This is a series of essays about the work of art: the labor behind making art and what art does and does not reveal about this labor.
The Work of Art Part 1: A Brief Intro to Capitalism for Artists (Who Want to Kill Themselves)
The Work of Art Part 6: The Artist and Instagram, a Love Story
The Work of Art Part 8: No one will read your book, so why make art?
Before we get into the interview, a little housekeeping!
The Thalweg, a really special lit mag, is accepting submissions for their queer issue! Please submit. They pay their artists, and they’re just all-around kind and smart people.
Also! My lyric essay, More Fearsome than a River was published in the latest issue of Brink. They’re an awesome hybrid lit mag that features really exciting work.
Introducing Grace
I met Grace Hokama when I was four years old. 32 years later, she remains the wisest woman I know. Grace is pursuing a master’s in yogic philosophy at Naropa in Boulder, Colorado. For one of her classes, she created a podcast about Rasa, and I listened to it at the perfect moment.
I am excited to share her wisdom and, dare I say it, grace, with you all.
(P.S. If ya’ll have read When Darcy Met Lizzy, I named a character after her 💖)
(P.p.s her little sister, Lilli Hokama, narrated the audiobook for When Darcy Met Lizzy)
Transcript:
SD: Hi, Grace. Thank you so much for joining me today to talk a little bit about Rasa. How are you doing today?
GH: I’m doing really good. Thank you so much for having me. I appreciate that.
SD: I love being able to interview you because you are literally my oldest friend ever. So it’s just nice to be able to take our friendship to another level. I feel like friendship has roots in creativity because, do you remember that little milk box that we had? That was like the little fairy palace.
GH: Yes. I remember building lots of fairy houses with you on the field during school. And then when you changed schools, we would pass letters back and forth through my sister. I remember that.
SD: I know, right? Mango and Mongoose are code names.
GH: Yeah, that’s true. We have had very creative roots. That’s cool.
SD: Yeah, very storytelling-centered. So, you’re pursuing a Master’s degree, correct? It’s a master’s in Yogic philosophy, is that right?
GH: Yeah. So I’m studying yogic studies at Naropa University, and this is a fairly recent program developed a lot by Professor Ben Williams and a couple of other phenomenal professors over there. But yeah, so it’s a lot of yoga philosophy and history and meditation. Naropa is an accredited Buddhist-based university, so there’s also some tantric Buddhism connected with the program as well. It feels a lot like a religious studies degree, but all connected to yoga texts and yoga practices.
SD: Yeah, definitely a religious studies degree. So it’s interesting because I do consider you probably my most spiritual friend. I feel like you have been a spiritual force in my life, even since we were children. If you feel like you want to, do you want to talk a little bit about your personal spiritual journey? I find it very inspiring, the road you’ve taken in your life.
GH: Yeah, sure. I grew up in a very Christian household and my parents were devout Christians. My dad is an ordained Presbyterian pastor, and both of them worked as missionaries and with young students, like college-age kids and stuff like that. So yeah, I grew up very, I would say, indoctrinated into the church. And I totally bought it for a while. I was really gung-ho about Jesus and spreading his word, the love of God. But a couple of mission trips I went on kind of opened my eyes and I recognized that I didn’t think I knew better than other people and I didn’t want to tell them that I thought so. Just seeing and being exposed to other cultures and other peoples helped me realize that there’s just a lot of beauty all over and that there’s not really one true way. And it felt really yucky to try to tell people that there was one true way. So anyway, I broke off from the Christian Church for a while. I told my mom I was taking a break from God when I was like 16, and it was one of the healthiest things I did for myself. But then I think as I’ve grown up, as I’ve had a kid, and I think you’re right — I’ve always just been very in tune with the spiritual aspect of being a human. A lot of that is connected to nature for me, but I just started to see spirituality everywhere. And through traumatic events and hardships of life that I think everyone goes through, I really found solace in yoga and in breathwork. And then I just continued on this path and have found myself now studying Buddhism and Hinduism — those are also kind of colonial terms, so that’s kind of a whole other story we could go down. But anyway, yeah, it was just really recognizing this universal spirituality that pervades all of life and getting reconnected to that.
SD: That’s beautiful. I don’t know if you remember this, but I think it was like third grade. I was having one of my early death panics, and this is when you were like super into heaven. I was like, what if you die and there is no heaven and you just end? Because I was like, Grace is an expert. She must know what happens at the end. And you were like, well, who cares, because you’d be dead anyway. Or something like that — like, you wouldn’t even know. And I remember feeling like that was such an unsettling thought. I was like, I want to know. And you were like, why? Who cares? Would knowing affect your life now? Which honestly is such a profound thing for a 9-year-old to say. And so here was Grace, totally spiritually aligned and fine. And I was like, ugh.
GH: But those are great existential questions, you know? That’s funny. I’ve always, I guess, been very present-oriented. For better or worse.
SD: You have been very present-oriented. Yeah. I think that’s a gift that you have. And I was curious how that connects with yoga. Does it help you become more present? Do you practice yoga every day? Do you consider it a spiritual thing, or engaging with a higher power or something along those lines?
GH: Yeah, that’s a great question. So the modern postural Asana yoga that people typically think of when you say yoga — I don’t actually practice that every day. There have definitely been a few years where I did practice every day and I have a home practice, but the body keeps it real and sometimes I have back issues and I’ve had to kind of back off from some extra stretchy yoga stuff. But I actually just did a hot yoga class, and I do find it very spiritual, especially when you’re being guided by a teacher who can hold you in that space. It is a meditation and it is so good at getting you very centered and very in the moment. I also think it’s just one avenue — there are lots of ways to get into that zone. But as I’ve been at Naropa, I’ve been practicing a lot more seated, still meditation, which is also a supportive yoga. I do practice that every day with a Buddhist flair, where it’s just kind of noticing your mind, coming to mindfulness and your breath, and not being judgmental about it. Just holding space for yourself and for it. So that’s definitely a part of my daily practice.
SD: That’s amazing. How long do you meditate for generally?
GH: Generally, between about 20 to 30 minutes in the morning. Sometimes 40. Beyond that is harder for me.
SD: Yeah, for sure. For those of you listening, Grace is a teacher. And so she has a lot of hard work to do during the day. You’ve always been an early riser, but now you’re like an insanely early riser. What time do you normally get up?
GH: Normally five. I like to give myself a couple of hours before I have to engage with other people.
SD: It’s interesting — my partner Caro was always talking about how there are so many spiritual practices across the globe that say the best time to wake up is right before the sun rises. I do not participate in that. That is not for me.
GH: Yeah, no, it’s very true. I find it’s really helpful to meditate while the sun is coming up because there’s just a slight shift in nature that you can observe. Whereas if you’re meditating before, it’s really hard because you’re just sitting in the dark. And if it’s after — I don’t know — there’s just something magical about the transition.
SD: Yeah, that’s true. Toni Morrison actually said that she wrote as the sun was rising and that it was really important to her writing practice to be not before the sun, and not after the sun, but during the sunrise, which I think is interesting. So you moved to a small town. What’s the population of Victor?
GH: Under 400.
SD: A tiny, tiny, tiny town in the mountains of Colorado. And obviously, there were life circumstances that drove that choice and we’re not gonna get into that. But was there something about being more in nature or being in a small town that kind of helped you with that transition?
GH: Yeah, definitely. It’s funny you mention that because, you know, a lot of these ancient yogis would travel to higher elevation in the Himalayas because it was believed that you could attain enlightenment at a higher elevation. And some people think that you’re more likely to, which is really funny, because that’s not always the case, as I’ve witnessed being in one. But sometimes I’m like, you know what? Maybe all these people are enlightened and I just have no idea. But yeah, I think being in the mountains has really helped. It’s a lot of introverted folks who kind of keep to themselves, but then when you do encounter people, you might end up talking with them for like an hour. So it just feels like a removed-in-time space where you’re just more human and you just happen to run into someone and you can start talking to anyone — or not, if you don’t want to. But it has been a very healing place for me to be for sure.
SD: Yeah, I can imagine. I think sometimes I feel really bored if I feel like I’m not filling my life with events or things, or if I spend a lot of time at home. Even though I love our house and I love the nature that surrounds it, I can feel a little stir crazy. But I wonder if in your understanding of yogic philosophy, there’s some element of presence that comes with no distractions. It’s almost like I come to an existential terror because I’m like, oh my God, there’s nothing to distract me from me. I just have to do me. Have you had that experience being in a tiny town?
GH: Oh yeah. Yeah, a hundred percent. Like, there’s definitely times — well, first off, it’s just not very convenient. There’s no store, well, there’s like one tiny little central store with mailboxes, and there’s one bar, but I don’t really drink, so I don’t go to the bar. And I noticed that too — I’m coming to Boulder this week to do an intensive on Sufism and it’s really intense, like it’s from nine to six every day. But even so, I have an hour and a half lunch break and I notice myself being like, oh, I wonder how I should fill my time. Who should I try to see? Who do I still know in Boulder? And I recognized my thoughts doing that and I was like, okay, is this just an anxious part of myself trying to fill my time, maximize my city time, keep busy — instead of really sitting with myself and taking in all the things that I will be learning? So yeah, there’s definitely some of that. It is kind of convenient being up in the tiny town of Victor because there’s just not a lot going on and so you can face yourself. That’s been a great opportunity to do more of that.
SD: Yeah. I love that you phrased that as an opportunity, because I’ve found that the more time I spend with myself, the more I like myself. I’m like, wow, it’s just so great to hang out with myself.
GH: Oh my God, I love that. It’s like when I asked Stella, your daughter, what she liked most about herself and she was like, everything. I know there was a little critical-mom moment where I was like, oh my God, Stella’s egotistical. And then I was like, no, it’s okay. She really does love herself and that’s beautiful. And I’m so happy, because you know, that’s something that really weighed on our generation — just a very self-critical attitude about everything, like our physicality, our emotions, our academics. It’s rough being a millennial sometimes. But I think we also have that gift of emotional intelligence that we’ve been able to pass on to our kids. And hopefully they don’t have that same struggle. I’m sure they’ll have their own struggles, but that’s part of the evolution.
SD: Oh yeah, for sure. I heard that and I was like, oh my God, I’ve gotta be more like Stella. I need to channel her. Is she like 11, 12? How old is she now?
GH: She’s 11.
SD: Yeah. God, the confidence of an 11-year-old who loves everything about herself. I need that in my life.
GH: I know. Yeah. Same. She is inspirational to me too. Yeah, for sure.
SD: So, not only are you as a person very inspirational, but I listened to this podcast that you created for your master’s program, and I was just — it was crazy, because I was kind of having a little bit of a melodramatic Sammie Downing dark night of the soul sort of thing, where I’m like, what does it all mean? What’s the point of it all? I was in this self-imposed writing retreat in Oysterville, Washington. With winter storms, it was just terrible and bleak. And I was like, life is awful. Anyway — no, I’m kidding. And then I listened to your podcast, and it was one of those things where it was exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right time, and it just felt so magical — synchronicity, I guess, is what you would call it. And you were talking about this thing called Rasa. Is that how you pronounce it?
GH: Mm-hmm. Yeah, Rasa.
SD: And it honestly just — you know how sometimes you know something intellectually, but you don’t live it? Or you don’t practice it, like you’re saying, yeah, yeah, I know, but that’s really hard. I feel like that is what I felt — it was a confirmation of something that I knew in my heart, but was really hard to live. And I feel like listening to your podcast really helped me have the confidence to live it more fully. And I was just wondering if you could explain what Rasa is and what drew you to it as a topic.
GH: Yeah, of course. Thank you. Well, first off, thank you so much for listening to my podcast and spending time with that. The other thing I just want to mention briefly is that in these Shiva-Shakti traditions, there’s always this cycle of forgetting and remembering — like you’re talking about. We know these things, we know these truths. And I think that’s part of the universal spirituality that connects us, right? We all know that we need to love ourselves, but we always forget how to do that. And so life, I think, is all about just having those little inputs that help us remember and bring us back to the truth of ourselves and the world. So I’m glad that the Rasa podcast was able to do that for you. So, Rasa. And again, this is just something so phenomenal about studying the Indian culture — Indian philosophers and thinkers have been expanding and talking and writing about aesthetics for a really long time. So long that we can’t even comprehend it — way longer than any Western or European cultures. Rasa theory, I think, was first proposed by this sage called Bharata, and that was — they’re not exactly sure when, but it was about between 500 BCE and 500 CE. So, a long time ago. And essentially, he was a critic, someone who was able to look at theater and place it all together — this is what the best conveyance of an actor is like, this is where the lighting should be, this is how costumes are most effective — just really analytical about the whole theatrical performance. And Rasa is this quality that has a combination of things. Generally, it is presented in regards to theatrical performances, which in our modern day we could connect to movies and film. But it is really relevant to any artwork: literature and poetics is another huge one, and even visual art or music. Rasa is the combination of pervasive feelings that are exported through the artwork in combination with the receptivity of the perceiver or the audience member. So it’s this non-tangible quality, this exceedingly amazing emotion that you feel from the presentation of a theatrical performance, and what you get from it. For example, I don’t know if you have been watching Stranger Things —
SD: Oh my gosh, yes.
GH: Yeah. Stranger Things is huge. I feel like everywhere I go I see people wearing the Hellfire shirts and it’s just pervasive — it’s spread through our whole culture and people are obsessed. So much so that when the fifth season came out on Thanksgiving Day, Netflix crashed because there were so many people trying to watch it. So it’s kind of like that pull, that emotional engagement that we all have with Stranger Things. I don’t want to spoil anything, but what you can see immediately when you start watching Stranger Things is this darker, serious mood — it’s intense, but there are of course, little glimpses of humor and things that bring levity to it. So it’s that combination — what draws us into it? Why are we obsessed with it? What pulls us in? It’s these human stories that we all struggle with. Not that we’re all supernatural, but there’s someone we can connect to within the story, and it helps us engage in the universal story without being connected to our own egos. So that’s broadly what Rasa is. Does that help?
SD: Yeah, that does help. So let’s use Stranger Things as a touchstone because I feel like a lot of people know it. So Rasa exists in, I would assume, three places. It exists with the Duffer Brothers, the people creating the art. They have some sort of — I think you used the word “flavor” — some intangible energy that you can experience. It’s almost like a taste, a sensory experience. They have that when they’re creating it. So when they generated that story, they were alive with Rasa. Yeah?
GH: Yeah.
SD: And then the other place it exists is with the actors or the cinematographers — they’re experiencing it when they’re performing it.
GH: Yeah. And so this is interesting, because I think when you go back to these original texts, they say that Rasa exists with the creator — the writer, the directors — but that the actor doesn’t always. Some commentators have interpreted that actors don’t actually hold the Rasa. But I think that on some level they do, like they get caught up in these emotional states. And I know you’ve mentioned this, but my sister is an actress, and I’ve learned a lot about acting and method acting, where people get fully immersed in their character to the point where they almost become that character. So in my interpretation, I would say yes, the actors have Rasa as well. They are emotionally involved and connected to these characters.
SD: Yeah. The audience, yeah. So how does it affect the audience? How do we experience it?
GH: Yeah, and this is interesting, because it really talks about how the audience has to have an open heart. There’s a Sanskrit word for it, which I can’t remember right now, but if you aren’t open to it, you won’t be receiving the Rasa. It’s like this quality where you buy into it, you accept it. And it’s so funny — I hate crying in front of people, and I hate revealing my inner emotional self. But since becoming a mom, I weep at any children’s movie. They’re just so touching to me for some reason. And I used to fight it — when I was watching with my daughter, I didn’t want her to see me crying. And now I just embrace it. I’m like, yep, I’m gonna cry at Frozen and at Zootopia or whatever. I think it’s that — I’m just completely open to it, and this is how it expresses for me, by tearing up,
because it’s this visceral feeling in your whole body. It tastes like a flavor. It’s in your body — it’s somatic.
But yeah, some people shut that off. They’re not receptive to it. They aren’t open to the story or the sentimentality or the spirituality. And that’s kind of sad to me. I think it has to do with a lot of things. I think I’ve been there where I’ve just been like, I’m not gonna take any emotion from this, I’m not gonna be affected. But I think that’s a shame, because there’s something in there that’s beautiful and poignant and it’s a reflection of yourself.
SD: For sure, for sure. It’s funny because I never had a name for it. I think the closest I got was the Greek term catharsis — the goal of plays was to make the audience feel. That was kind of the closest thing I had come to. But I’ve always, since I was a kid, felt deeply connected to stories. Stories really impact me, to th e point where I remember watching South Pacific when I was a kid — (FYI, this is an error — I meant to say South Pacific, not Sound of Music, but let’s just forgive that little error) — and when Lieutenant Cable dies, I was devastated, so much that I would go to bed every night rewriting the story in my head where he didn’t die. He was just kind of wounded and his love interest — I can’t remember her name right now, it’s sad that I can’t — rescues him, and in my version they live happily ever after. He doesn’t have to go back to war and he’s fine. But I think this feeling of being deeply connected to characters has just been — I don’t even remember not being connected. I remember being at a sleepover at your house and I was so into the Anastasia characters. I had their little action figures. Do you remember?And I would put them by the little place where I was sleeping. And in my head I would pray that I would wake up and they’d be real and I could talk to them.
GH: Wow.
SD: And it’s funny that I’m thinking now — I think what it was, is that art has always been a way for me to connect to a spiritual plane. Because I really do struggle with spirituality and have a lot of fear around it. But when I heard your explanation of Rasa — that it is like a flavor, a scent, something somatic — it’s almost like an external presence, which you could almost talk about as being a higher power that enters your body. And I was like, oh right. That is why I find art to be so — I can’t even find the word. “Special” doesn’t come close.
GH: No, that’s really interesting. I think story has also always been powerful to me as well. There have definitely been times where I’ve tried to shut myself down to it, because I think I am so sensitive to it and I used to be ashamed of being so emotional — things I’ve worked through. But I think that’s part of why Hinduism really appeals to me, because there are so many stories. One of the creation stories is that Shiva is like all consciousness that has ever and will ever exist. And all of life is this great love story, because Shakti is the goddess of creation and chaos and everything that’s always happening. Shiva and Shakti are in this play where they’re constantly trying to find each other. There are stories throughout Hinduism where they recognize each other and they’re in love and they’re connected and they get married, but then they get tragically ripped apart — constantly apart and then together and apart and together. And when we are in our true Shiva consciousness is when we are connected with our Shakti side.
There’s this consciousness and creation that’s constantly playing together in this cosmic dance that we’re continually creating. So this is where Rasa connects to spirituality.
This was actually presented in a meditation class of mine by Professor Ben Williams, and he connected it to a dramaturgical perspective — kind of like Shakespeare: “All the world’s a stage,” you know? And we’re just players in it. All the men and women are actors. And that is the connection — we are all actors, and we’re all writers, and we’re all directors, and we’re creating our cosmic play through our lives. Our lives are this dance that we are creating. But we’re also able to watch it — we are also our own witness, which I think is when we’re able to bring in that awareness of like, whoa, what am I doing with my life? Am I consciously living? And that, I think, adds that spiritual extra layer where you’re just able to take a step back and decide how you want to create your dance and how you want to live out your play.
SD: No, that makes perfect sense. And I think it’s something I’ve been thinking about deeply, which is this weird — I think it comes down to capitalism actually — this emphasis that the artist is somehow other than everybody, that the artist is something separate and then there’s everybody else. It’s actually something that my partner Caro talked about a little bit — that in her mind, doesn’t exist in her culture in Brazil. She believes that in Brazil, everyone is kind of treated as an artist, because life is art. She talks about how there’s no such thing as someone who doesn’t make art — people paint, especially people in more impoverished communities. Drumming is such a huge part of their life, and dancing is such a huge part of their life. When I went to visit her hometown, we went to this samba school, and it was crazy. There were like thousands of people in this area, and everyone was dancing together; they all knew the steps. And I’m just this super repressed white lady going, I can’t dance. But just watching everyone move in the same steps was so incredible. And it was the first time I realized how much I clung to the idea that being an artist was somehow special — somehow made me better. Like, oh, you all are struggling with the nine-to-five bullshit, but I’m over here being an artist, and I’m cool. And then slowly over time — and I feel like Rasa really just hit it home for me — I realized that we are doing ourselves such a disservice by separating art from life. There isn’t really a distinction. So how do you think Rasa has played out in your daily experience? Not just like watching Stranger Things, but in other ways?
GH: Yeah, for sure. I think just also this whole idea that we are the actors in our own lives is kind of freeing. It’s a little liberating. Because you know, there are times where you give a performance you’re pretty ashamed of and you’re like, oh man, that didn’t go well. But it’s like, hey, why not just try again? I’m just gonna try again. I’m gonna do better. I’m gonna try it differently. And I think especially in my role as a teacher — I just try different things every day and see what works. And everyone is constantly in flux. Any given day, 10 different kids will be in 10 different moods, and it’s just unpredictable, pure chaos sometimes. But yeah, I think Rasa also plays out in that liberation of thinking of yourself as an actor. Kind of a little bit of dissociation or distance from getting too entrenched in your own storyline. But yeah, I think also seeing it as an opportunity to really savor life. Actually, I would love to read this verse from the Vijnana Bhairava.
SD: Wait, what is that, quickly?
GH: Yeah, the Vijnana Bhairava is a text — it’s a tantric text in the Trika tradition. You could say it’s kind of in the Hinduism category, but it’s really in the Shiva-Shakti traditions. And there’s a lot of transformation within these texts as they go throughout the course of time. It’s really interesting, because in our background as a country that is mostly Christian, if you look at the history of Christianity, there’s one main text: the Bible. But if you look at the history of Hinduism, there are like thousands of texts and all these lineages, and there’s texts that have never been translated. It’s like a little overwhelming at times. But anyway, the Vijnana Bhairava is something that is a little bit more accessible. It was translated into English in the fifties, and in yoga communities it’s been used more as meditative inspiration, or some people have gotten initiated into these traditions. But anyway, one of the verses in this text says:
“When you feel great joy, as when seeing a loved one after a long time, meditate on it. Let the mind dissolve into it. Become one with it.”
And I think that relates to seeing you or getting a call from you and recognizing that long history that we’ve had, and just how easy it is to sink into talking with you or being with you and becoming one with that experience, with whatever it is. And it talks about this too with food and drink — with really any little thing you do, to savor it to the utmost fullest. And that can be Rasa. That can be your Rasa.
SD: No, that makes perfect sense. I think it’s so hard to do, though. Especially — I think maybe it was millennials — I feel like we were all kind of conditioned to think we would be great, quote unquote. And so we had these visions of what greatness would be like. And I don’t think we really understood that greatness is something that is really just presence in the everyday. That’s kind of the best — what is greatness? It comes and goes, who cares? But being able to savor a moment with someone you love is really special. I honestly feel like, and this is kind of embarrassing, but the way I was first able to understand this was when we got a dog. Because there are these things called Sniff Spots. Our dog is kind of crazy and she can’t be trusted off leash, which was an adjustment because Caro’s previous dog was so well behaved — you just knew she wasn’t going to go into the street. But Denver doesn’t do that. So there’s this five-acre place on the edge of Olympia that you can rent like almost like an Airbnb for $10 for an hour or something. And so I took Denver there and I don’t even know if I had my phone or left it in the car, but the point was I didn’t look at my phone the whole time I was there. I just watched her — she was so happy. She was just running around with a huge smile on her face, and she’s so clumsy. She would just trip over herself and roll and fall down. And it was just watching this pure joy. And I think because she can’t communicate in words, because the relationship with a dog is uncomplicated — it doesn’t challenge my ego, I’m never feeling not good enough or frustrated — I was able to just access this complete level of presence for the first time. And I was like, damn, this is what it feels like to just be happy in another being’s joy. And it’s interesting too, because my partner said that having a dog would change my relationship to animals and that I would feel more sensitive to the experience of animals on planet earth. And I’m not a cruel person, but I don’t think I’ve ever really been agonized about other animals. But now we have deer in our yard. I see a deer and I have so much love for them. And that love stems from Denver, which is an interesting thing — that love, that experience of presence and love opens up more love. And I feel like we’re missing that in a lot of ways in our society.
GH: Oh yeah. No, that’s beautiful. You made me want to tear up right now. It’s like that really intense, amazing love that you feel — it is contagious and then it spreads out to everything. And I don’t know if you remember, but I was always like, I’m never having a kid and I’m never getting married, blah, blah, blah.
SD: Oh, I remember Grace!
GH: hated kids. I hated babysitting. And then I got pregnant when I was 23 and I had my kid and it’s just like a bomb explosion of love. Just having her, just watching her open her eyes — whatever it is, there’s just the experience of babies and puppies that really opens you up to all that love.
SD: For sure. It’s been interesting to watch you with Stella because you’re my only friend who had a kid young. I mean, 23 is not young in our parents’ generation, but in our generation, it’s kind of young. And so I have friends now who have kids that are like one or two or three. But watching you have to figure it all out while in a way also still figuring yourself out — I’ve always been so impressed by how you’ve handled it. I’ve never seen you be mean or look like you resent it. If anything, it just opened up a bigger space in your heart. It’s only made you more loving and more kind and more wise. You already were those things. But you know how sometimes you hear people talk about having kids and they’re so grumpy about it — like, I don’t have any time, it affects my relationship with my partner, there’s almost like a resistance or a grumpiness? I’ve never gotten that from you. Which I’ve always appreciated, because you chose it — you and your partner actively decided to have a child. So it’s been interesting to watch you, and you’re kind of the opposite of that. You don’t seem resentful of Stella, even though she has totally changed your life.
GH: Oh yeah, for sure. Well, I would say Stella saved my life. She just completely — and not that I put this all on her, because I don’t want it to be an unhealthy responsibility — but the joy of having her and watching her grow up gave me that drive to live with purpose and passion and to not dwell on my own existential crisis all the time anymore.
SD: Yeah. I think at some point you come to a crossroads, and I think I’m at that crossroads right now, where living for myself — I don’t know if kids is the answer, but I know that living for myself is not enough anymore. There needs to be some sort of expansion, some sort of external love that needs to go elsewhere. The navel-gazing can just be exhausting after a certain point, and you just think, get me out of this. I don’t want it anymore. But this also made me think about something I’ve been thinking about deeply — the reason I’m talking to you, actually — which is publication and seeking an audience, essentially, for any kind of art. Something I’ve always found very fascinating about you is that you’re a very talented musician. Very talented. You’re also very dedicated because you still play, and you practiced all the time when you were young. And yet you don’t share it widely. I mean, you’ve performed in public at open mics maybe, but I’m not entirely sure. So I just wanted to know, what is your relationship to music like, and why do you choose not to share it widely?
GH: Yeah, so I love music. I grew up playing a lot of piano, like you said. I practiced a lot as a kid. I started college as a jazz piano major at CU Boulder. So I did have some experience performing in jazz ensembles and little jazz gigs and things. But I think a wake-up call for me was being in the music school, surrounded by other pianists who practiced like 10 or 12 hours a day or more. They were constantly in the practice rooms. And I’m just a very distracted person — I love doing lots of different things. I love being outside. I love the yoga. There’s just too much. I was like, I can’t spend that many hours with just the piano. I love the piano, but I don’t want to devote my entire life to just that one thing. So I chose a different route. And I’m very thankful, but my years in the music school were really beautiful because I started jamming with some friends. And it’s interesting, because even looking back on that, I’m like, wow, we had some jam sessions that I would say invoked Rasa, and then other ones that were awful and not good at all. But you learn a lot through all of that. And then I really took to songwriting after that, and songwriting was a huge part of my processing of some hard challenges in my life. I did write a little mini album with like five songs that I produced with a friend, and I shared that with some people — a very small audience. But you’re right. I think for me, music is kind of like my journal. It’s something private, for me. It’s like a meditation — again, it’s a practice, something that helps me get back to myself. And I think there’s a little aspect in there where I’m just kind of embarrassed, or I don’t want to share it, or I’m afraid of messing up. That fear that prevents artists from sharing. There’s definitely a little bit of that — fear of rejection, fear of not being liked or something. And I think maybe that’s a sad thing, that I’ve let that take over. But I’ve also just let it be kind of my own thing, and that’s enough for how it is. I just don’t want to put myself out there for that, you know? But I think it’s also just been so helpful as a solo practice, and that’s been enough. And honestly, I don’t really practice as much anymore, sadly. Occasionally I’ll pull it out and play a little bit. But life’s taken a little bit of a different turn for now.
SD: For sure. But I think it’s interesting what you said about it being like a solo practice, more meditative, more like journaling. Do you feel like you experience Rasa even when you’re just playing for yourself?
GH: Oh, I would say way more so. I’m way more able to tap into that universal spiritual aspect that art has the potential of captivating — because I’m not worried about other people. I’m just in my own world.
SD: For sure, for sure. I think about that all the time, because I do think the things I’ve written where I’ve experienced Rasa have been when I haven’t thought about where it’s going to go or who’s going to read it. It’s just been for me. It’s interesting — do you remember the church I went to when I was a kid?
GH: I don’t know, maybe not.
SD: That’s totally fair. So I’ve been thinking a lot about that, because I used to think I didn’t grow up religious, which is kind of crazy in retrospect because I spent more time at a church than pretty much anywhere else.
GH: Was it a Universalist church?
SD: It was like a Divine Science church.
GH: Okay. Yeah. I do remember that.
SD: Yeah. And both of the ministers were writers, and the minister who was very important in my life — Karl Kopp — wrote a lot of plays, and I would act in all of his plays because he really believed in the power of children and stuff like that. But it’s funny — he died when I was 15, and I really struggled with it. His wife passed away only a few years ago, and she was always harder for me to connect to. I don’t know if it’s just because Karl was kind of funny — very smart and very intellectual, but a little edgy, I guess. But Jane was serious business. She was a serious lady. And she was actually Sylvia Plath’s roommate in college, which is crazy.
GH: Wow. That is crazy!
SD: Yeah. A few years before she died, I went to see her and get coffee because I hadn’t seen her in a long time. She asked me about my religious practice, and I was like, I don’t have anything. I don’t do anything. Then she was like, well, you write, don’t you? And I was like, yeah, but — at that stage I was like, oh yeah, I write for publication, I write for something. And she was like, I think that’s your spiritual practice. And it took me a long time to understand, because I didn’t want it to just be my spiritual practice — I wanted to be famous or whatever. But now I think about art so differently. I think about Karl, for instance — he wrote all these plays, and he did perform one at a local theater, but mostly they were just at our church. And they were so special. The people who watched them were our congregation, just a bunch of hippie random people, this small, weirdo artist church. And I don’t think he cared about who came to see it. He just wrote them. And the rehearsals were a special way for us to bond. And I’m not saying that you can’t pursue an audience, but it is interesting to me that some of my most profound experiences with art have been so private, or without a big audience — acting in a play for 20 people, or you with your music, just for yourself. And I was wondering what you think: does Rasa have anything to say about audiences? Or am I just projecting onto it?
GH: No, it does definitely. I mean, we kind of talked about the receptivity of the audience and how important that is. But I think too, you’re getting at something with just the pureness of creating art without an audience in mind, where you’re just expressing something from your innermost core, and how beautiful that is, and how that creates the Rasa. The audience then receives it better, almost in some way. It also talks about how if you’re in a crowd of people and there’s one person who’s not receiving it, it affects the whole — there’s a quality that is super special when every single person there is receptive to it and able to absorb the Rasa. And I think that stood out to me because I know I’ve been that person before, where I’ve been at a concert, and I’m just like, it’s past my bedtime, or whatever — I’m not in it. So yeah, I mean, I think it’s a profound instruction and a universal lesson for us to glean from. Yeah, whatever that is.
SD: Yeah. No, I couldn’t agree more. I think that is — anyway. I feel like your podcast came to me at just the right time when I needed it. And I feel like you’ve always been this little glimmer of wisdom without being a know-it-all, which has been great.
GH: Oh, thank you. I appreciate that. I’m really happy to hear that. And I really appreciate you doing this, because I was reading so much about it and recording it last spring, and then, you know how you kind of just bury things or forget about them? And then you were like, oh, I want to do this. And I was like, oh my God, I have to read about it again. But it’s been beautiful, because it just is everywhere.
GH: And I think one of the other takeaways that I had is that Rasa is allowing us to become connoisseurs of reality. How do we really take in every single potential moment as this theatrical performance, this dance, and examine it from that perspective?
SD: Wow. Beautiful. Say that again — that was such a good point.
GH: Yeah. That’s the part of the meditation practice we did. It’s just: how do we become connoisseurs of reality? Not of wine or tea or whatever it is, but of every single moment — fully embracing it, taking in the artistic aspect of the creation all around us all the time. Yeah, which is a lot.
SD: So hard. It’s kind of like the remembering and forgetting. Like, I have moments of remembering that I’m alive and remembering that this is it, and then I kind of forget that I’m alive for a little bit. And then I kind of remember it again, you know?
GH: Yeah. Yeah. And that’s where art comes in — these little glimmers, these pockets of helping us remember. And that’s beautiful. That’s why art is so beautiful. Yeah.
SD: It helps us appreciate our aliveness — or not just appreciate, but embody our aliveness. Well, thank you, Grace. You’re the best. And thank you. So until next time.
