and I should be grateful for even that as that would be considered my "full recovery." I went to my acupuncturist that following Tuesday, and I was already at 70% of full motion and function within 10 days.

This photo was taken during Chinese New Year in 2007 about 6 weeks after I was released from the hospital:

I was hanging out with some friends one night during the time between the surgery and CNY. We were studying how this one film was utilizing green screen technology. That film we were watching was The Secret. If you were to tell me that I would meet in-person about five of those speakers who were in the film within a two-year period, I'd have a more easier time to believe about the hand predicament and healing since I gone through that. The truth is, I would've concluded that what was expressed in that film was a bunch of hot air and stuff to avoid stepping on had I not gone through that hospital stay just a month prior.

Was it the prayer? Was it the Hay Gung or the reiki circle? Was it the oil? Was it the acupuncture treatment afterwards? Was it what the doctor concluded that "my body finally accepted the anti-biotics? I can honestly tell you that the conclusion of the so-called medical "expert" is the one I least believe. Remember, I was receiving anti-biotics via IV packs since arrival that Tuesday, and suddenly my "body finally accepted" the treatment almost a week and one surgery later. Or was it my change in attitude?

The gift of a transformed attitude. If I have to meditate, soak in oil, listen to prayer chants, sit in circles, I'll do what it'll take to transform an attitude. To me, that's the REAL miracle.

Merry Christmas!

The 5 Year Christmas Journey

In Thanksgiving week 2006, I trekked to Singapore for the 3rd time in a one-year span, determined to create a new life there. Prior to the trip, I made new actor headshots, updated my resume, and obtained copies of So Beauty to take along with me. Upon arrival, I met up with an agent from Fly Entertainment and she agreed to represent me in Singapore. I felt like I scored an opportunity to move out there. I returned to the Bay Area around the 10th of December that year. While in Sunny Singapore, I shopped around and took a Christmas photo that I sent out to everyone: "Merry F*cking Christmas Everyone, I'm Outta Here!!!

I thought I was out of "here." (As in the Bay Area)

Upon returning to the Bay Area, I drove down to San Jose to assist in taking care of my niece for a few days while her father was traveling in Japan for work. Within the first hour or so, my friend noticed a swollen left hand and a high fever and eventually dropped me off at the Santa Clara Valley Medical Center. Upon examination, I was immediately checked into the facility and scheduled for an emergency surgery. Two days following the surgery, the doctors notices that my hand infection GREW and was spreading all over, and I was eventually scheduled to have my left hand amputated. I was pretty close to losing my left hand in Christmas 2006 which would've been a challenge considering I lost my mother in Christmas 2005.

This segment about what I refer to as the "2006 Christmas Hand Miracle" will be posted in more specific details in a future blog. I type this entry during Christmas 2011 with BOTH HANDS.

I auditioned for a theatrical certification programme in Singapore and was accepted in 2007. I then applied for a long-term student status resident visa and was promptly denied. While at the audition (July 2007) I learned that the agent who took me to represent me had herself an emergency surgical procedure and I was eventually dropped from the Singapore agency. My acceptance to the theater programme was my only hope to get into Singapore. I re-applied for a student visa THREE TIMES to the Singaporean government from Sept 07-Jan 08.

When I was introduced to PSI Seminars in the fall of 2007, I was reluctant to take any sort of courses from them. My friend who was en route to the Life Success Course then, challenged me such that if I was unable to secure a long term residence visa in Singapore by the 15 Jan 2008, I myself would take the course. So when I registered for the PSI Basic Seminar via phone on 16-Jan 2008 SINGAPORE TIME, there was a little apprehension on my behalf. Taking that course initially from my point of view, was an indication of "failure" that I was NOT "out of here."

At mid-point of the Basic Seminar, our class was given an exercise as a group. Upon completion of that particular exercise it was explained to me that the way I participated in that exercise, was the way I participated in my life overall. I was initially in denial of that assessment because I vividly recall that during the exercise, I was upset at another participant that I reacted by flipping the entire group off with the infamous "middle." I was also given a self-reflective homework assignment regarding the exercise, so upon returning home, I turned my computer on and what was staring at me was my "2006 Christmas Greeting."

Yup, that same photo.

So from March 2008 to now, I constantly looked at the way I interacted with people, making sure that my hand was in a position of giving instead of "that gesture." Nothing's perfect, however I'd have to say that after 5 years, I'm actually "showing up" more so during this Holiday Season.
2006 Holiday was the "Flip and Snip" hand theme.
2007 Holiday was alone and I "celebrated" over the death of a zoo visitor that year.
2008 Was a holiday where I learned to ski...and fell.
2009 Escape to Southeast Asia
2010 On Facebook, I acknowledged the Holiday Season with a solid black image on my profile.
This Holiday 2011:
For the first time since 2004, I cooked one of the main entrees (Thanksgiving)
For the first time since 2003, I helped decorate a Christmas tree
For the first time since 1999, I helped kettle bell-ringing on behalf of The Salvation Army.
On Facebook, I posted the "G-rated" version of my 2006 Christmas photo recently. I promise to, for the first time since 2006, take a Holiday photo of myself.

The Great I AM

The greatest gift to yourself is to accept, receive, and share the inner gift within to others.

Upon that realization, I came to the conclusion that as passionate I am about acting and performing, I really shortchanged myself by declaring that "I am an actor/performer/writer."

I'm much more than that.

I don't like the term "divine" so much because I found that word to be overly cliched and quite simply, overused within discussions of spirituality. I find it as overused and overcharged as the "G" word.

However, as a Divine Being, that's exactly who I AM. I'm unable to find others words to replace. It means to much to be a DB. But that's who I am in the purest sense. It's also who everyone else is in the purest sense.

Call it what you feel most comfortable calling Divine: "God-self, Higher-Self, enlightened self, spirit-self, blissful self, higher-power." That essence is not only our common-denominator, but it's what unifies all of us. Personally for myself, I prefer to use the term, "Imago Dei." (Latin for "Image of God") I learned the concept of Imago Dei within my Christian training, but I use it towards everyone regardless of their beliefs.

Going back to what I was originally going to say, by declaring myself as "JUST" an actor, or a writer, or a performer, or a public speaker really keeps me into this limited shield that prevents me from other opportunities. I understand that with most conversations, the initial question is "what do you do for a living?" That's when I trap myself by attempting to articulate an answer that'll make a favorable impression upon the person(s) asking me.

But answering in such a way does neither myself or the person asking any favors. I'm not answering from my "core." It's spinning an answer in such a way to make an impression. But doing so shortchanges everyone involved in the conversation, especially myself.  The thing is, what exactly do I tell people when asked that question.  I do work as an actor and I do get compensated for the work I do.  Writing is more of a therapeutic tool for myself.  I tend to be the public face for our performing martial arts group. 

But it's still not who I AM.  I AM that cliche: "spiritual being having a human experience."  Just like yourself.  Just like the idiot who waved the middle finger as s/he cut us off while driving.  (Though admittedly I'm far from acknowledging their Divine at that moment!)  We created a world that judges according to what someone does or doesn't do.  We're not created to judge.  We're simply created to just be. 

Maybe this should be on my Faith Entry page instead.

Unoccupied Mind

I don't get it.

I really don't. I understand our 1st Amendment right to publicly assemble, to voice our opinion. In fact, I'm adamant about that right as an American, and oftentimes I don't feel like I fit in as an American. With this journey of pursuit of growth, I truly believe in the empowerment of everyone being heard and respected.

Which is why I don't get the Occupy Oakland movement.

First off, I'm impressed that so many people are able to "CAMP" out in Downtown Oakland for this amount of time WITHOUT ONE HOMICIDE OR VIOLENT ROBBERY. I've heard that a sexual assault occurred at one point, which is damaging to all those involved, but I really have to give kudos that for the most part, it's been relatively safe for those who CHOOSE to camp in Oakland. Bear in mind that the campers were living outdoors within the city limits of the Bay Area city with the highest homicide rate. In fact 8 homicides have been reported within the City limits since the camps begun. Why wasn't the "hood" occupied?

Secondly, as a native of Oakland, I'm very flattered that Oakland is considered to be part of the 1%. I've grown up with so much negative reaction over the years upon people learning about my origins. This and that about violent crime, political corruption, unsafe area, not deserving any type of professional sports franchise because of having a poor economy, ect. Now Oakland is currently a 1% target. Funny, I could've swore Oakland was so broke, they laid off quite a few police officers, firefighters, ect. So OK, Oakland is part of the 1%. Good to know, that way Oakland can "save" their exiting sports franchises: Raiders, A's, and Warriors. (Hell, if Oakland was part of the 1%, you'd think the Warriors would've called themselves "Oakland" by now instead of "Golden State")

I hear the frustration amongst the protesters about the economic situation. I've worked very sparingly especially these past two years. If anything I'm lucky to have worked a total of SIXTY days during the past SEVEN-HUNDRED-THIRTY. The thing is I know camping out and protesting does very little for me. In fact, I believe occupying anything would work against me. All this talk about 1% hoarding the wealth but you're taking down small business along with you by blocking and driving people away from the area. In fact, based on articles and interviews there's an unapologetic stance against the local business owners. All this talk about representing the 99% which these small business owners belong to, and you're deliberately taking them down? That sort of behavior is no better than the supposed behavior you're protesting against.

So the question again, why are you occupying Oakland?

Of all places. I can understand Wall Street where all the major commerce eventually intersect. Even the Financial District in San Francisco. Why not Washington DC? or Sacramento? Or even the IRS? But Oakland? Back up the folks already at the Federal Reserve in SF.

This game of entitlement is played out. Notice that I don't condone the police action. I learned early in life that if a pit bull dog chases me out of an area, even if I'M IN THE RIGHT, it's best not to "take back" the area where the pit bull is located. If I'm nursing a bite after my attempt to "take back" that area, I'M THE ONE WHO HAS TO ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY for that bite. No one else.

OH BTW, please do not take up any causes unique to Oakland as justification for Occupy Oakland. That's utter bullsh!t. Honestly the majority of you occupiers in Oakland don't give a rats a$$ about the problems with Oakland. Otherwise why wait until Wall Street and San Francisco went up first? Problems unique to Oakland, such as homicides, police brutality, political corruption did not just showed up right after camp started in NY and SF. How about Occupy EAST OAKLAND then? Set up camp in the Havenscourt area. There are a lot of people in Oakland who are actually honest and hard-working, who's struggling as much as you are. In fact, they're NOT the 1% you're protesting. Yet, they received another unwanted perceptive "black eye" because of the ruckus last week. Do you really care about them? If you don't, then from a moral standpoint, you have no right to protest the 1%, cause in reality you're no better than them.

RIP Al Davis

Wow, seems like this is the 2nd "RIP" entry I've done within a week!

What can I say about Mr Davis? I suppose I can share my first exposure and impression of him. I'll be honest to say that I did not see him in the most positive light. I was about 10 years old and my parents were irate over the fact that the Raiders publicly announced the news that they signed an agreement to move to L.A.

My father, grandfather and great-uncle, though not season ticket holders, would go to the game regularly. I was promised by them that once I reached the age of twelve, they'd take me along with them. Unfortunately the team had moved to L.A. A year after the team moved, my grandfather passed away.

So much for the grandfather-father-son bonding sports event.

At that time I also learned to read bumper stickers on cars and trucks. From 1981-1985, the most common bumper stickers seen on the back of vehicles all over the 510 area code (it was still 415 then) stated:

"Thank You Al! You SOB!"

That was my early impression of the man who recently transitioned.

I can tell you that growing up in a town like Oakland where a professional sports team left casts a shadow especially over those who remembered that a team once existed. Granted, the SF Forty Niners were becoming an 80s NFL dynasty at that point, and who could forget the USFL's Oakland Invaders? Neither team filled that void the Raiders left. Even though my father vowed never to watch a Raiders game again, I privately held an inner vigil at the possibility of a Raiders return. I followed every rumor about the dissatisfaction of the team in L.A. I may not have followed the games, (Kinda hard when NBC and KRON would black the games out in the SF Market) Hell, I remembered when the school district went on strike, it was revealed that the City of Oakland set aside a few millions in hope of purchasing the Raiders back.

In August 26, 1989 the Oakland Coliseum held an exhibition pre-season game between the Raiders and the then Houston Oilers. Game was sold out in less than two hours and the Raider rumors were in full tilt. For the first time in over ten years, I purchased Raider gear. From that point, I would possess a Raider item of clothing. My Raiders gear purchasing frenzy peaked at the news that the Raiders would indeed return to Oakland in 1990. The shirts would meet the scissors in September of that same year when the team announced that they were staying put in L.A.

I was cautiously excited in 1995. I would not wear any Raiders gear until the first game was played in the Oakland Coliseum. My father watched the game in utter disgust taunting me as a "sucker" if I decided to purchase a ticket to attend any of the game.

I did not attend any games until the Gruden years.

Yup, waiting three seasons before I went to my 1st game. My father scoffed at the idea of a PSL, and passed away less than a year after the return to Oakland. I became a devout Christian within The Salvation Army church in 1995, so my Sundays were "for God." In fact my only visits to the Oakland Coliseum since the Raiders return and before my 1st Raider game were for three different events: Promise Keepers 1995, Promise Keepers 1996, and the Billy Graham Crusade.

There was only one question I consistently asked about the Raiders and towards Al Davis over the years from the move to L.A. to now.

"WHY?"

Why did you leave Oakland when the games were sold out? Why was Marcus Allen benched? Why fire Shell the 1st time when he produced winning seasons, including one trip to the AFC Championship? Why Mike White, Joe Bugel before Gruden? Why trade Gruden? Why why why?

I'll never have those questions answered and people outside of Mr Davis' circle will only speculate, but that's all that is: speculation.

Don't know if the Raiders will remain in Oakland or not. In some ways I've outgrown the ambiance or lack of in the Raider Nation. It hasn't been that fun going to the games these past few seasons and it's not because of the losing record. When my elders attended the games back before the L.A. days, win or lose, they returned home energized. When I attend the Oakland Raiders version 2.0, I return home drained, lethargic regardless of the win/loss outcome. They just weren't the same Raiders of old, yet they were Al's team.

They're still Al's team. That's what makes them The Raiders.

RIP Steve Jobs

We knew the inevitable when Steve Jobs made his announcement last August. (It was on my birthday, August 24 when the announcement was made) We had a suspicion that he was more ill than thought. It all came the day after his successor presented the new Apple items.

I'm not going to argue over how great a contribution Mr Jobs made not only to technology, but to humanity overall. That's been debated over and over on the message boards since August 24 of this year. I won't get into any debate over the definition of what makes a "hero." Within the context of Apple and the high tech industry, he's viewed as one. For those more military-minded, Jobs is viewed as a great innovator but not as a hero per se.

Any great contribution to society is heroic in my eyes period. But then we'd have to define "great," "contribution," and clarify who's included in "society."

So everything is debatable.

I'm typing away right now on my Macbook Pro which is 5 years old. (35 in dog years, 50 in tech years) I've owned 3 different iPods over that period of time. In spite of the announcement of the upcoming release of iPhone 4S, I've held off upgrading my phone this past 3 years on Verizon waiting for the iPhone release. There's no doubt in my mind about how much contribution Mr Jobs made in my life personally.

Today the world grieves over the loss of TWO great innovators and contributors.

As the internet and social media and mainstream media cover the loss of Mr Jobs, there's a second figure we must mourn over. For Steve Jobs transition reminds us of that second figure. In fact anytime a well-known public figure passes on, we recall the legacy of their contribution. (Side note: let us not forget the contributions made to the Civil Rights Movement by Rev Fred Shuttlesworth who passed on earlier today)

No, Rev Shuttlesworth is not that "2nd Figure" I'm referring to.

That Second Figure is the one who's regularly seen in the mirror.

For the past hour and a half, I've been bombarded with status updates and Twitter feeds about the great contributions made by Steve Jobs and I for one will not debate his contributions. His passing means he's no longer physically able to continue creating innovations and contributions. This past 24 hours before it was known about Mr Jobs death, there were unwarranted criticism towards Tim Cook for "not being Steve Jobs." Tim Cook has two main jobs right now: CEO of Apple, and Tim Cook. Let Steve Jobs rest in peace, let Tim Cook be Tim Cook, and let YOU be a GREAT YOU.

We shortchange ourselves in life when we believe we cannot make a significant contribution as a Steve Jobs or as a military hero fighting for freedom. In fact, we not only shortchange ourselves, but those around us. I know people will read this and say "yeah right. (Sarcastically) I'll be as great as Steve Jobs." I'm not saying that we all have the capacity to come up with simple, user-friendly, cutting edge technology devices, I'm saying that the greatness, the contributions within all of us can match and have as much impact as the great contributions made by him.

Mr Jobs passing reminds us of the greatness within each of us, and how we mourn not over the loss of our greatness but the fact that up until this point, our greatness has not outwardly lived. But the good news is that we need not mourn. While we take the time to mourn and reflect over Mr Jobs passing, we have the power to revive and resurrect our greatness. Whether it makes as big an impact as the Late Mr Jobs is totally up to us.

In other words, while we reflect on the impact Steve Jobs made, we overlook the great potential within us to make a dare I say, as great or even a greater impact. Mourning over that Second Figure is always a choice.

"Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything -- all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart. ... Stay hungry. Stay foolish."

-Steve Jobs, Stanford University Commencement 2005

Uninspired Rut

It should be no surprise to anyone who reads my blogs on a regular basis that I've been mainly on hiatus or as my friends would declare, "MIA." It was no accident. The truth to the matter is that I have not been sharing ideas lately.

I simply didn't feel like my ideas would make any sort of significant positive difference.

I didn't want to bother.

While nursing a back injury and not being able to workout and do my physical activities that I enjoy doing, I began to feel self conscious.

My routine consisted of resting my injured back, and if I was lucky enough to be able to walk that day, find my way to Philz Coffee, grab my java, and sat in the back of the corner and read.

What did I read?

Lots of stuff from the New Thought pioneers. I'm a stickler about tracing "roots" of topics that I'm fascinated with. When I began that trek on personal development during my college years, I was only exposed to Napoleon Hill's book Thank and Grow Rich. A lot of the "Self Help" authors, inspirational and wealth seminar instructors all were influenced by the work of the early New Thought pioneers. New Thought got a "bad name," because 1) they were changing the status quo by questioning the then current practices and dogmas of the mainstream Christian churches and 2) their works were often misused as a means to create material wealth and business success.

As inspiring as the work they printed, I was largely unaffected and still within my dark corner. It was not the most easiest period to go through. The auditions and the work seemed to dry up, and I was unable to find work within a more routine setting. Add to that my current physical condition, and I was dangling from a single-layered inspirational thread.

Not that the coffee DIDN'T have caffeine.

There was simply no purpose or direction that I was able to come away with. The books and the authors often repeated in one way or another, "be still and follow your instinct." Yet after several futile attempts, I concluded my instincts soul purpose was to pull pranks and practical jokes on me.

For example, during a silent meditation in the morning, the thought "goldfish market" came to mind. Throughout that afternoon, I sacrificed my reading and java time to visit three aquariums. I left the third aquarium scratching my head in the most utmost confusion. What was the f*cking point to all this? I did my best to "follow inspiration and instinct," yet at the end of the day, I was really regretting not drinking my coffee for the day.

Does anyone really want me to blog about that crap? So sorry I haven't shared much. As stated, I'm sparing my public. I mean why would I blog about going to the aquariums to look at goldfish and leaving in a state of confusion because there was simply no point in going to the damn aquarium in the first place.

I'd type away about lion dance, however I've only participated in the capacity of the percussion section this past month. Nothing to see, nothing exciting. I could rant and rave about drumming onstage with inexperienced cymbal players who didn't play worth a damn, but if anyone was there, their ears would've figured THAT out. It's pointless to dwell on it. If anything about my back dilemma, it's a reminder that "retirement" from actually playing the lion is rapidly approaching, and that may NOT be such a bad thing after all. I'm at an age where I should be watching my little ones learn the fundamentals of the art.

Which leads me to the next thought. I know it'll be a challenge to grow up as my children, especially if they too yearn to perform. I'll be harping on practice, foundation, technique, practice, foundation, technique until their ears bleed. They'll most likely NOT want me to watch any shows with them. I tend to pick it apart.

I miss acting. It's not like I'm not pursuing it, it's more like I haven't really delved deep into a character's role in over a year. It's that studying the script and doing crazy fun exercises in digging deeper about his motives, objectives, thought patterns, attitude, hopes, dreams, even fears.

I keep on saying about my vision in creating this space: physical space with the purpose of creating connection, inspire, feed all mind body and soul, and express artistically. I handpicked three main locations to establish such a space: Oakland, Singapore, and a location TBA in Southeast Asia. Oakland because that place is so special though the mediots and the inhabitants may not realize the specialness. Singapore because from a spiritual standpoint, a space that shares the message of Divine unity with God and each other is so lacking there. As for the third location, I'm bouncing in-between Malaysia and the Philippines.

So yeah, this is what I contemplate during a rut...

I Remember

September 11, 2001

It was my first experience working on a live stage production in the capacity as both a supporting role and as the assistant director. I was warned of "Hell Week" which is what cast and crew refer to as tech week. I was unprepared to the reality that "Hell Week" became literal.

Early Tuesday morning I was awakened by an incoherent voicemail sent by my director. I did not understand anything he said except of the possibility of local San Francisco landmarks possibly getting attacked, and the final statement of "tonight will be business as usual, the show must go on. We'll work on lighting and scene transitions tonight. Make sure the entire cast is present." Afterwards, I received a couple of frantic voicemail and text messages from Singapore making sure my immediate family and myself were fine.

Confused, I turned the television on and saw images of the first plane slamming into the World Trade Center. I changed channels and saw that EVERY channel including MTV and ESPN was showing footage. My initial response was "what the f***???" Later on, images of the Pentagon and a vacant field where two other plane crashed appeared. It really felt like a science fiction movie. My next immediate thought was "I hope to Hell that whoever did this isn't Asian."

I was not born when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, nor when Kennedy, Malcolm X, or Martin Luther King was assassinated. I joined a protest after the verdict of the Rodney King trail chanting "No Justice, No Peace." I was never prepared for the depth and magnitude 911 created for the entire world.

People who were around during the times of the assassinations of King, Kennedy, and X stated and concluded "things were never the same since then." In my lifetime echos of the same sentiment were loudly declared following September 11, 2001. It's been declared that "we could never go back."

Were we supposed to "go back," and if so, "go back where?" We were never meant to "go back" even if the events of 911 never occurred. So I ask ten years later, "go back to where?"

Do we want to "go back" to the days of our day to day living without color security codes?

Do we want to "go back" to minimal security lines when traveling via air?

Do we want to "go back" to being able to pick up loved ones directly from the gates upon arrival?

Me too.

Ten years later, I ask this question: "why NOT?" Who says we can't go back? We made emotional statements in the aftermath, "the terrorist can't and won't win. Freedom and Love will."

To me, when we "go back" I'll chalk that up as evidence that terrorism "lost."

I've stated this over the past ten years. The War on Terror is not a war we're meant to win. At least not by the way we're fighting it. The so called enemy is not a country, race or religion. It was and always been a state of mind within humanity. When it's humanity, that means it includes you and me. We are also not utilizing the right artillery in this battle either. The best weapon is love. Not the Kumbaya kind of love, not the love we declare when we're horny, not even the love that's used in a term or greeting like "Jesus loves you."

This kind of love is when you're able to look into the eyes of another person regardless of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation and be able to simultaneously see the image and reflection of two beings: yourself and God. That's the love that'll lead the victory march against terror.

Please start now. Ten more years is too long of a time to wait.

Befriending Influence

I was in kindergarten when I began to comfortably make friends with other kids outside of my family. (Cousins within the same age range) Pre-school wasn't so friendly to me. My closer friends in kindergarten who lived nearby my childhood home was Mark Chan (of course not real name) and Trevor London. During summer break between kindergarten and 1st grade our weekday activity consisted of morning swimming lessons and stick-ball at the school yard after lunch.

Now it could be easy to state that my parents favored Mark because of the common ethnic background and surname. ("Chin" and "Chan" are actually considered "identical" surnames) That wasn't the case. It was also due to the fact that his father and my mother were themselves childhood friends. Favoring Mark and resisting Trevor's presence had to do with the overall perception of Trevor from the entire neighborhood: he was considered to be a "bad influence."

Trevor's reputation as a bad influence developed as he was the one who was kept after kindergarten class the most, and who received the most notes to take home to the parents. (I won the distinctive honor of placing 2nd on both categories) My parents received wind of our menacing reputation following an afternoon where we were both sent home from a PTA sponsored after-school event. (We both agreed at that time that no time was the better for "vengeance" against the mean, bullying 6th graders; so we pelted them with our snacks and drinks)

Any type of family get-togethers consisted of at least ONE conversation about how "Jarrett's friend Trevor, Ho Kwai Jai" ("Bad, mischievous kid") Then the discussion would shift to all the transgressions I committed since the last family get-together. Basically the message was clear from my parents to me:

My so-called "bad" behavior was a result of my friendship with Trevor

At that point in my life, my misbehaving and resulting punishment consisted of my parents attempt to disable all contact between myself and Trevor. Even when Mark transferred to a new school and was developing a new group of friends, my parents made sure I spent time with Mark. Hell, they even kept pushing me to hang out with the F.O.B. family across the street instead of Trevor much to my frustration as they didn't trust me for not knowing the Cantonese language, and I didn't think highly of them as they lacked English speaking skills.

I look forward to parenting while looking back at this situation. My parents were not aware that they were not only judging their son, but also programming their son to conclude he was a bad person. All because of a friendship with a specific friend. We all grew up with a friend who "was a bad influence." Hell, I admit I was sometimes "that friend" growing up. It's a part of the growing up process. My parents (RIP) did the best they could with the resources they had.

What bothered me the most about this situation was just the overall way it was handled. As I stated, I felt judged by my own parents because I felt incapable of picking good friends, and being a good person. If this so-called bad person was my friend, therefore (child's logic) I must be a bad person too. Secondly, I felt that my parents avoided responsibility and wanted to cast blame for my bad behavior. No child is responsible for another child's behavior. Just like no one adult could influence another adult without their permission. Granted, as a child, there's more of a vulnerable prone, and the parents to have the right to protect their child. It's just that protecting the child and casting blame on another child are as different as apples and oranges.

Trevor wasn't "bad" per se. He was simply someone who dared to take more chances and ask more questions the majority were unwilling to ask. I look back towards those days as days where I did my most growing. He introduced me to bands/musicians I never heard of, dared me to playfully harass the girls in our class, and do something anyways even if we were told not to.

What my parents viewed as "kwai" ("bad") I view as "coaching."

A Voice

A short time ago, I came across a discussion amongst my friends who were avid writers. There was this author who took it upon herself to become a self-proclaimed advocate on behalf of the subjects she wrote about. Her justification for her decision was based on her own assessment that her subjects were "too oppressed weakened and devastated to vocalize their pain." While I commend her for her noble efforts, I found the reasoning to be a bit disturbing.

When my friend Bruce Reyes-Chow used to pastor Mission Bay Church, he'd consistently close with the benediction saying: "give voice to the silent..." My interpretation of that statement was a way to create an environment and empower those who are normally silent to be able to speak up for themselves.

Coming from the San Francisco Bay Area, there are a lot of interactions taking place which requires a need for a translator. If you were to speak or ask the person who's in need of a translator, they would rather learn the local language and not to place a burden on the need translating. Go to any English as a second language class and see the room filled. These new immigrants are so enthusiastic to learn our language so they can communicate on their own behalf. They're very aware that that is the price asked of them to pay in order to start a life here.

Yet, this author is speaking for a group of people because of their "inherent weaknesses." My question to this particular author would be what was the assessment procedure that she took in order to declare their apparent "muteness," or inability to express themselves? What would happen if one of the members of that group learned to speak for themselves and told her to "shut the f*ck up?"

Most importantly:

Do we have a right to determine who is capable or incapable to give a voice to themselves?

I'll agree with this author that her subjects were placed under very inhumane conditions. Very atrocious against humanity. However her conclusion of them due to their plight relegates them to additional victim-hood. The author speaks on behalf a a group of people victimized by inhumane conditions, not allowing them the voice nor the CHOICE to relinquish victim-hood. She said and published for them drawing a conclusion they may or may not attest to about themselves.

Speaking for someone else with your own assessment and conclusions does by no means, "give a voice to the silent."

Personal Development/Wealth Books and Programs

Yes I know back in April I compiled a list of books HERE.

I also commented that this list would be added on in due time on a regular basis since I left out something and/or I read something new to add. However, I'm adding a whole new dimension to the whole book reading by including home-study programs and seminars.

Dr Barbara King-Transform Your Life-Some years back in my early 20s, I just began going to church on a regular basis, and was persuaded to leave behind the personal development seminar lifestyle. I prayed for something to bridge those two experiences together and at a 24-hour newsstand, this book literally fell into my lap. She includes a lot of Biblical allegories and how to apply it to everyday living.

Eric Butterworth-Discover The Power Within You-One of the main Unity pastors based in New York written this during the beginning of the counter-culture self-discovery movement. A timeless piece that still resonates even though he makes reference to the current social setting some 40+ years back. If I didn't know better, I'd say this book influenced what Dr Barbara wrote. I wouldn't because I'm more convinced the following authors influenced BOTH writers:

Emmet Fox, Charles Fillmore, Florence Scovel Shinn, H Emile Cady, Joseph Murphy-I did not specify any titles because I found the books I've read from them to be extremely valuable. In fact, they influenced me into attending Unity Church now on a regular basis. Just remember to have a Bible handy when reading from any of those authors.

Mike Dooley has a trio of home-study courses that eventually became published books. I'd recommend paying more for the home study courses rather than reading the books. Leveraging the Universe, Infinite Possibilities and Manifesting Change are all excellent programs.

The Silva Method-Silva Life System is the foundation of all foundation to active meditation and visualizing. Ask any contemporary self-development author and energy healers, they'll tell you they got where they are as a result of learning this method. Any personal development program and/or seminar which incorporates any form of meditation, relaxation, or visualization exercises has its roots to the research of the Late Dr Jose Silva.

Eventually with affiliates programs and all, I will be openly endorsing the above products on a future website.

After The Fact Manifestation

So apparently, I have manifested items and situations I've set myself up for. It's just that I didn't realize that it happened until AFTER the fact. I can see that it pays off to journal and blog to review what's been declared and set.

When I made my commitment to The Salvation Army at the end of 1995, I decided to "rely more on God" and less on my personal development self. I initially thought it was the right thing to do, plus I was under the impression that it was spiritual and godly to voluntarily "deny myself." I was miserable to be honest. I placed all of my notebooks from my seminars in storage thinking it would never pop back up again. After all, God is SUPPOSED to be my provider.

When my mom passed away in 2005 and I was clearing out her house, I came across those notebooks. Written down in 1994 was a goal that I set for myself:
To be in Hong Kong before July 1, 1997
Meet my biological mother
Drive to an Oakland Raiders game
For those who travel on a regular basis, it's not such a big deal. However when I wrote that goal back in 1994, I never traveled further than Honolulu. I also didn't know what a passport was or why it was needed to travel. Plus I grew up in a family that the family would "SOMEDAY" travel to Asia including China, Hong Kong, Taiwan. Until then, save money so the family could travel together. My parents has been on a fixed income since 1984. They had already given up on the prospect of traveling to Asia. I set the goal of being there before July 1, 1997 because that was the date Britain was supposed to return the Colony back to China. I wanted to experience Hong Kong during British rule. On June 15, 1997 I arrived at the Hong Kong International Kai Tak Airport. Who would've known that I would actually be in Hong Kong during the actual Handover? Beyond my expectation.

Bear in mind, I forgot about the written goals as I had boxed up the notebooks somewhere in 95-96. It wasn't until I moved my personal belongings out of my mother's home in 2005 that I had access to the notebooks. In fact I believe I took the notebooks out in 2007 when I got in contact with one of my past mentors. He asked if I was interested in attending one of his courses. After getting in contact, I went into the boxes and opened the notebook. When I saw what I wrote in 94, I immediately signed up for the course we discussed earlier. (I had initially declined)

When I wrote what I wrote about meeting my biological mother in 1994, I had no idea how that was going to come about. For anyone familiar with adoption laws and legality, one is not able to simply walk into an agency responsible for coordinating an adoption process and receive contact information to the birth parents. I had been in search for my biological parents as early as 1989, and had hit every legal and/or financial dead end. If there was a way to get around the legal system, then the financial demand to do so became an obstacle. The process from 89 to 94 was a frustrating process. Who would've known that when I wrote the goal down in 1994, the process would suddenly speed up. On February 21, 1995, I met my birth mother for the "2nd" time? The end result of the encounter did not turn out is a more connected manner, however I was able to get answers that I waited for my entire life.

The Raiders were supposed to move and return to the City of Oakland from Los Angeles back in 1990. However due to legal ramification and resistance among the community, the deal ended up with the Raiders announcing that they were to remain in Los Angeles. The funny part was, I was very sarcastic when I wrote that goal down. At that time, I did not think, let alone believe that the possibility of driving to an Oakland Raiders game was feasible. In 1993, I had already packed and disposed all of my "Return to Oakland" Raiders' shirts among other Raiders items. Six years after 1994, I'm watching my OAKLAND Raiders play in the AFC Championship game at Oakland. Unfortunately they lost to the Baltimore Ravens.

Once again as I was clearing out my apartment recently, I realized I had manifested again. Yes it was a five year process for it to happen.

Since 2002, I was driving a 1998 Silver Honda Civic EX. I contemplated getting a Toyota Matrix in 2004, but I was a loyal fan of Hondas. When looking at prospective cars, my mantra was, "If there was a Honda 4-door version of a Matrix and/or a 4 door hatchback, that's my new car!" Only a 2-door hatchback were available at that time.

In November 2005, I decided to visit Singapore for the first time. Since my family was no longer intact following the recent death of my mother (adoptive) I had no plans for Thanksgiving. While I was there I headed back to my hotel, and parked in front was a Honda Jazz. It was a 4-door compact hatchback made by Honda. I was excited that I began to take photos of the car until I was greeted by the owner. He was puzzled as to why I was intrigued enough to be taking photos of his car. I explained to him that I was from the States and that there was no such model available. He was then generous enough to open the car and allowed me to sit inside the car. He opened the driver's side to let me sit, but because the drivers side is opposite than the driver's side in the States, I requested to sit on the passenger's side which puzzled the owner even more.

In 2007, Honda USA announced the release of a new model called the Honda Fit. That same year, it was announced elsewhere that the Honda Jazz would be named the Honda Fit. When I purchased a new car in 2008, I went in an opposite direction. I had taken the PSI Basic Seminar and decided I wanted to get a new European made car. I purchased a VW Rabbit, 4-door hatchback. Though I stayed true to my idea of the 4-door hatchback, that marriage to VW became strained and eventually I traded the car in 2010 for a Honda Fit. At that point, I had completely forgotten all about my "Honda mantra" some six years prior.

It was a few months ago when I reviewed the photos I taken during my first of many trips to Singapore. I was initially puzzled (like the Jazz owner) when I saw the photos taken in the dark. Luckily the photo processing plant gave me a CD of the photos taken. (Those were the last series of photos taken with a film camera) I downloaded the photos from the CD, color corrected the photos with a photo editor and discovered photos of a BLACK Honda Jazz. My jaws dropped in awe. For almost a year, I had been driving around in my BLACK Honda Fit. I didn't know that I was following Mike Dooley's advice on The Secret, but in essence, I was when I sat in the passenger side of the Honda Jazz that fateful November 2005 night. Remember, The Secret was actually released in 2006, so there was no way I had access to the advice.

So now next on the manifesting agenda are houses/homes. (YES, plural!!!) I look forward to being blown away again like the way I've been when I review old written goals or old photos.

Eduardo Machado Keynote Address June 5, 2006

Five years ago, I was forwarded this transcript via email in regards to the state of the theater. Just for the record, I never considered myself as an "Asian American" anything: actor, writer, performer. This was the label that was placed upon me over the years during my pursuit as an inspirational performer. Granted, I received my undergraduate degree (BA) in Ethnic Studies from Cal State Hayward, however I took the courses with an understanding of creating dialogue and solutions to drop such labels.

The 2006 Laura Pels Foundation Keynote Address was delivered by Eduardo Machado on June 5 at the American Airlines Theater as part of Curtain Call, the Allaince of Resident Theatres/New York's annual celebration of Off Broadway. Eduardo Machado is the Artistic Director of INTAR Theatre and Head of Playwriting at Columbia University. He is the author of more than 40 plays including Kissing Fidel, The Cook, Havana is Waiting and The Floating Island Plays. Mr. Machado was introduced by Pulitzer Prize-winning critic Margo Jefferson.

Mr. Machado's remarks:

Every day when I get up. I think about the wall. The wall they are building on the Mexican border to keep Latinos from picking lettuce and mowing lawns and baby sitting. I think about the nine thousand national guardsmen being sent to keep the others, the aliens, away. The fact that the others, the Mexicanos, used to own California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas is an aside. Not an issue, not important.

What is the message? Conquer it and it is yours. History yields no payback. If you are not one of us you are not important. And you do not deserve anything, even though you help our economy function and thrive. Even though we need you. But as a nation, as your neighbors, we have no time or mercy. Not for you.

The only important thing to us is the debate. We hear it every day from a machine breeding racism that looks like patriotism. Spilled out every hour on the hour with a saccharine smile. Filled with Contempt.

Just listen to the hours of rhetoric on our television screens. When will it all end? When they've left? When we deport every Latin American here illegally? Keep them out, they're taking our jobs! Screams Lou Dobbs. Send a million bricks to congress to let them know, we don't want them here!

What's gonna happen when they are gone and a head of lettuce costs ten bucks? Who is gonna baby sit for the family where both parents work for a joint income less than 60,000 bucks. Who's going to pour the water and keep the dishes clean in every restaurant in this country from Seattle to Chicago, New York to Los Angeles, Houston and Miami.

What is the message? Keep out 'cause we don't want you to be part of our world. Spic, beaners, out of here!

I watch TV. I listen to the debate. And I wonder. Does that mean keep me out? I don't know. I did get a greencard at age eight because by my leaving Cuba I was fighting Communism. I was a special kind of Spic, a Cold War Spic. But it could be me.

I remember in 2000 when my play "Havana is Waiting" was at the Humana Festival. The Actor's Theatre of Louisville realized that it was going to be a hit, so at the last moment they decided that the big party, on the big weekend, should be a Cuban themed party with Cuban food and a very hot band. During the party I was sitting outside on the steps smoking a Habana cigar. And I remember one guy saying to his friend, "These god damn Latinos they want to take over everything." I looked at them and said, "I'm the god dammed Latino and don't worry. It's just one night in forty years. The rest of the parties belong to you." They walked away without an "I'm sorry" or an "I liked your play." I would've been happy with an "I hated your play." But no, just self assured silence.

So what is the message? Maybe it is me that should get out of the American theatre. Maybe the message has always been "This is not your country, not your theatre, get out."

Then again I am standing onstage at the American Airlines Theatre. I have been asked to give a speech... But I was picked by a French woman.

If you don't know me, you don't know my deep sense of paranoia. I am sure you will by the end of the speech. But in all paranoia there is a solid stream of the truth.

I never thought of myself as a Latino til I became an actor. And that's when the balancing act began. I think of my life in the theatre: how it saved me, how much I love it. And how much it's
changed, how for the past ten years I have longed for and cried for the theatre I walked into when I became an actor in Los Angeles in the seventies and when I first came to New York in 1981.

I got my SAG card at twenty, so for the last thirty three years I have been a professional in the arts. I wrote my first play in 1980. So for the last twenty five years I have been a playwright. I am a part of the theatre because I have worked for it. If I have any place on this
stage. I have earned it.

But I have always felt a separation. I have always felt another kind of wall. An invisible wall. Which are so much harder to walk through or break down. And for a paranoid like me, I wonder, am I imagining this wall? And then I bang my head against it. And I know.

When someone tells me, "We are not interested in your play, it's about Cubans, what do we know about Cubans?" What do you know about Russians, Germans and the Brits? But you do them. I would prefer you told me the play was not good enough.

Or, during my play "Broken Eggs," when a producer said to me, "Since the bride's family is Cuban we should just get really tacky costumes on fourteenth st."

Or "Listen Eduardo when they commissioned the play, they heard your name and they were expecting Carmen Miranda... You gave them Ibsen." Who knew a comparison to Ibsen could be a put down?

I have given every piece of my existence to my plays. I have compromised and sacrificed to be a part of the theater. But when I hear things like this I hear the message underneath. You are not one of us. You don't belong here.

Some of you might think I'm being dramatic. Some of you might think I'm making this up. But some of you know I'm telling the truth because I'm quoting you.

Still, I respect anyone who is in the theatre. I have spent so many, many years around you, seen you get old, seen you grow up. Maybe you didn't know what you were saying. You couldn't have known how much it hurt. But just because you didn't know, doesn't mean it didn't happen. You may not know which side you're on. But there is a wall, and it is not just about race.

Prejudice and fear is ingrained inside our molecules. But how far will we let it go? Are we afraid of style? Content? Maybe we're just afraid of Conflict. And where is the theater without conflict? If we are not open and brave where are we going? What is non-profit for anyway if
not to risk it all. Right?

I was told I could talk about anything so I'm going to speak my mind. If I insult you, fine. Conflict is not supposed to be comfortable. Let's argue. If we don't start arguing we are all going to drown in a sea of complacency worse then when Treplev was heard saying "when in a thousand variations I am served the same thing over and over and over again - then I feel as Maupassant when he fled from the Eiffel tower, which made his brain reel with vulgarity."

But I do feel we are on shaky ground. And while I may not have an American passport, I have a greencard, and on this side of the wall, I am afforded the right to protest what I see around me.

No matter how well intentioned and believing in their statements, The New York Theatre workshop showed us how afraid of the audience we truly are. And I find that horrifying and the worst kind of censorship imaginable.

As you know, New York Theatre workshop cancelled a play because members of the community warned them against it.

(At the end of these remarks, please find a brief response from New York Theatre Workshop.)

And I quote from the New York Times, "Mr. Nicola originally said that he had spoken to "Religious leaders" in making his decision... that the workshop did a "Wide reaching out into the complexity of the community in New York" that included reading Palestinian views on web sites. Mr. Nicola did say "We had a conversation with one board member who said that his rabbi had concerns about the play. An old friend who is Jewish, also questioned the play's message." End quote.

I cannot stomach a theater that will shut itself down because they're afraid of an audience's reaction. When the invisible wall is erected directly in front of the stage I have to speak. But at this point, I don't have the objectivity to find the right words. So I will defer to some other writers whose deaths have made their authority undeniable.

"The majority is never right. Never I tell you!. That's one of these lies in society that one free and intelligent man cannot help rebelling against. Who are these people that make up the biggest portion of the population- the intelligent ones or the fools? I think we can agree it's the fools, not matter where you go in the world, it's the fools that form the overwhelming majority." -Henrick Ibsen.

"I must warn my readers that my attacks are directed against themselves. Not against my stage figures" -George Bernard Shaw.

"It is because the public are a mass... inert, obtuse, and passive... that they need to be shaken up from time to time..." -Alfred Jarry.

"Yes the public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius" -Oscar Wilde.

How they all must have turned in their graves at the thought of it. Asking the audience... How do you feel? Are you ready to be challenged? Oh you're not? Then we won't insult you. Please let's breed silence and passivity here at home so there's nothing to compare with your fascist wars all over the world. Let's all be happy. Buy those tickets make those donations. And we will please you.

It is 2006. We are the theater in New York. And we are asking for permission. Where does that leave us?

What kind of theatre is it that asks whether or not it should censor itself. Is that even a question? And I am not just blaming New York Theatre Workshop, "Rachel Corrie" is just the most recent example. I am blaming all of us. Myself included. Even if I wanted to say everything all at once. I feel the wall. I know the words I dare not utter. Even in this speech.

What's happened to us?

Lorca died because he opposed the fascists in his community. If Ibsen's producers would have thought about their community the characters in "Ghosts" would not have had syphilis. Nora would have ended up staying home. And not slamming that door. What is going on?

I don't feel we are brave enough. I feel the theatre that I see for the most part is watered down.

It's getting ugly out there. Let's show it as much as we can on our stages.

And I beg you let us stop being afraid of the audience. They are supposed to be afraid of us.

But ever since the National Endowment got cut down to barely nothing we have had to follow a corporate model. We have to show profit in non-profit. Isn't that ridiculous? It's like an Ionesco play. We have become Rhinoceri. I know we feel we have to go along with it to survive... by it I mean pandering. Because we think we need a certain amount to make it. But how much are those dollars worth? And exactly how much do we need to survive?

Lorraine Hansberry asks, "Do I remain a revolutionary? Intellectually-without a doubt. But am I prepared to give my body to the struggle or even my comforts? This is what I puzzle about."

INTAR doesn't have a body right now. It was given up in the struggle. Because I decided that to raise 8 million dollars to build a theater had nothing to do with survival. A theater with a million dollar budget does not need a 500 thousand dollar flexible floor and it most definitely does not need to be in the basement of a Luxury Condominium. It needs to produce as many plays as it can, and that's it. This simple goal was not well received at the Department of Cultural Affairs. They kept telling me if I hired the right consultants, everything would be fine. I would be able to raise the millions needed for the building. But where to find the funding for
productions?

Which leads me to the biggest headache from the biggest wall that I have walked into every day for the last two years. The language and bureaucracy of grant giving on the part of both corporations and foundations, New York City and State. Their insistence on a for-profit model is really at the heart of our problem. We're back in the land of The Bald Soprano.

We must all fight against this. Non profits theatres should not sell tickets for a hundred dollars a seat. That's criminal. How are we ever going to find a new vital audience at those prices? Even sixty five to forty-five is unrealistic. Not everyone has a trust fund. Not everyone in New York City is rich. The audience we're missing can barely afford 20 dollars. But if we gave them a reason to, they'd get the money together. I did.

We have given into the worst kind of greed. The corporate model. And I'm sorry but our work has suffered because of it.

But we fill out the applications because we have no choice. It's just how it's done. Are we really willing to continue this way? How can we break through this wall of walls?

I suggest that DCA and NYSCA spend their time lobbying for more money for the arts and less time reading forms and policing institutions. We can't steal the money. We have audits that are freely distributed. So why give the same information in form after form? Report after report?

But no. It's just how it's done. I had no idea about any of this until I took over INTAR. And suddenly I realized why artistic directors always look a little mad. It's from the endless hustling. How can we focus if all we talk about is the 5 year plan.

We have to find a way to be ruthless with ourselves. Change the rules. We need an environment where it is safe to investigate. To discover. To fail.

Finally I'd like to discuss one of our biggest problems: Education. By now I think we all know we train too many people. I am guilty of this more then most of you. I run the playwriting program at Columbia and I am required to let in ten student playwrights a year. When I first started working there it was only six a year. It should really be two.

But because the university wants money. Because even at the educational level they feel art does not have to be subsidized, ten playwrights graduate every year from my program. How can they all
really be playwrights? They can't and they are not. And since when did theatre people need a master to be actors, directors and playwrights, designers and producers?

I barely graduated from high school.

I went to an acting school that was down an alley in Van Nuys. I learned about playwriting from Maria Irene Fornés in an abandoned building called INTAR 2 on 53rd street, and by having my first three plays produced - not workshopped - at The Ensemble Studio Theatre. No degree. Just what came my way. What I sought out. If we have so many students graduating every year then what happens to the self taught, the inspired, the different? They are buried under piles of graduate scripts, resumes and 8X10s.

There is a wall that is making the theatre a place for only those who can afford it. But who is being kept out? The voices of the hungry and unknown. Of those who don't fit in. Of those whose future is dependent on their ability to Scream.

Let me be frank, I teach at Columbia because I need the money, there is no grand scheme or noble purpose, just dollars and cents. And I try very hard to do a good, professional job.

But is that mentorship? Is it inspirational? I do my best, but I don't think so.

The way we have turned the art form into a factory is criminal and we all have to start talking to each other about this. We need better quality control. At all the schools.

Because not everyone is talented or exceptional. No matter how much they are willing to pay. We are creating a theatre of the average. That cannot be good.

I have seen the theatre change so much... Just since the early 90's...from the feeling of being delinquents of society and feeling proud of that. To this farce where we believe we are all entitled to talent and success. No one is entitled to that. All we can hope for is the joy in
the work, the joy of expression, the joy of creativity.

We are the theatre in New York City. We're not supposed to be proper. We're not supposed to be corporate. We need only love creation. Finding value in true talent. In harsh criticism. In hard work.

We're supposed to belong to each other.

I hope you still feel this. This sense of community.

I feel it less and less. Maybe after years of being called difficult I have made myself invisible. Yet I still want to be a part. I want to scream with all of you. In this city. In this theatre.

But I will risk that inclusion. Because as Ms. Hansberry says, "The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely."

Let's forget about budgets and grants and is the audience happy. Let's create. Let's find that part of us that got us here in the first place. The part that does not feel like the rest of the world. The part that wants to rebel.

That part is on the other side of the wall.

And if we can prove that it's worth the struggle of climbing over, the theater in New York will again be something to reckon with.

My thanks to Virginia Louloudes. And the generous and daring Laura Pels for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts with all of you.

Good night and thank you.

In response to Eduardo Machado's remarks regarding "My Name is Rachel Corrie":

New York Theatre Workshop did not cancel the play. This is a frequently misstated point. In fact, we asked the Royal Court, the original producer of the play and its rights holder, to allow for a postponement in order for us to more thoughtfully prepare for the production. We were never afraid of audience reaction; indeed, part of our institutional mission is to foster community dialogue.
- New York Theatre Workshop

Belong To Whom?

If there was ever a common thread in regards to my pursuits: involvement with martial arts/lion dancing, acting and theater, personal development, spiritual development I would have to say that common denominator (besides ME) would be the sense of belonging.

Let me rephrase that. The PERCEPTION of a sense of belonging.

Just because I'm a part of something doesn't necessarily indicate that I belong to any of the organizations I participate in. At some point, I felt the need TO belong. I was under the impression that in order to thrive within my pursuits, I needed to belong.

I didn't.

Once again the need to belong anywhere and everywhere involves a "gatekeeper." Even if I were a part of a family, there exists a family member "gatekeeper" who determines whether or not you "belong" to that family. I was adopted to a family in Oakland California. Whether or not I truly "belonged" to that family is another story. Was I loved by members of my family? Absolutely. I miss my maternal grandparents and I do what I can to remember them. My mother? Yes. Being loved by members of your family doesn't determine whether or not you truly "belonged" to that family.

After all, they're family.

I often found myself crossing paths with like-minded folks searching for a sense of belonging. At times we accepted each others' company and companionship and provided that sense. Sometimes we eventually find that "home" where we feel we belong to. As for the organizations I worked with in the past and still continue to work with, that sense of belonging fluctuates in time and in different situation as warranted.

Contacted an energy healer recently. First thing that came out of her mouth as soon as I entered the space.

LET GO of needing to belong. Do that by acknowledging that you're already inter-connected with each other and with God

Light bulb went illuminated in my mental head. It wasn't so much of my need to "belong" anywhere as it was that I suffered from amnesia. I forgot that I'm connected with everyone. Then again it's easy to forget, isn't it?

We cut each other off the road while driving and doing the "one finger wave."

We judge each other according to what the other wears...

...or what someone does for a living.

...or who someone voted for.

What victim would like to remind themselves that they're inter-connected to their respected perpetrator?

But we are. We are created that way in that Grand Scheme of Things.

This isn't a lesson on "how to connect," because we already connect. All the time 24/7. This is more of "how can I feel connected when I don't feel like I belong?"

First off, let go of belonging. That's external, out there, it "victimizes" because that sense of belonging is predicated on the action and attitudes of others.

Secondly, "FIRE" YOUR GATEKEEPER. Did you know you had one? That's the one who focuses on "s/he doesn't belong in OUR group," or "I don't belong here." The gate keeper's has one purpose: to distract you from the fact that you're connected.

Third, in figuring out how you're connected to someone you least feel connected to, look for what bothers you most about him or her. Then look at how you share that same quality. Do the same in finding what you admire about them. If you spot it, you got it!

The Religious Order for Actors

Originally Posted on March 18, 2011 HERE Was eventually completed on April 1, 2011

Yes and No.

With a lot of controversy surrounding the whole thing about Tom Cruise and his ties to the Scientologists, the average audience member watches on with certain assumptions of their favorite performers in regards their respected spirituality. Actors are an uncanny fickle bunch. I should know, I fall into the same category as most actors. If someone was to inquire about my own personal view on spirituality, I'd simply give them a generic answer: "I'm Christian." Sure, I've seen and heard a more general response such as "I'm spiritual." (What the hell does THAT really mean?)

Posting about my faith and theology is for another future time. It's difficult to really separate my beliefs versus my experiences within a religious setting, and that is a challenge that the average person wrestles with in regards to spirituality. So therefore I'm gonna attempt to build a 10 foot pole to touch the topic in the near future.

I'm not really talking about that anyways.

I observed the last ten years while pursuing, training and working on various acting productions that the actor tends to create their own sort of religious order to a lesser degree than a fanatical follower when it comes to the technique of their craft of acting. I'm not talking about fundamental craft knowledge such as voice, diction, movement/dance though people will separate themselves along the various disciplines there too. (Linklater vs Fitzmaurice vs Alexander ect) I'm referring to the various schools of techniques in regards to achieving the performance state of "being in the moment."

Since my performance background began in doing stand-up comedy, I gravitated towards the improvisational based forms of acting when I began my formal acting training. I was lucky enough to learn from someone who was versed in VARIOUS schools of improv acting, so there was no hard-core loyalty insistence. Coming from San Francisco, Theatersports and Johnstone has a heavy presence in the improvisational scene. Elsewhere in L.A., N.Y. and Chicago, Second City and more Spolin based improv dominate the scene. As ridiculous as it sounds I've come across improvisors who refused to work with other improvisors not trained within their discipline. (Theatersports trained folks won't work with Improv Olympics or Spolin based Improv, and vice-versa)

On the other end of the spectrum, acting methods are split accordingly also. The average person has heard of "The Method," when it comes to acting. There just isn't ONE method per se. Almost if not all "methods" that's known is based directly and indirectly to theories on acting created by Stanislavsky. I look at the various schools and methods on acting the way I observe church and denominational splits. In a lot of ways, a new acting method created is normally the result of a split from another school of acting.

Now a new form of "Method" is taking shape. Known as "Contemporary Method," it evolves on a more eclectic approach. In addition to taking a little of Meisner and a little of Strasberg, ect, they'll add something such as "energy work, past lives," and other forms of pseudo-psychology. I would love to say that because of their eclectic nature, they have no qualms against other schools/methods, however that is normally not the case.

Why the split? Why the chasm between all the method/school/approaches to acting? All could be linked to the one common denominator: the "Guru." The acting coach/instructor/teacher ect in a lot of cases holds more power over actors than the actors should permit. Largely that is due to what belief and/or attachment the actors hold in respect to the desired results they're getting in relation to their coaching. A friend of mine who transplanted to L.A. from S.F. concluded that all her earlier acting training "sucked ass" as compared to the audition coach she currently and religiously trains with. (She also emphasize that L.A. training is far superior to S.F. training) The reason being was prior to her training w/this coach, she did not book herself in any major productions. After booking a role in a Keanu Reeves film, she's spellbound by this coach.

This is not an unusual situation. Ask any actor why they gravitate towards a particular coach or school or approach and they'll explain how much they benefited. That's all the actor wants: to be able to do the best job they can possibly do as an actor, period. If you told another actor that you booked your last major role as a result of following a coaches advice to inhale through the left nostril and exhaling through the right while delivering lines, SOMEONE will attempt that on their next audition.

Take it outside of the actor's context. If you're a single guy, and your friend who was known in the past for being incapable in meeting women suddenly shows up with multiple women on his arms, would you not inquire about the change? If you're struggling with your weight and your best friend who was overweight the majority of their life shows up lean, trim and fit, wouldn't you want to know what they did?

So Actor A and Actor B attends most of the same audition, and Actor B tends to be given the role. At other auditions Actor A notices that Actor C tends to book those roles. Actor A learns that Actors B and C are from the same acting training. Guess what the next training agenda is for Actor A. If Actor A lands a role shortly after they begin that particular training, that training becomes a new religion for Actor A until that training no longer works, and Actor A begins this cycle all over again with another form of training.

So as a student of personal development, as a former missionary, and as a working actor, I've decided to follow in the tradition of acting gurus past and present: I have created an acting training approach. What makes my training stand out is that it's open to actors and non-actors alike. All are welcomed. No one is turned away for lack of talent. Now lack of funds, different story. Payment must be made on time. Remember that once you begin your training, any positive incidents, results, or events that happened in your life was a direct result of ME and MY training!!! Because of that, anytime your family, friend, or colleague inquire about your sudden fortune of positive stuff, make sure you refer them TO ME. We (I) will grow this training to new heights. You will no longer need to goto church if you attended church. I AM your new church. I AM your new god. All good things in your life came from me and what I taught you. NOW KOWTOW!

...Happy April Fool's Day!

Lessons From a Miracle Taken For Granted

10-July, 1997: Gengma, Yunnan China PRC

I hardly discussed my time with The Salvation Army, specifically in regards to my experience with the China Service Corps Team in 1997. On a personal level, the assignment ended on such a devastating note, I cared not to discuss the trip in details as much as my teammates. It was a lot of "firsts" for this specific program that it received much fanfare and publicity in the aftermath. I barely kept up with the post momentum.

Photos don't lie and there are a lot of photos where I'm actually smiling and having a blast during the trip. I just chose to "throw the baby out with the bath water." Following the trip, vivid images of a newborn on life support, children begging on the streets, cheating taxi drivers, and my emergency hospital visit were the events I chose to recall in details if I even bothered to mention the trip at all. Yeah I did have a choice on which events to recall. I felt more "comfy" with the neggies.

All because I didn't get laid.

Yeah I know I'm going on behalf of a Christian organization, but so what? I'm a half a world away in a foreign country for the first time in my life, and not one booty call. I was pissed at the end.

When I grew up listening to Motley Crue during my junior high years, I recalled an interview Nikki Sixx made:

"I don't want to sit at some goddam old folks home on a fucking rocking chair, turn on Vince's (Neil) hearing aide, and say, 'I wish I fucked that chick.'"

I didn't understand what Nikki meant when I initially read it in junior high, but I sure as hell understood it after my trip to China.

So I allowed regret to shadow my first experience in Asia.

I didn't focus on the preschool age children approaching me, calling me "ShuShu" ("Uncle") or the many dances with university female students, or the laughter, or the street artist who accurately, amazingly sketched a wallet-size photo of myself. No, I chose to focus on what I hated about the trip.

I'm recalling all of this now because of a lesson I'm currently reviewing. There was a quote stating that people who are focused on the problems tend to miss the miracles.

*RAISES HAND* Yup, guilty.

Our team traveled from Kunming, Yunnan China to Lincang County, down to Gengma and we were returning to Lincang. One of our teammates Ken was sick and did not make our tour of Gengma, so we had to pick him back up from Lincang. At that time (1997) the roads were not fully developed yet, and one of the main road was a paved dirt trail along a rivers edge from Lincang to Gengma. Our team even nicknamed the river as the "Milktea" river because of the resemblance to milktea.

Gengma was like one of the worse of the visit during that four days because it rained 90% of the time. The accommodations were not modernized and there were regular evening blackouts. I was in a very cranky mood and I longed to return to Lincang where the hotel was more modern.

While driving alongside the "Milktea" River (to this day I have no idea what the actual name of the river is) our bus had a flat. The driver announced that we were to empty the bus while he changes the tire. Mind you that this driver was already on my shit list as he had attempted to show us the border to Myanmar and drove so close that we ended up searched by the Myanmar border patrols with their automatic weapons pointed at us.

So we're getting soaking wet while the driver then discovers that the flat is located in the inner layer of a two layer wheel, which meant that he had to take out the outer wheel first before replacing the flat inside. At that point, I decided to occupy myself by grabbing pieces of mud, which was plentiful, and wrote "SOUR" all over the bus. If you're wondering why the word, "SOUR" it was the closest 4-letter 'S' word that I could think of off the top of my head that meant as close to the "other" 4-letter 'S' word. My teammates are annoyed at me by this point and asked me when I was going to stop my antics. I told them as soon as I'm back inside the bus I'll stop.

Finally our driver completes the tire change and we're back inside the bus. We're driving along the road when an oncoming vehicle approached us. Our driver and the other driver are conversing and it becomes gradually more escalated. I'm mumbling to myself at that point for the driver to "shut the f* up and f*king drive." Then Colonel Yee, our adviser, and our translators/escorts joins in on the conversation with the drivers and it gets more excitedly escalated. Turned out that the other vehicle was an emergency vehicle who just completed a quick makeshift preliminary cleanup/repave work on the road ahead of us. Less that 20-30 minutes prior, there was a major mudslide/avalanche on the road. Chances are, had we not had to stop and change the tire, we would've been most likely in that "Milktea" river. As we got to the cleanup slide location, we barely made it through that road as it was narrower and closer to the edge that we could see the river alongside our window. It was a literal "narrow" escape.

I didn't put much thought into that time until now. I'm going through what I thought was a "bad" situation, unaware that in the grand scheme of things, the lives of about 14 people including mine were being saved. I didn't realize how much of a close call that situation really was.

I was so focused on "SOUR," I didn't realize that a miracle was taking place for me. So as I sit here awaiting for my next miracle to happen, I take on the possibility of a miracle unfolding as I type this now. I just need to be patient, and focus on the "SWEET."