Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 6 Comments

Reception

It has been years since my ears were cuffed in headphones and my mouth was next to a microphone. I hear my voice, crystalline and ‘live,’ reverberating over airwaves which scientists say can echo out for an unknown distance into the galaxy.

I can hear the familiar, open channel of space behind my words. It is silent, yet alive with zing, unseen. It is this vast vehicle that carried my message through the infinite for over fifteen years in my time at this radio station as a DJ and staff member. That was another era in my life. Today is the first time I’ve been back to the station in years.

The host, my long-time friend, welcomes me for conversation and poetry on this Sunday morning radio program, The Oasis. Born in Iran, he’s been in the States for decades. A lover of Rumi, a passionate gardener, he’s a poet. A chess player. A soulful seeker. Our exchange goes deep quickly, as usual. We speak on the fragility of life and the preciousness of the moment.

This year his 82 year-old mother died at home, passing with quiet perfection in her sleep. That evening they’d played backgammon, an ongoing, friendly ritual they enjoyed, going back and forth as winners and losers. That night they squared up, even. She ate a sandwich for dinner. Went to bed. In the morning, he discovered she’d passed. Suddenly, only a body remained, her life force gone from this realm, moved on to an unseen mystery.

My friend turns off the mic, and segues to Sting. When the “ON AIR” light blinks off, he smiles at me across the console. “I think we’re transmitting something good. I’ve got goosebumps.”

Later, back on the air, he reads a poem about invisibility. Anyone that’s tuning in can only hear his words, can only imagine what this radio host may look like. They know not of his goatee, neatly trimmed, that moves when his mouth pronounces “now.” They are left only to make shape of his features with their minds, molding tones to define the reverberations through their speakers.

This poet and I, we do not know where our words are reaching. Is anyone out there? This could be a conversation had just between us, amplified by apparatus, but everyone is watching football. We cannot see. We can only speak from our hearts about love and death and art and dreams, hoping that someone hears. Trusting that words may ring true.

There is a channel, tuned on a dial, something we call reception. Through it invisible matter crosses the ether. It is not meant to be known with the eyes.

But it exists. There for all that tune in and listen.

 

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Living the Bridge

It can be hard to bridge the realms.

Yesterday I stood with headphones and a microphone in the studio of Kauai Community Radio asking every listener to make a phone call and donate money to the station.  Across the board from me was the host of an eclectic show that features music, musings, poetry and inspired words to enlighten.

This DJ is ringing bells and calling in the angels while I’ll repeat the phone number to call.  Usually, this radio show is stretching toward the realms of the Divine.  Today, I’m grounding the conversation in tallies and cold hard cash, making requests for thousands of dollars.

The host reads Hafiz, reminding listeners of the The Friend.  When the poem is complete, he mentions that inside the book jacket, the translator, Daniel Ladinsky, has made a dedication to avatar, Meher Baba.  As we’re live, on the air, he hands me the 1937 photograph of the guru, standing in Cannes, France.  He is by a tree, smiling in white, hair flowing.   So often when I gaze upon photos of this man, waves of sensation run through my body.  A visceral reaction that defies rationalization, one I have never fully understood.

courtesy of http://www.avatarmeherbaba.org

I stand looking at the saint, reverberating in the high prose of Hafiz, and I repeat into the mic that the radio station has less than two hours to reach its goal of $50,000.  I announce the phone number again.  I mention the tax-deductible aspect of their donation.  I try to bridge the worlds of the practical and the ethereal as the host rings those om-engraved chimes one more time.

He cuts to music and I stand with Meher Baba, black and white, in France.  The phones are ringing in the studio and volunteers are bustling about.  What is it about this man?

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Rex had been staying at his ashram in India for months before landing back on the island into my arms, so many years ago.  Like many devotees, he carried multiple photographs of his guide and I was surrounded by pictures of the man that gazed at me through the rose and sandalwood incense Rex burned in his honor.

On Rex’s second day back home, the day we conceived Jeb, it was Meher Baba that gazed at me from a necklace around his neck, smiling in unconditional love as spermatozoa met ovum.

The phone rings again in the KKCR studios and this time I answer.  A woman with the last name of Amsterdam calls to say that she wants to donate to the station because we mentioned Meher Baba’s name.  I take down her address, phone number, email and the amount of money she wants to give, filling out the appropriate form.  Is this what it looks like to bridge the worlds?

At high noon, the radio station’s fund drive has officially come to a close and in about 2 hours we’ve raised over $2,000.  Peter Gabriel is singing that in this moment he “feels so connected” and the program host’s spirits are soaring as he lip syncs along, rejoicing in the accomplishment.

Next week it will be back to Persian poetry and excerpts from the We’Moon Calendar.  He can gaze upon the face of Meher Baba or any other saint with no need to mention monetary sums.

As for me, I’m usually at home with Jeb on Sundays.  Not always listening to the radio.  Often cleaning the bathroom or building Legos.  Making bridges of my own between that ecstatic day of conception – March 13, 2003 – and all of the practicals necessitated to live the fruit it bore.  One of Meher Baba’s more well-known quotes comes to mind as I ponder living this link.

Don’t worry, be happy.