looking at these pictures,* i think about the nature of exposure. what does it mean to be alone in a crowd? to be looked at hungrily? to want to hide, but yet still want to be seen?
when i first met pearl jam, they were as yet unaware of how popular they would become. when they were in NYC in the early days, when 10 was just about to be released, i went to a baseball game with Eddie. after taking the 7 train to shea, as we were heading into the stadium, we were met by one of the record company people who seemed to be as surprised to see us as we were to see him. (i later found out that when the company found out we were going to the game, they sent this guy to make sure Eddie'd get back to the city that night for the show they were playing. a kind of insurance that he wouldn't decide he wanted to be a pro-baseball player and run away with the team.) we were both really naive about the nature of being watched. even though in essence my job was to be a fly on the wall and keep track of all i saw and heard, then relay it via words in a magazine, i still had a certain idea that i could form friendships without them going on record. that day, he and i talked about his childhood. i said i wondered what it felt like to not know his father. he wondered how i knew that. i said, Your lyrics to "Alive" tell the story. the fact that he was surprised that the story was that obvious in his lyrics told me that the learning curve of popularity might be kind of steep for him. a few years later, after i'd known him to wade fearlessly into crowds and let them carry him, and to hold impromptu Q&A sessions with fans in public parks, then not too long after to see the look of frustration in his eyes when he couldn't walk out of those crowds on his own because they were too big and too hungry for a piece. Until finally i walked into a dressing room many years into their popularity and found him in the corner with his back to the room, seeming to will himself to disappear. He went through it, came out the other side. apparently knows how to handle it in his own way now.
but really, the question becomes exposure and vulnerability. who is it we open ourselves to? as much as i have gone through, i still hold close certain moments & thoughts. sometimes they are held so close that they're absorbed inside and i don't remember they're there. until i begin to move honestly, and then of course they step out. i discovered what it means to lay myself bare this last week. to pause, open and just stay, though i wasn't actually thinking about it. i was just doing it. but when the last note resonated and i found myself in the middle of the floor, i kept staying there. it didn't matter if it was a minute or an hour. i thought about my fire and realized instead of it consuming me to the degree that i felt burned and had to move, it was providing light so others could watch and there was enough heat for me to feel it's power. i stayed there, open, letting them see it all. no flinching.
reading When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön (thank you to my friend E for suggesting): She talks about dissolving the line between "this and that, good and bad, by inviting in what we usually avoid..." describing it as "leaning into the sharp points." Exactly. in order to know what it is to feel, it seems there's a necessity to see and be seen. and when i cover myself, pull the hood(ie) down, i'm still there. i don't become invisible, i'm just honoring my need to bring a layer between myself and the rest. it's only when i pull down the gate of communication altogether that i'm locked out of what's possible. and that's showing nothing and telling even less. lonely. no chances. not a place i want to live now.
*Lance Mercer's book, 5 X 1: Pearl Jam Through the Eye of Lance Mercer or individual photos
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