From my remarks at the Closing Ceremony of the Sand Mandala from the Mystical Arts of Tibet, May 3, 2015

Earlier this week as we viewed the White Tara Mandala constructed by the monks of the Drepung Loseling Monastery, my friend Ambassador Jorge Lozoya stood at the edge of the sand mandala in-process and exclaimed with warm enthusiasm, 

“This is it! This is Everything. A man lives 70 or 90 years and then is it over. This is marvelous.”

A marvel indeed. 

In Nepal one week ago a series of devastating earthquakes shattered centuries of architecture and sacred historical sites. It was a dismantling of a mandala of culture. Temples became sand and were returned back to the dust of a region’s beginnings. 

Not far away on the tallest mountain in the world a group of explorers from The Google Adventure team were camped at one of Everest’s base camps. The earthquake sent an avalanche through the area and young man named Dan Fredinburg was caught in its path. 

Dan, a Privacy Director for the Google’s Project X Team is responsible for some of the company’s move forward-thinking initiatives including Google glass and driverless cars. He formed the Google Adventure team and mapped the mountain using Google’s 360 tools: he was our lens, our explorer mapping the places we can’t easily get to. 

These intrepid explorers are peering over the edge of the earth and I just wonder, what is a life like that like? The following passages are from the first 22 days of Dan’s Everest Adventure. 

2015 Everest Expedition fully underway. Gear is ready. I am ready. Now spending some time thinking about how this year's climb can be as impactful as possible! ‪#‎Everest

Kathmandu! No one here is focused on the destination bc the journey is complicated enough... ‪#‎brickslikefreethrows ‪#‎nepal

Quick Puja ceremony in Kathmandu to make sure all the energies are aligned. Our Nepalese crew is jacked and can't wait to get started. ‪#‎Puja ‪#‎Nepal

Day 4: Lukla. The most dangerous airport in the world (due to lack of sufficient runway). I'm 5-0 at this airport. Keep the streak going! ‪#‎Lukla ‪#‎airport

Day 4: The new Kathmandu domestic airport has strong reflection pool game. Some are clearly electrified... ‪#‎Kathmandu

Day 5: It takes me 4 days to walk to the mountain town of Pangboche written on the box he's hauling there.This guy better hope the recipient doesn't return to sender. ‪#‎porter ‪#‎Everest

Day 5: Our flight in was delayed so we stick around Lukla for the views. ‪#‎Everest

Day 6: Namche Bazaar is the last trading post on the route to Everest Basecamp. ‪#‎Namche ‪#‎everest ‪#‎djiphantom

Day 6: The Hillary suspension bridge lets us cross high above the Khumbu valley floor. ‪#‎Everest ‪#‎Khumbu

Day 8: Road to Basecamp. Pasang Sherpa from Ward 4 is one of my favorite characters. He's been building a rock road from Namche to EBC for 53 years to help protect travelers. ‪#‎Everest ‪#‎Sherpa ‪#‎hero

Day 9: Lama Geshe gave me a piece of string, a scarf, and a postcard for luck. Pem Chhiri, our climbing Sirdar, and I are studious. ‪#‎everest2015 ‪#‎lamageshe

Day 9: Push up into the valley. On our way to visit Lama Geshe to get blessed for our journey. ‪#‎everest

Day 9: Back on the old yak farm to wrangle up some help to carry gear. ‪#‎yak ‪#‎everest2015 ‪#‎yakcity

Day 11: “Tonight you have learned the final and greatest truth of the ninja: the ultimate mastering comes not from the body, but from the mind. Together, there is nothing our minds cannot accomplish. Help each other draw upon one another, and always remember the power that binds you.” - Master Splinter... and @gammanine ‪#‎Everest2015 ‪#‎ChungKhung

Day 12: The snow falls, each flake in its appropriate place. ‪#‎Everest2015

Day 13: Sucra Sherpa, or as I call him, Sugar, getting really close for the photo, or warmth, whatever. ‪#‎5530m

Day 13: Always a long line of yaks at the toilet under Ama Dablam. Yak city bitch, yak yak city... ‪#‎amadablam ‪#‎yakcity ‪#‎Everest2015

Day 14: Stopped by the Italian Research Center today. Not surprised to see the yaks out front chowing on spaghetti. ‪#‎yakcity ‪#‎Everest2015 ‪#‎Italian

Day 15: Temp in tent is -12C tonight. Temp in tent during day spiked to +46C! This is really confusing... ‪#‎Everest2015

Day 16: Unseasonal snow storm in the night buries our tents. Dig out required in the morning. ‪#‎Everest2015 ‪#‎Snow

Day 16: Dear @urbangaucho, thanks for sending mental images of your triceps and calves. I shared your photos with my Sherpa. He laughed and told me to ask, "do you even lift yaks, bro?" ‪#‎bodybyzabes ‪#‎Everest2015

Day 18: Our camp, Jagged Globe, is positioned right next to the entrance to the icefall and with a view over Khumbu glacier and the valley below. ‪#‎Everest2015 ‪#‎JaggedGlobe

Day 19: The ceremony calls for rice and flour to be slapped on our faces to grant us the appearance and wisdom of age (is that right?) and Lama Dawa gives me a sweet black medallion. ‪#‎Everest2015 ‪#‎puja

Day 19: After snow delays, our Puja ceremony is finally underway. We piled up our gear on the alter to have it blessed. Lama Dawa Rita, a Sherpa from our Gurka team, asks the Goddess Everest for permission for our team to step through the ice fall soon. ‪#‎Everest2015 ‪#‎puja

Day 19: Jagged Globe Sherpa team. JG bought them all top of the line jackets to wear this year. Guys in green work Basecamp. Guys in blue climb with us. And Pem, in the black best, is the boss and does it all. ‪#‎JaggedGlobe ‪#‎Everest2015

Day 19: We're cleared for launch. Now we help the Sherpa celebrate this auspicious day and the next stages of our expedition. ‪#‎Everest2015

Day 20: Saving ice on top of Kala Patthar. Everest Basecamp in the background is a climate change hotspot. ‪#‎Savetheice

Day 22: Ice training with @micbattelli means frequent stops for morning cappuccino, regardless of danger. ‪#‎Everest2015

After reading these entries I exclaimed to a friend, “I want to live like Dan.”  I am learning through his memorial page, others do, too. 

Wayne Price was with Dan last year on the trek to Everest Base Camp, and filmed Dan at the orphanage. From Wayne’s Facebook Page: 

"What's on your mind, Facebook asks, as I struggle along with you to find the words to describe the love and loss I have been feeling the past 48 hours. Robert Frost said, "A poem...begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion finds the thought and the thought finds the words."

Dan Fredinburg was, and will always be, a complete poem. In the short time our eyes played ping pong on this Earth, I bore witness to the rarest of rare, a human so aware that his life was a work in progress, that he actively sought every one and every experience possible in order to... find the words.

A little over a year ago, during a spontaneous dinner on a Tuesday night in San Francisco, I looked across the table at my friend who was hauling down his second plate of food, and asked him, "Aren't you going to Everest, like, in a few days?" He swallowed, took another bite, reached for my plate, took a bite and barely having swallowed this one, said, "Wanna come?"

This is for you, Dan. I wrote it while sitting on a plane, not fighting back tears, flying back home to be with our friends. If it sucks, I'm sure I'll hear you laughing at me. Just know while you laugh that I'm working on that last thing you asked of me before leaving, for the kids we met, for Nepal.

AND...

I met a magic man 

Who with one glance 

Convinced me to take a chance

with my own sanity.

An invitation to the next destination

Of my own humanity. 

His name was Dan,

Which mixed up spells and...

I hopped a flight through the night 

And landed back in time

Where a dime could get you fed 

Or a bed. 

Where earth and sky both were red.

Barely time to think

Decided on a blink 

To tame a mountain.

What the hell am I doing here

at the end of the road?

At the end of the year it might make sense. 

Now breathing is my best defense

As I ascend...

I look over to my friend 

Who hides behind a bandana and yellow specs. 

I can feel him smile 

Like a child.

This is mountain,

We've been told. 

This is mountain,

We've been sold.

The swirling rush of wind and river

Winding 

Finding peace, despite a shiver

A promise, delivered

On day one.

Yet the man's duty isn't done 

Until he peaks. 

Until he finds what he seeks

Atop the mountain.

Where the only place to look is down

Upon the very ground we walk now

And...

My feet complete their rounds

Each step, tiny sounds 

From mighty hounds 

Whisper "Stop! Turn around!"

The voices

The choices 

The mountain compounds.

As we arrive, 

Alive

Together 

No matter the weather,

Or distant the pain.

Not a hug or a drug

That can cure the insane.

The mountain still looms 

As I bid adieu 

For I've come and I've done

What I needed to do

But you, magic man

With the peak in your eyes. 

As you chase the horizon

Making truth out of lies. 

Crossing over a rainbow

Sliding into the gold

Living life like a story

That has to be told.

That hasn't an ending 

But rather, two 

You tame the mountain,

Or the mountain tames you"

Wayne Price

Let the messages of Dan’s life also be his mandala, the sands of his life, the energy of his words and his work continues here with us in this room today. Take the lessons of this White Tara mandala with you and spend some time thinking how this life, this climb can be as impactful as possible. 

Life By the Bell

I live by the bells

Heart leaps at the sound

Time in music

And as old as time

I live by the bells

Your cathedral or mine?

A Grandfather’s clock

It was hallway time

I live by the bells

Are we early or late?

A rhythm of loveliness

A mindful state

I live by the bells

From campus to now

The bell tower calls us

For what time will allow

I live by the bells

Better than watch

The bells take me skyward

Aloft at ear’s touch

I live by the bells

Technology need not change

Neighborhood’s watchman

Calls for day to arrange

Today

Today
Someone died
Someone lost a job
Someone had a wreck
Or popped two tires
Someone found out they have cancer
Or learned they are pregnant
Heard a heartbeat
Held their baby for the first time
Today someone had surgery
Today someone buried a loved one
Today was their day
And today is yours
A nurse wrote four numbers: the time of death
And we ate ice cream
Make it count.
Make every moment
A conscious moment
At the intersection
Of night and of day.

On Well Being in the Art Museum

Welcome to the place for pause, The Crow Collection of Asian Art. You can be quiet here. Just step inside off of the street and soak in a placid moment far from the stress of work and life. Here you can just be. You can be with a work of art, gazing absent of time into the intricacies of a miniature mountain made of jade in the Qing Dynasty. You can sit with a Japanese Screen of the Edo Period and contemplate your place in the world and your relationship with nature. There are no walls in this museum. Horizons take us to new landscapes. You can feel the change after just a few minutes. You are calmer. More relaxed. The rooms are dark, pensive with lights illuminating your path and revealing your next turn. This is an oasis far from the tug of technology.

You are welcomed here, welcomed to be calm, quiet and curious. 

You are welcomed to belong. We believe you can belong to wellbeing. In Asia, nature and art cannot be separated. By being in these spaces with works of art depicting the natural world, you are taking care of your being. You can find new practices like centering your breath, meditation and yoga. You can soak in not twenty objects but maybe only three. Works of art from Asia are meant to be contemplative. Art for the mind.

We know that spending slow time with art has wonderful benefits to the body: decreased blood pressure, reduced cortisol, lower heart rate. These moments with works of art, practiced with intention and pattern can reduce, even reverse the damaging effects of prolonged stress. Museums offer this kinder, gentler medicine.

Along with churches, we may be one of the few quiet (and free) spaces left in the world for personal wellbeing retreats. We offer access to tranquility and a place to think, to imagine a future where you know how to take care of yourself, others and the environment. We offer growth moments and the freedom to be curious and learn about time-tested traditions of wellness throughout Asia. And looking at art is the portal to them. Be well with us.

Remarks for Tatlin's Whisper #6

Amy Lewis Hofland

Remarks for Tatlin's Whisper #6

A participatory political artwork by Cuban artist Tania Bruguera

April 13, 2015

Please be peaceful, she wrote

Believe Art leads to multiple interpretations.

Summon the diversity of ideas. 

Summon passion to defend those ideas.

Summon freedom

Our nature is peaceful. 

Bamboo and Grey  

And Rain. And Impermanent Clouds move past. 

We can run to the river. We can run to White Rock Lake. 

Head uncovered. 

Free to say what we feel and what we know to be true. 

We are free to believe.

Art is our voice today. Art is their voice. 

Today we murmur the voices of

Pier Paolo Pasolini

Robert Mapplethorpe

Andrei Tarkovsky

Owen Maseko

Caravaggio

Charlie Chaplin

Paul Klee

Jafar Panahi

M.F. Husain

Ai Weiwei

And today we speak for Tania Bruguera.

Our words are her words.

Our freedoms are her freedoms.

Our hope is her hope.

So bring your peaceful nature

And your full hearts  

And be aware.

Be mindful.

And brave.

Be Tania. Be her today. Be our tomorrow.

Frozen

About six weeks ago I found a small lump at the base of my throat. Once you find something like that (and I pray you don't) it is impossible to ignore. I called my internist immediately and they scheduled an appointment for me immediately. Scary. "I'm sure it's nothing, but let's do a sonogram just to make sure," he said warmly and confidently. I bought his confidence and spent the next morning getting to know a sonogram tech who didn't mask her process very well. She left to show the images to a doctor on staff (Scary. Images mean "something".) I tried to look at fuzzy pictures of "something" but self-diagnosis has never been my gift. She returned, noticeably more somber--and as I expected, told me they would send the images to my doctor as soon as possible. Wait Number One.

After 48 hours I started calling the office, and without any patience in my pocket, I became That Person. After my fourth call, and another sleepless night he called. He used the words cyst, nodule and lump...endocrinologist, "90% of these are benign", but let's get you in there swiftly. Five days later I met the specialist. He sensed my overactive Internet Research, my inescapable anxiety and the fact that I was already way past "I'm sure it's nothing." 30 minutes later I was having a fine needle aspiration. Happily. It was a step toward knowledge. And "nothing". Wait Number Two.

Exactly one week and one day later the nurse from his office called. A very positive voice mail with the words "I'll be happy to speak with you about your results" threw me off. It had to be good. She wouldn't use the word happy. Wrong. She used words in our short conversation like suspicious and inconclusive: not determined to be benign nor malignant. "Suspicious" immediately became my least-favorite word in the English language. My "sample" would be sent for molecular testing--a lengthier, more involved study of the cells. Wait Number Three.

Five minutes after our family arrived poolside at Lost Pines for a graduate school reunion the call came in. I missed it. Short message from the endocrinologist: "I need to speak to you about your test results". Transparently not good. And that was ok. I called back standing next to my four best girl friends from UNT, my husband and all of our kids in 100*. Without a pen. "Suspicious Cells. 50% or more likelihood of cancer. Not an emergency, but I'm going to refer you to a surgeon. The thyroid needs to come out. Call me if you have any questions." He was warm and empathised with my chaos. I scrambled for a pen--intuitively provided by Beth. I think I forgot to give it back to her. Frozen. Wait Number Four.

Fortunately a weekend of five women, a husband and eight kids distracted me from thinking...too much. 3 am brought some horrid moments several nights in a row but I started breathing and worked my way out of those caves back to a semi-restless sleep. One week later I met the surgeon. Answers. Questions. And the road came to a fork: option A) take half of the thyroid (the one with the lump) and test it for cancer--if positive a return to surgery to take the other half; if negative the remaining thyroid would likely do the work of both (amazing body); option B) take the whole thyroid and be done with it; if positive some radiation and a body scan; if negative (and in both cases) take a synthetic thyroid for the rest of my life. We didn't stand at this impasse long. Getting to the "rest of my life" sounded really good, so we went with B. And No Wait. She was open tomorrow, which was Tuesday of this week. Just the way I like it. No Wait.

As a veteran of 21 operations for cleft lip and palate a thyroidectomy wasn't so bad. I had a formidable band of loved ones around me--in person, and texts and flowers, and calls. I believe in the power of prayers, and so in a bold move I posted a short report on FaceBook (much to my brother's dismay). I think I was a tad delirious when I typed it, but the response was overwhelming. I sent out a few emails--an effort to maintain some level of information management. As a patient, for the first time in a long time, I am humbled by and empathize with the need for a) peace in patience as one waits for information and b) privacy. If you know anyone going though this, know that procedures and tests, even surgery are the better moments in this process, because they are steps toward something or optimally, nothing. Frozen moments of waiting are the worst.

However, now that I can finally write about the last few weeks I find it cathartic (borrowing the word of a dear friend). I am now in Wait Number Five.

Tuesday I should get a call with the pathology results. Another fork, but this one has no option. There is a fifty-percent chance I will have what is known in the field as "The Good Cancer". The kind of cancer--if you are going to have cancer--you want to have. "The Good Cancer" immediately became my least-favorite oxymoron in the English language. I will need to treat surrounding cells for cancer and look for more..and survive a few more "Waits". Or...on the other side of the coin:

A fifty-percent chance I get to leave "frozen" and turn down the other road...to the rest of my life. Exhaling...and praying.

Incremental Celebrations

I've spent the last twelve hours celebrating 25's and 50's. Last night Scott and I ventured to Forth Worth leaving the severe weather in our rear-view mirror (usually we get our weather from Fort Worth). We found clear skies over a network of tents at the Amon Carter Museum of American Art. Cocktails on the plaza greeted us as did an intoxicating view of the downtown Fort Worth skyline. Initially we chuckled as we knew not a sould in sight--and enjoyed a few moments of total solitude in a bustling party. It didn't last long (and that was fun, too) as we saw Mary Burke (Marcus Fellows I fame) and Lori Eklund (Carter Director of Education). I love Fort Worth and a party among it's most committed art collectors was just was we needed. There was much to celebrate.

In 1961 Ruth Carter Stevenson opened the museum after her father gave the collection with a wish it would be housed in a museum free to the public. She has been an active force and leader on the board for the last fifty years--president since 1982. Unfamiliar with all things museum (but emboldened with a keen eye for art) she enlisted the help of the de Menils of Houston and legendary architect Philip Johnson. He designed the original building on museum hill in Fort Worth, 2 additions and the 2001 expansion. Ruth and her gaggle of children and grandchildren stood proudly on the stage as we happily toasted five decades. Former and long-time director Ron Tyler (one of my professors at UT) was in the room as well as the new director, Andrew J. Walker (newly arrived former curator of American Art at the St. Louis Museum of Art). Rick Brettell and his wife Carol also made the trip from Dallas.

The table cards (#10) and the place cards were written by hand in the most beautiful script. Our table of eight was appropriately seated with spouses separated and careful thought given to who would meet whom. Wine service and the courses were elegantly timed and delicious. And hot. "Anniversary Cake" a beautiful mini-cake in white fondant with gold beads (in icing) matched the gold beads on the glass plates. The speeches were both spirited and poignant--Scott and I were so pleased to be included. As we stood up and walked back out onto the plaza we were showered with a sky full of fireworks--one of Ruth's favorite things. I've written before about Texans and their audacity--something I believe forged the great art collections of our state. The night sky--over the cranes building the new addition to the Kimbell Art Museum--was expoding with color--a splendor in red, white and blue: a perfect metaphor to a family creating a visual legacy with a collection and a museum that is nothing less than world-class.

We were happy all the way home. And today--we joined my parents at the twenty-fifth anniversary of Trinity Episcopal Church in Dallas. It was a warm and welcoming luncheon--sitting among friends I've known from high school, my seven years at the Church of the Incarnation and more recently the Crow. The boys behaved (key to future invitations from my father possibly taking us to lunch) and the food was delicious. One of the choirmasters returned, the architect, former families and new ones. It was a gathering of people from moments in time since the church was formed in 1986.

So...two anniversaries, twenty-five years apart made up the celebrations of our weekend--preceeded by my father's seventieth birthday last Wednesday. It was also a sweet and nostalgic affair--with Scott, the boys and my parents enjoying A & J Bakery's Red Velvet Cake. He wanted little pomp and circumstance (we saved that for the Royal Wedding on Friday)--and so we obliged the patriarch of our family with understated joy. I let the boys plan the party (he wouldn't dare argue with them!) And a very happy 70th birthday party was had by all.

Something tells me this week might be boring in comparison...