From the Road – Page 52

When Art Recreates Life

One of the most enjoyable aspects of my life has been directing short films. A 16mm Legomation in grade school, a few Hi-8 oddballs and a claymation in high school, and in the past years just shy of a decade, short films collaboratively produced with my brother Jae. With each film we fall shy of our expectations and full potential on one or more levels, but each has produced a challenge unlike the prior, granting us experience and most importantly, time together in which we just flow. We are always complimented by our actors and crew as being organized, professional, and enjoyable to work with.

Last week we shot the first three minutes of a new short called “Sweet Memory”, produced for a local horror challenge put on by one of the teams that has participated in all three of the Almost Famous Film Festival 48 hour challenges.

Outside of the preparation for the shoot (securing the location, renting lights and additional mic equipment, writing the script, locating the actors), Jae and I were on set for ten hours. Ten hours for just three minutes, to reproduce a scene that unfolds without script or guidance countless thousands of times every day — a man visits a local bar to unload this burden, the bar tender greeting him by name and pouring his favorite drink.

Take one was flawless, but we need four more camera angles in order to cross cuts. The dialog must be perfect with each iterative recording. The glasses emptied or refilled. The wine poured back into the bottle. The soiled towel replaced. The actors returned to their starting places, the scripts rewound in the reels of their heads. And then the camera angle changes and the effort to maintain continuity redoubled as the lighting, sound, eye lines, and every shot detail must match. Is a reflection of the off-camera light showing in glass pane? Is the hi-light on the lead actor’s forehead the same as it was in the previous shot? Was the wine bottle label facing in or out?

Between shots, the scene comes to life as naturally as any real bar. Some of the extras know each other from previous projects, their catch-up banter a reminder of how small the Valley acting scene remains. A relief to my brother and I as we can focus entirely on our work and not worry about keeping them occupied nor content. The food platter prop is slowly reduced by a few pieces of cheese, crackers, and grapes between each shot. Everyone laughs, wondering if they will be missed on the big screen.

Tomorrow night we shoot the second half, roughly six to ten minutes of final footage. Another night time sequence, the conclusion to the film takes place in a multi-million dollar home in the East Valley, just south of the Superstitions. We will have the assistance of a good friend and technical expert in lighting and sound. Even with just two actors and three or four crew, the work ahead remains a daunting task.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00July 22nd, 2007|Film & Video, From the Road|0 Comments

The Spirit of the Rain

Last night, after writing the post Spirit of the Wind I drove to Tempe to see “Once”, the Irish musical. A movie well done. Simple, elegant story telling. An art all but lost in American film. I then drove to Arizona on the Rocks at 90th and Frank Lloyd Wright Blvd to climb. When I left the gym an hour later at six in the evening I looked to the North and was thrilled to witness the entrance of the powerful companion to the wind, the feared and cherished desert rain.

Its face was two, maybe three thousand feet tall, cloaked by an omnious hood reaching out and over a mile of its intended path. The leading edge was a translucent mixture of white, blue, falling to gray. The solid mass that fell from the back of the hood to the desert floor was an impenetrable black, momentarily illuminated by strokes of lightning within. The mountains north of Cave Creek and Carefree were completely masked and invisible.

I jumped on the freeway and then off again at Pima just a few exits later. One mile from Carefree highway, the water touched my windshield as counted drops. By the time I turned East on Carefree, the rain drove sideways and the road was overtaken at all but the most subtle crossings, native topsoil mixed with gravel moved as liquid, white and yellow painted boundaries all but obscured.

The rain did not just fall, It came down with bold intent. The aroma of wet creosote entered my car through the vents. There is no smell that touches me like that of the desert in rain. The outside temperature dropped from 103 to 85 in less than ten minutes, and then into the seventies.

At the “Y”, I went to the left and north toward Seven Springs. The temperature continued to drop. Seventy five. Seventy one. Sixty eight. Sixty five. The sun was setting. And the spirit of the wind had handed its torch to the spirit of the rain.

While I continued along the mixed paved and gravel road to Seven Springs, the wall of water moved south. But it never made it past Camelback Mountain nor the McDowells nor even much beyond Pinnacle Peak, from what I could discern the next morning through my exploration by vehicle and by foot. My brother confirmed that not a drop fell in the heart of Phoenix less than thirty miles south of where I Carefree was overwhelmed, the concrete and blacktop and pool decks once again the victor in the battle for supremacy in this drying, dying place.

At the Seven Springs camp ground I moved to the passenger side of my car, dropping the seat back and the windows open to allow a few drops to fall on my arms and face. I fell to sleep quickly and slept well, the sound of the rain upon the metal roof of my mobile shelter slowing to a mist well after midnight.

This morning I awoke as the sun rose to the green that only a recently wetted desert can paint. Not forest green nor apple green, but a florescent green that appears to glow from inside of the creosote, prickly pear, sage, and grasses.

I entered the gravel road on the far side of the park and headed north and east for a little over twenty miles, reminded of how much incredible beauty exists just outside the reach of the Phoenix wasteland. High desert plateaus and deep, heavily wooded canyons bounded by distant, purple peaks that rise and fall. Four Peaks to the immediate south. Weaver’s Needle beyond that.

With the choice of east to I-17 or west to the Verde river, I returned to Seven Springs, Cave Creek, and then Bartlett Reservoir to swim before driving into the only remaining portion of the desert north of the McDowells not converted to a “desert lifestyle” by Troon or Del Webb.

I recalled Pinnacle Peak as it was when I was in college, where I often slept for a few hours atop spires of decomposing granite between long, intense days in the studio of my Industrial Design program at ASU. I recall one night clearly where I lay on my stomach and peered over the edge of one such rock to observe a half dozen coyotes feasting on the night’s kill. Their barking was intoxicating, the excitement of the feast echoing across the then, mostly unaltered desert floor.

I reached the saddle of the McDowells by foot just as the sun broke through the final remnants of the previous night’s storm and the temperature rose from the low nineties to the low hundreds. Back down the rolling double track to Jomax and Dynamite roads, across the reservation, to the 202, and Tempe where I now sip an iced tea, wishing I was again being tested by the spirit of the rain.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00July 22nd, 2007|From the Road|0 Comments

The Spirit of the Wind

When I lived in Phoenix my final two years of high school and subsequent five years of college, I recall once or twice a storm of such incredible proportions that it invoked a sense of superstition, anthropomorphism giving voice to the wall of red sand that came in from the West.

photos by Dan Heim

This one thousand foot high curtain covered the Valley with intent, an ominous creature who year after year attempted to remove the pollution of this man-made anomaly. First the blasting sand to scour the buildings, cars, streets and manicured lawns. And then a torrential downpour to wash away the exfoliated skin of human creation, flooding streets, gullies, canals, and what remained of the natural washes and otherwise dry basins.

The evening news made victims of the people rescued by helicopter from the roof tops of their cars, having attempted to drive across a flooded roadway; and heroes of those who conducted the rescues. No one gave credit to this desert of ten thousand years whose implicit right it is to replenish herself not in subtlety, but in bold, dynamic flood.

It is a natural part of the ecosystem, an anticipated and joyous event that all but the modern city dwellers celebrate. Instead, they attempt to control it, ignoring that replacement of the original, fragmented and porous skin with concrete focuses and amplifies the run-off into unnatural channels ill equipped to deal with the volume. Two college degrees rendered useless in a single night as both civil engineers and weatherman Valley wide lowered their heads in shame, realizing they knew very little and could control even less.

In the subsequent years, however, the average, ambient night time temperature has increased by nearly ten degrees and the perpetual column of rising, hot air literally obliterates the moisture bearing clouds.

Two nights ago the desert unexpectedly came to life. I could smell the dust rising and an excited electrical charge. In the distance, beyond South Mountain, a few lightning strikes confirmed my body’s response to a childhood recollection. The spirit of the wind had returned.

In a matter of minutes, the visibility dropped to less than one hundred feet. I could not discern the color of the house across the street and traffic at the end of the block was visible only by the halo of head lamps emitted from cautious cars. My brother was nearly lost coming home from just one mile away, the corner street signs invisible.

I ran out to close the windows of my car and enjoyed the rocking motion for a few minutes as the wind erupted in seemingly random gusts. Back inside my parent’s home, the single pane, steel framed windows were no match for the fine particles which coated floor, furniture, and lungs.

Queen Creek, to the south of the Superstition Mountains was hammered with rain, the temperature dropping from 108F to seventy-something in just twenty minutes. Beyond South Mountain, just fifteen miles from downtown, it rained for an hour. But in downtown Phoenix the rain never came, void of the smell of moisture which usually accompanies this monsoon wind. The column of amplified heat was an impenetrable barrier that even ten thousand years of wisdom could not defeat.

Every year it gets hotter. Every summer, the average night time low and the number of nights which remain above 90F increase. Every year the rain moves further away from the heart of this place, depriving the residents of the very reason they moved here, a place of stark contrast and harsh, surprising beauty.

Only the ghosts of generations prior recall the cooler nights in the desert and smile for they know that some day, by subtlety or by bold flood, this place will be reclaimed and the rains restored.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00July 21st, 2007|From the Road|0 Comments

Donations received … more welcomed.

I am pleased to have receieved monetary donations from Terra Soft, a Hack-a-thon attendee, the law offices of HKE (our attorney), and my family for a total of $1500. In addition, my high school physics professor, with whom I have remained in touch all these years, today donated 8 solar panels worth more than $1200. My father and I will this weekend build shipping crates in order to bring them to Kenya as checked luggage.

We are off to a good start, but could use another ~$1500 in order to tackle the projects proposed. More donations are needed with just 3 weeks until my departure.

Thank you!
kai

By Kai Staats|2007-07-19T23:38:09-04:00July 19th, 2007|2007, Out of Africa|0 Comments

Pistis Orphanage & Academy, Nakuru, Kenya

Outside My Experience
In my life there are but two events that I hold of true value, experiences that I cherish over all else I have done with my career, family, or friends.

In 1995 I spent a month in Poland, designing and then coordinating the construction of a 2000 sq-ft, outdoor playground for the children of Salmopolska, in the mountains outside of Bielsko-Biawa. As the manager of the project with children and adults from 7 countries, it was an incredible experience of long, hard days, adventure and laughter that I will never forget.

In 2001, I ventured to work at a high school in Oshigambo, a small town in northern Namibia, Africa. I assisted the teachers and students in the reconstruction of their computer lab, helping to upgrade the antiquated but functional x86 computers with what parts and pieces were available, as well as introduce a YDL box and hand-held USB microscope. I gained friends with whom I remain in contact, and a memory of the music and energy that the children of Oshigambo radiate.

This second effort moved me in many more ways than I am able to express, for the witness of true poverty and a nation burdened by AIDS coupled with energetic, eager school children who want to learn and grow beyond their current social-economic confines. An amazing tribute to the human spirit.

Understanding & Respect
In these volunteer opportunities, I fear I am selfish for I may have grown more than those whom I ventured to work with. In my forthcoming time in Kenya, I fully expect to once again be moved in this way, but more importantly, to leave knowing that my contribution initiated a life long relationship through which I will gain a growing level of understanding and respect.

I offer this channel of communication as a means of sharing my time in Kenya. I invite you to explore beyond that which you read in the daily paper and watch on TV –to get involved through research, communication, and contribution– even your own travel to a place that may benefit from your hands, feet, passion, and energy.

Your Support is Needed

[links to the donations pages are removed]

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00June 26th, 2007|2007, Out of Africa|0 Comments

Closing the Technology Gap

Oshigambo, Namibia
In 2001 I ventured to North Namibia as a volunteer at a high school in Oshigambo. It was an incredible experience (of which I will share more another time).

When I first received confirmation of my acceptance as a volunteer, I was asked what I could do, a request for skills. I listed “carpentry, basic masonry, plumbing, electrical wiring, teaching English and writing.” I intentionally did not list computers. The response was, “We need help in our computer lab.” To which I responded, “Don’t you need something built? A leaking roof repaired?” And again I received, “Can you assist us with our computers.” I gave in, “Yes, yes, of course. I will be pleased to assist with your computer lab.” It seems my time away from computers would be with computers.

As this was a few months prior to 9/11, I was allowed to hand carry an Apple 8500 (to which I bolted a black steel handle) onto the plane. Adorned with “Yellow Dog Linux” and “Take a Bite Out of NT” stickers, it drew some attention. In Johannesburg, an American noticed my odd luggage and said, “Oh! My brother uses Yellow Dog Linux.” I was taken back, “Really? What does he do?” “Works at Penn State. He converted his entire iMac lab to YDL last year. Loves it. How did you hear about Yellow Dog?” I smiled. An unexpected ego trip is fun every now and again.

Linux Through the Etosha Pan
Two weeks later I had installed my YDL box and conducted a few crash courses on the use of Linux and Mac OS. I helped to improve the Oshigambo computer lab by digging through more than 50 donated and completely worthless early 80s computers whose only value was the RAM and drives. I consolidated more than 100 floppies onto a single CD-R and introduced a hand-held USB microscope (which I had brought with me) to their biology program.

One evening, having worked another 14 hour day and needing a break, I attached the 8500 to a translucent LCD adapater on an overhead projector (the kind designed for writing on a looped roll of cellophane) and turned out the classroom lights. The teacher, students, and I listened and danced to Samantha Mamba while color swirled larger than life to the rythm of the music. It passed the time while we waited for yet another Windows 3.11 system to re-install. You can’t imaging my frustration for having not brought a set of Red Hat CDs.

I was pleased to learn of Schoolnet Namibia, a not-for-profit that is installing Linux boxes in every Namibian computer lab possible while building a network of wireless data connectivity throughout the country, branching from the sole telcom microwave backbone from South to North. All of the routers and access point control centers ran Red Hat Linux, so the Yellow Dog had good company. But at that time, Schoolnet had not yet brought inernet connectivity to Oshigambo.

No more hand me downs, please.
I had brought a dual-boot 8500 and it was 4x faster than most of the machines in the lab and yet, a few teachers had modern Pentium laptops which topped the 8500 by 2x. I had ventured to Africa with the default American assumption that our hand-me-downs would be well received by those who had less. In other arenas this may may be true, but where computers and the internet are concerned, this is not the case.

While I was feeling bad I didn’t have something a bit newer, the museum pieces in the closet were not delivered a decade ago but donated just a two years prior. They were already twenty years old. Ridiculous, bordering offensive.

In my final day at Oshigambo I prepared a series of HOWTOs for re-installation, maintenance, and user administration. I summarized the many white board discussions that reinforced the training the teachers had gained at the university. And in closing, I addressed the closet full of junk, making it very clear that it was useless and should be recycled, discarded … or buried.

This was the hardest part to explain, to make clear that their relatively new donations were simply not capable of burning CD-Rs, let alone connecting to the internet nor playing MP3s. The teachers and students were well aware of what was available, the latest technology, but knowing their next donation might be a few years away the were very reluctant to let go of 30+ Apple IIe computers whose drives were locked-up or missing and boot floppies non existent.

Leveling the Playing Field
Our three decade curve of technological improvement in the computer industry is completely cut through as people move from never having used a telephone to making home movies on their laptop in one jump.

It is terribly important to recognize the functions the internet serves to bridge gaps between peoples of such varied socio-economic backgrounds, by:

a) Enabling eveyone to recognize the latest, greatest technology offerings.

b) Enabling two or more otherwise disconnected parties to engage and work together to level the disparate playing fields.

c) Enabling all involved to grow through story telling, experience, and most important of all, understanding.

The spread of technology to all people serves to improve quality of life, yes. But if the spread of that technology is not accompanied by improved understanding and empathy, then we are missing the most important aspect of these collaborative relationships –humanity.

By Kai Staats|2013-10-08T20:51:38-04:00June 24th, 2007|2007, Out of Africa|0 Comments

Fallen from the Tree

Walking home from work late Tuesday afternoon, I came upon my neighbor Jeff three doors down, sitting on his front porch. He was talking to and laughing with two young girls (whose names I do not know) who are neighbors to him, another house or two away. They intentionally interrupted our conversation with playful banter, as pre-teens do, giggling more than communicating by words. I essentially gave up my attempt at a conversation with Jeff. We both shrugged our shoulders, smiled, and I walked away.

On my departure, the girls no longer had a conversation to mediate, and so they jumped from his porch and climbed to the lowest branches of a diciduous tree that grows from the space between the walk and the street. I turned to look over my shoulder when they asked, nearly in unison —

“J-e-f-f! Do you have insurance?”

Jeff responded, “What?”

“Do you have insurance?” the older repeated.

Jeff laughed, a bit nervous, “Uhh, yeah, of course. Why?”

Without hesitation, “Well, if we fall from your tree, we want to know if we can sue you.”

Yikes! I kept walking, shaking my head and wondering if a modern childhood can truly be that heavily burdened with such frightful concerns.

By Kai Staats|2007-06-20T17:23:32-04:00June 20th, 2007|At Home in the Rockies|0 Comments

An Afternoon Swim

Pulled into a corner gas station, not unlike the Circle-K at the intersection of McDowell and 7th Avenue in Phoenix. A young gas station attendant came out of the retail store front, greeting me and a few friends. He was light skinned with blond hair and glasses. An older, slightly chubby Harry Potter.

He walked toward the corner of the lot which had three or four slabs of new concrete, still grey and wet. He looked at the concrete pools, turned to us and said, “Watch this!”

Smiling, he jumped into the wet concrete, a good fifteen or twenty feet long and ten wide. He was treading, slowly, with his shoulders above the surface. Then he slowly sunk, still smiling, his arms at the surface at first, then no more. He chin, nose, glasses, and then finally nothing was left. He never struggled nor appeared afraid. We had all moved to the edge of the obviously very deep concrete pour, not certain what to make of this bizarre situation. A moment later his feet kicked through the surface, concrete splashing, and then he was gone.

We stood there, hands on thighs, watching, waiting … but he never came up again.

By Kai Staats|2007-06-13T09:54:59-04:00June 13th, 2007|Dreams|0 Comments

Digital Transmigration

a – Hey, how are you?

b – Good, good thank you. You?

a – Yeah, I’m doing well, thanks. (pause) So how’s work?

b – Work? (pause) Yeah, it’s ok. No. No, it’s better than that –look, that’s why I asked you to come here. I’ve got something to talk to you about.

a – Shit, what happened this time? (smiling)

b – Nothing. Nothing, man. (looks down at the table, coils the drinking straw wrapper around his finger then unwinds it) Well, actually, something … something pretty big.

a – (casually) You in trouble?

b – No, it’s not like that. It’s not like anything I’ve done before.

a – So, fill me in. (smirking) Is it a new tech that looks really good in white?

b – (smiling, quickly returning to a serious gaze) No, more important than that.

a – More im–

b – Look, give me a second. Sorry. This is not easy to explain.

a – (surprised) Ok, you got it. I’m listening. (playing with the straw in his cola)

b – Follow me for a few moments and I will try to explain. This isn’t easy.

a – (nods)

b – This is a progression of my work on objective spacial orientation.

a – Of course. Your fascinati-, no obsession. What else? (rolling eyes)

b – (ignoring sarcastic comment, frustrated, raises voice mementarily) LOOK! JUST LIS- (pauses, lowers voice), Just listen to me. (looks around) Let’s go back to the basics. Ok?

a – (understanding the gravity of the situation, nods)

b – For any macro, meaning not subatomic nor fundamental object to move from point A to point B, it must travel through the physical space.

a – Of course. A basic set of calc equations can describe this motion.

b – Right. So, that motion from point A to point B takes the particle through a described distance and of equal importance, this motion requires a particular period of time depending upon its velocity.

a – Also well understood and describable.

b – Right. (impatient, nervous) Here me out.

a – Sorry.

b – It’s ok, I just have not yet tried to speak of this new, this new … I have not described it yet so it is not coming out real smooth like.

(takes a breath, looks at the table and back to

[a], then continues)

During the motion of the object, it may interact with any number of other objects in its path, affecting them in one way or another –but always affecting them in such a way that the path of the object, in theory, could be traced by its path of affects, like following the tracks of an animal on a sandy beach.

a – Right. But what if the object is moving through a vacuum?

b – Of course. Then it has an initial velocity, meaning direction and speed, and a terminus as defined by what it hits when it stops. And during its travel, its course of motion is always defined by its relation to its starting point, ending point, or any number of points between.

a – Correct. So —

b – So, the object’s place in its universe is object-centric. Where it is, where it is going, and how fast it is moving to get there are all described according to the other objects around it.

a – Right. But what do you mean by “object-centric”?

b – That we are describing the object’s properties according to those around it.

a – Well, how else would you describe it?

b – So that’s the crux, that’s why I am here talking to you.

a – (leands forward, arms resting on table) I’m listening.

b – What if the objects around the object d-e-f-i-n-e it, that is, what if they determine what and where that object is through a (pause), a sort of … mutual concensus.

a – Huh?

b – What if they “agree” to the properties of the object?

a – I was following you for a while. Basic macro physics. But you lost me.

b – I know, it still evades me. It’s really hard to describe. I can f-e-e-l it more so than describe it. Give me a moment (pauses, plays with drinking straw wrapper again). I think I –I know I discovered something pretty amazing. But it will sound crazy.

a – I would expect nothing less of you (smiling).

b – My research has shown that the position and definition of an object, macro or sub-atomic is not quite as rigid as we have assumed.

a – Rigid?

b – Yeah, rigid. Defined. Solid. Objects can migrate from point A to point C without passing through point B. In fact, without moving at all.

a – I don’t get it.

b – Take the motion we agree to, that which defines all objects in motion according to the basics of Newtonian mechanics and call it analog migration. Then consider the potential for an object to be at point A one moment and the very next moment, without passage of time, at point C.

a – Are you talking about the breakdown of Newtonian mechanics and subatomic particle creation?

b – No.

a – You lost me again.

b – Listen. I think I have discovered something really important. It seems that the objects around a particular object define its position through an agreement of sorts, a mapping of space and time. And if they all agree that the object is no longer at point A but instead at point C, the object can instantly be in the new location.

a – Objects agreeing?

b- (frustrated) Listen –no, look. Just watch. Watch the straw wrapper.

(And in that instant, the wrapper jumped two inches to the left of its original position without sliding nor moving nor through any assistance by [b] at all.)

a – (stunned, jumps back into his chair, holding the table at a distance) Jesus Chrst! (looking at [b], the table, the wrapper, and back to [b] again) Shit. What just– what did you jus– How the hell did you do that? What did you do?

b – I didn’t really _do_ anything. I just ‘suggested’ that the wrapper _be_ somewhere else. There were no objections. No one disagreed. And then it just transmigrated.

a – Who agreed? Transmi-whatrated? Who agreed?

b – Not “who”, but “what”. And yes, it t-r-a-n-s-migrated.

a – You’re scaring me (pause, laughs uncomfortably) Can you do that again?

(the wrapper instantly reappeared back in its original position)

a – (taking a deep breath) Oh god. Holy shit. (slapping his hands on the table) Ok. Ok. Wait. Ok. Shit.

b – (smiling, nervously)

a – Can you show me how to do that?

b – Not certain. I don’t even know how I do it. It just happened.

a – What do you mean it just happened. What just happened. Where you hit by lightening? Did aliens shove something up your ass? Did you discover some amazing drug or something? (grabbing his water glass) Did you drug me?

b – No, it just happened. About six months ago.

a – What just happened? Why did you wait six months to tell me? This is incredible!

b – Remember when we were kids and after seeing Star Wars, we would lie on our bed at night and try over and over and over again to make something on the other side of the room move, our arms outstretched and fingers trying to direct the force?

a – (laughing) Yeah. Wait, are you telling me you can use the force?

b – Sort of. Maybe. (tapping fingers on table) I’m not certain. I just never stopped trying. It’s sort of a meditation for me sometimes when I need to focus my mind. You know, to just focus on one thing and shut everything else out.

a – And it just worked?

b – Not at first. It’s a little strange, that is, to tell you how it happened.

a – It can’t be any more strange than what you have just shown me.

b – Right, ok. (obviously relieved to have made it this far) So I was sitting my bath tub and, well … I was trying to just make the nob on the end of the tub turn because the water was getting cold. But I was trying to do it with my mind.

a – And it worked?

b – I think so. I must have fallen asleep because all I know is that I awoke to the water nearly running over the edges of the tub, the overflow hole doing its best to drain the excess.

a – What if it was just your foot, or maybe you turned the knob in your sleep?

b – Yeah, I thought of that. Except that when I awoke, the knobs for the hot and cold water were reversed. And not just the knobs, but the plumbing too. Hot was cold and cold was hot.

a – What? Are you k-i-d-d-i-n-g? (scared look on his face)

b – No. I wish I was. It scared the shit out of me. I thought I was dreaming but I could not wake up. The bath tub is still like that, switched.

a – Shit.

(silence … both just looked at their hands, the table)

b – And it was only later that day that I realized I had fallen to sleep in the tub while trying to turn the hot water on with my mind … but I had also dreamt about a time when I was a kid, in a hotel room with my parents, and burnt myself because the hot and cold valves were backward. I was just a kid, but that taught me something really important –the rules can be broken.

a – So you’re saying you fell asleep trying to make the hot water turn on with your mind and awoke with the hot and cold valves replumbed?

b – Yeah, something like that.

a – I don’t really know what to do right now. I’m a little scared. I mean, I mean if I hadn’t seen what you just did I would think you were crazy. Actually, I still think you are crazy. But now I am feeling crazy too. This is, this is messed up. It just doesn’t make sense.

b – But it is beginning to.

a – Beginning to make sense?

b – Yeah, I think so. Look, if I didn’t have a strong background in mathematics and physics I would probably think my bathtub was haunted or that god had given me some gift. But that’s not it. I think this is really important.

a – (nodding) But how did you do it again? I mean without falling asleep in your bathtub? When was the next time?

b – It was another three months before it happened again. I was setting the table for dinner with Jennifer. I had just placed the wine glasses on the right side of the plates, the forks and knives and spoons in their respective places. I turned and walked back into the kitchen and was confused, not fully recalling if the wine glasses were suppose to go on the right or left. I decided that when I would return to the table I would switch the wine glasses to the other side.

a – And when you came back, they were already switched, right?

b – Yeah, exactly. I figured I was just tired, confused, or something. But then it started happening more and more often, eventually every day or so until it became something I could do intentionally.

a – Like with the wrapper.

b – Yes.

a – (shaking head)

b – So I took this to the lab and built a series of experiments to determine what exactly was happening. And the results were, well, useless. I can’t prove a thing, except that it just happens and I can do it over and over again except in one case.

a – What’s that?

b – If I don’t “believe” I can cause the object to digitally transmigrate.

a – You are saying this is a about will power?

b – Actually, it’s about acceptance.

a – I don’t get it.

b – If I try too hard, it doesn’t work. Just like when we were kids trying to move objects using the force. We strained, held our breath, used phrases from the movies –everything we could but it never worked. But in the bathtub, it happened after I fell asleep.

a – You think you are the only one?

b – No, this probably happens to a lot of people and the don’t know, or they write it off to forgetting where they put their keys, or they are locked away somewhere. (pausing) The scientific community has always assumed that to move an object from point A to point C requires energy. An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. Basic Newtonian mechanics.

a – Back to Newton again?

b – Yeah, back to Newton. So maybe we have all been trying too hard. Sending sub-atomic particles through accelerators at nearlythe speed of light and then colliding them into each other to see what comes from the resultant explosion.

a – What wrong with that?

b – Nothing, it accomplished what it should. But what if there is another way, another way to interact that requires little or nor energy at all? Instead, a simple acceptance of something, an agreement by all parties involved, and then it just is.

a – Who are these parties? You? The table?

b – Yes. Me. The table. Even you. We all expect the world to exist in a particular fashion, and so it does. But if we just expect it to exist in some other fashion, maybe it could. Instantly. There is no difference between that wrapper being there (pointing) or there. It’s the same number of molecules, same number of atoms. I am not asking for a change in anything but position. And it just happens.

a – This doesn’t make any sense. Can you prove it?

b – I think I just did.

a – No, you just proved that you are more closely related to the X-Men than your own mother. (pausing, looking at his hands) I don’t think the scientific community is ready for this. No way. They will lock you up.

b – I know. But I have to tell them. They need to know. This changes everything. Everything we are doing.

a – Oh Jesus, I want to be there when you do.

b – Good. I need support. And a good demonstration. (smiling)

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00December 27th, 2006|Dreams|1 Comment

Ten Days on the San Juan

In September, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to float the San Juan river which divides the Navajo Nation from Utah on the Arizona/Utah border. This Grand Canyon Field Institute and Wild Rivers Expeditions trip was lead by my favorite river guide Christa, 2 additional boatmen, and 7 passengers. A good group it was, gelling in a way that I have been told is less frequent than not. We all told stories, listened, and worked hard as we explored 87 miles of this muddy, brown stream.

It is hard to explain what I experienced, for it remains overwhelming to me even now. The knowledge shared between Christa, Taylor (the new co-owner of Wild Rivers) and Greg (a botanist and archaeologist) was astounding. While I did my best to absorb the information conveyed about the history of the people (from ancient native Americans to the Mormon settlers), the million years old rock formations, fossils, and the river itself, I must humbly admit that I remain completely ignorant.

As an assistant in training to the crew, I was removed from the comfort of being an expert in my geek world, instead learning again how to do the simplest of tasks. Cutting vegetables, anchoring a boat with the bow line, even shitting in the out of doors (a task for which I would have claimed to be an expert prior to this trip) was given a new, strict, and valid set of rules.

I sat silent night after night in the kitchen and around the campfire, having little to contribute to the conversations. My favorite subjects of climbing and highspeed internode communication fabrics were utterly boring in comparison to discussion of the means by which people lived in that arid land, leaving just enough evidence for us to piece together a compelling story of who, why, and where they lived and died.

I was brought to tears one afternoon as Christa told the Hopi creation story, while our dozen rested on a sandstone shelf beneath a several hundred (perhaps thousand) year old cliff dwelling. I hid behind my camera to mask the upwelling emotional invoked by the passion with which Christa sang, without instrument nor even melody.