The Battlestar Galactica Love Fest, Part II: Celebrity and Childhood

I might as well mention now that this is more than likely going to be a multi-part story.  A lot happened, and not just stuff I find interesting but stuff, if presented well, you might find interesting too.  I am endeavoring to present it well; you can always skip around if you like.  Plus, I rarely take the time to really tell the story, so here's a story it's pleasant for me to tell.

So, it was Thursday night, and the Opening Ceremony was over, but Richard was still around because he was going to give an acting class. Initially, I'd planned to skip it, rather uncharacteristic for me actually but I'd not felt compelled to try it.  However, Richard appeared to be - and turned out to be - a real force of nature, everywhere and connecting with everyone - full of vital energy: playful, spirited, enthusiastic - about life, in general, and specifically the process of becoming more alive, becoming who you really are (my favorite subject).

So I stayed, and joined the ranks of maybe 50 other folks, gathering our chairs around this tiny stage in the middle of a room as big as a good-sized airplane hanger.  And Richard began to speak, about his life and what drew him to acting and what he learned from it; it was a lot of the stuff I talk about here: energy, perception, intention, facing (leaning into) fear to liberate energy, manifestation, self-worth.  He hit on all the Big Topics in this two hour lecture/conversation, in constant motion - he was full of gestures, physically at ease and so animated, in body and speech.  I loved him straight off.  It became clear from the first moment they were all together - the old and the new cast, the first time that many were on one stage - that it was who Richard has been keeping BSG going through the years; he's been organizing Cons of his own, BSG Cruises!  He's kept the faith, Richard has, understood from the beginning the importance of this mythic story.  I had no idea.

I may as well stop now and really, as they say, geek out.  When I was a kid, when I first fell in love with Battlestar, it was all about Starbuck and Apollo - mostly Starbuck.  I loved Starbuck's gambling, swearing, cigar-smoking, womanizing and, of course, the thing that redeemed it all: his bravado and absolute flow in the cockpit (that, and the tight uniform, sorry but it's true).  What's not to love?  He was the comic relief to Apollo's straight man.  Apollo was the Commander's son who always did the right thing, the real star of the show, but, he was, to my 9-year old mind, boring.  Where was the dash?  Remember, I had just experienced my first crush only a year prior: Han Solo.  Star Wars was my gateway drug to BSG, let's face it. 

So I'd really been looking forward to meeting the original Starbuck himself, Dirk Benedick - back when Starbuck was a guy and the romance was a bromance.  Dirk still smokes cigars and has a - let's say healthy - ego.  It was charming to see but we didn't have chemistry.  I wouldn't know that until I approached him the next day at the fantastic-yet-troubled Tip A Pint of Ambrosia Party, to, you know, talk to him...see what he was like; I was decades of curious.  But I'd walked into a conversation in progress, and right away heard him saying that the female vote always goes to whoever is the most attractive (a dark shadow of "women shouldn't vote" lurked)....and then he mentioned his gun collection.  Which is fine, but for me personally, that was it; a lifetime crush, already faded now delicately brought to an end by the 2nd and 19th Amendments; I was all grown up, I guess. 

Though let me be clear - and then any Dirk stories will be mostly over - he was fun and charming and told marvelous stories - the ones about Fred Astaire, a guest on the original series, alone were among the highlights.  He also presided, in comfy wicker chairs, over the East Smoking Area.  I spent a great deal of my time, rather, in the West Smoking Area, with the fantastic and incredibly lovable Michael Hogan - that's Colonel Tigh the Second, who held court there.  Dirk and Hogan (note: we had two Michaels, Hogan and Trucco, and since Trucco calls himself "Trucco," I and apparently everyone else started saying "Hogan") were outside with fans for hours, simply hours on end, smoking and talking and laughing. 

But all that was yet ahead of me, ahead of us - the small but strong little temporary BSG community that was forming.  Information was so scarce, no one knew what to expect; we were all confused and adventurous together, and then we were all thrown into it - right into what we'd all wanted; I had not expected them to all just BE there, on stage, at once, right at the beginning, and was feeling like, ok, this is already pretty good.  Nothing is worse than spending money and hard-earned vacation time to fly to Houston for a dud of a party.

But now here I was, taking an acting class from my childhood hero.  He was telling us how important it was for us to love our name, be proud to say it.  He recommended saying it over and over, in the morning, the evening, really owning your name.  "Richard Hatch," he said, then louder "Richard Hatch!"  His projection was professional, he made his name sound powerful.  A very impressive feat since, as I mentioned, the Con had some real structural organizational challenges, and one of them was, in my mind, putting 400 people in a room the size of an airplane hanger.  It was absolutely silly.  But it was acceptable when there were 20 people up on stage; it's a big event, I get it.  But having an ACTING class in it?  Absurd!  Even Richard couldn't help but mention it - he's certainly a positive person and wouldn't have complained but it was so incredibly beyond the pale that even HE had to acknowledge, this wasn't maybe "the best set up for this class."  No kidding.

So, here he was, owing his name and doing his best to fill this cold Texas cavern.  "Learn to LOVE your name," he said.  "If you can't love your name, consider changing it.  I'm serious," he said, and I nodded in accord - the only thing left of my birth name is my middle one.  He was singing to the choir.  But not entirely, not with everything; I was listening to Richard explain things I'd known for a long time, but they were hitting me in different ways. 

This can sometimes happen - I call it an onion skin lesson.  It's when you already know the subject at hand - the principle, the concept, the practice, whatever is the bit of perennial knowledge at hand; it's already part of your tool belt, or so you think.  And you hear someone speak of it, and your mind says, yeah, I know, that's old hat, I've known that for forever.  And then later, it hits you, and you see some part of your life where it does apply, and you're like, shit!  I thought I already took care of that tendency / fear / habit, etc.  You think you've learned the lesson, but there's always the next layer of onion, the next layer of self, that it applies to, so the challenge is never over. 

And neither, therefore should be the listening - in theory.  However, despite the fact that I know that - keep your beginner's mind, the monks taught me and I believe them - I still shut down on occasion.  I get impatient with my ersatz mentors, and think, why is the universe telling me THIS again?  Forgetting - it's really amazing how often we can forget this - that the universe will continue to give you the same thing over and over until you understand what it is saying.  You don't always have to agree, but you have to enter into the conversation, and I can get impatient with that. 

Now, I'm going to talk about my encounters with what I will term "celebrity," but wait!  Let me stop here and define that a bit: I mean not merely fame, but those amazing people with a great deal of success, power, even money etc - and I don't mean the stupid famous-for-being-famous thing nor the inherited elite, both of which are just a toxic mimic - but that's a whole other subject.  I'm referring to those few who are unquestionably impressive reality-creators: the Hugh Jackmans, the Stephen Colberts, even the Richard Bransons.  So when I say celebrity, this is what I'm talking about.

And one of the good things about my encounters with celebrity / success is that I always learn a lot.  I pay attention to celebrity because it's rare and it's usually packed with energy and opportunities for connection, and understanding can really thrive in those conditions.  So yes, I probably did get more out of my improv weekend with Alan Arkin than I did of my semester with Susan Jackson (my improv teacher at City College - she was actually quite good), because he IS Alan Arkin, but hey, what's wrong with that?  Move towards what delights you, because that's one of the best ways to learn both who you are and what you should be doing in the world.

So, here's this acting class with Richard Hatch, and I'm actually listening with an open mind to what he has to say even though he does not tell me anything I do know not already know.  He's got a spin, his own style, I pick up a couple of good exercises, but in the main, it's a refresher.  Eventually, his lecture/discussion about "How Life Is and What To Do About It" (my title) winds down - and really, it's been super interesting but everything is running late and it's after 11pm and some of us got up early to fly here etc - and he says, I need a volunteer. 

As you know, it's my policy to volunteer and volunteer first, especially when it's an opportunity.  I'm chosen - no one else is clamouring at the this point, people are shy, uncertain, tired.  "Come on up on stage," he says: I kick off my sandals and join him.  We've been discussing self-worth, the idea of worthiness - how you present to the world.  Now, he asks me, just take the mic and tell everyone, just, who you are.

That's basically it.  Rather vague instructions, considering all the heavy concepts Richard has just run us all through.  I have only moments to think of what to say, as he (Apollo my childhood hero, now right in front of me, adding to the trippiness) is handing me the mic.  The room, especially from this vantage point, is enormous.  I see the two trucks in the back, a scissors lift between them, someone up in the basket, impossibly high, tinkering with a light.  It's a room that cannot be filled with your energy; I almost laugh at the idea of trying to hold space in a place so blown all out of proportion - yet the actors had done a pretty good job of it, and if they could, I could.

I don't know what I say - I'm actually not bad at extemporaneous speeches (a useful skill), and have almost no fear of public speaking, so that was on my side.  But the booming echo from the back wall was a like being in an arena, and I had all these ideas spinning in my head from the many important things Richard spoke of, plus I had just seen and experienced a lot.  But I said something - not sure what, I can never remember what I say - but I think I got quickly to the heart of the matter, and spoke of being vulnerable, mentioned a little of the meta-story, told of what I was here to do: the oracle cards. I was able to make an introduction that made an impression on enough people there that they remembered me, and so word of me spread, and all throughout the weekend, people seemed to know me, had heard of me.  "Kar?" they'd say, "The Oracle?"  Which had its own weirdness to it.

Anyway, I did fine, whatever I was supposed to do, I did it. I felt good. I did not feel badly as I sometimes can when I know there's a something to go for and I *don't* go for it.  I had gone for it, whatever it was.  I could feel the fear that had, as Richard promised it would, turned into energy in my body when I moved forward anyway; I was tingling on stage, alive. 

But I was not done.  He talked for a while longer, and I stood next to him, watching him.  That was when I had my first "Holy shit! If my little 9 year old self could see me now, she'd never believe it!" moment.  I'm onstage with Richard Hatch!  It wasn't about that, really - it was just that Apollo had seemed so far away from my life when I was a child and and now here he was (the actor, at any rate) and it was not far away but in fact happening.  It was one of those moments when the symbolism of life, the great mystery, the great metaphor, becomes crystal clear for a moment, and you're directly connected to the poetry of the magnificence of constantly unfolding existence.  It could be anything - a moment on the pre-dawn beach, your sister's wedding, or just picking a wild berry.  Whatever - you know that what's happening is right on, a marker telling you, yep, this is the right path. That's what it was - for me, of course.  Richard was just teaching an acting class; the rest of it was coming from me, but that's how it always is.

He introduced the concept of USP, or Unique Selling Point - basically, your answer to the question (from business to love) - of "why you?"  Richard now turned to me: tell these people what your USP is - and take just one minute.   I nodded and again had just a second to think, and then started talking with only the first part of the first sentence in mind.  I was suddenly grateful for my training in the singing circle - and Alan's improv - because if there's one thing I know how to do, it's step forward with only the idea of how to start. 

Begin anywhere.  You'll be able to keep going.  You don't need to know where you will end up in order to start - that's the whole point of life, to start and find out.  So I once again said something, the likes of which I am not sure, but I think I once again did a decent job, and when I was finished, the woman who happened to time me, said clearly to all, "That was exactly 60 seconds."  Everyone clapped, I sat down.  We had more exercises, people on stage.  It was 11:30pm.  We wrapped it up.  I went to Richard - to thank him.  We discussed the cards, he used to like working with cards.   I offered him a reading, we had a whole weekend, he said, he'd love it, and so on. 

Exuberant from this entire experience, I head to the hotel bar in hopes of seeing and/or meeting people.  I see Bear McCreary and Trucco at a table, and I think, well, there's no reason to be shy, do it now so you can feel relaxed about approaching anyone all weekend.  In other words, jump in now.  So I pulled up a chair and joined the conversation, mostly listening as the bar was loud.  There was nothing particularly remarkable that happened, except I ordered expensive bar sliders (it was midnight and I'd not eaten since breakfast) and ate them in front of famous people, who didn't want any.  Note: it's a true test of self-possession to be a hobbit-figured woman who can casually, without shame, eat sliders in front of hunky actors; I only ate one and a half, so I'm mostly self-possessed.

I was polite and introduced myself to Trucco when I found us sitting together; he said he was happy to meet me, to which I had to say, you've met me before, in Pasadena at the auction; I had BSG tarot cards.  (He had signed his card).  "Oh, I remember you, actually," he said, and I believed him, because BSG tarot cards - they're, you know, weird.  They stick out. 

I also met a kid from Prague, 24 years old, a junior engineer who loved BSG and came to the States just for it, although he slipped in a little sightseeing in Florida and DC - he spoke some English but wasn't quite fluent but pretty good, and we became Con friends, saying hello or checking in when we ran into each other at a panel, on the con floor.  He taught me how to say "So Say We All" in Czech: Tak Privime, which took some mnemonic effort on my part, but I was able to greet him, in passing, in his native tongue. You see: community.

He was also fearless because he didn't know any better, but I later discovered that my bold self-inclusion earned admirers.  The next night, I met a young woman that I hung out with for hours and got drunk with, and she kept saying, "I want to be like you, you just walked right up to them, you just didn't care at all; you're cool!"  She had remembered me.  And yes, as I mentioned earlier, one of the more bizarre aspects of the weekend was that, due to a few different factors - my Facebook pre-con posts ("Come see the Oracle!"), the one-minute speech I made in front of a bunch of people, and just my presence on the floor in my booth - people that I didn't know knew me.  I'd meet someone and when we started to exchange names, they would say, "I know....you're Kar" or "I remember you from Richard's class - you were great" or "I came by for a reading but missed you" or just "Hi Kar!" from someone I never met.  I waved back at everyone, said hello, but it was strange to be around other people who everyone also knew - but because they were on tv and in the movies, and I was just me.  But actually, they are just them, too - and isn't that interesting? There's every sort of level of being known, it's all just a matter of scale.

So, I'm all jazzed up, excited, exhausted and awake, fortified by my midnight bit of burger and glass of red wine, feeling that things were going well, and the unknowns yet to face - like, where was my table?  How would this all work out? - seemed to be not so troubling after all.  Ah, what a wonderful life!  Contact with people who have played characters I loved always makes me feel like that all's right with the world, because some desire that was purely part of my inner life gets made manifest, which is always energizing - it's like seeing the Pyramids: from imagination and fantasy to reality.  However, when I went to bed, I fell immediately asleep as it was very late and I had to get up early for - they told us last minute, for Gold Members - a press conference (?)

Shouldn't that be the end of the day?  It was, but not of the story.  I woke up an hour early and found myself unexpectedly wide awake, having had prolific and incredibly profound and prophetic dreams.  My mind was spinning as I lay in bed, and moments of clarity and understanding flashed in front of my consciousness as if I were watching a slide show.  I found myself smack in the middle of several mini-epiphanies - nothing huge, nothing off the scale as I've had a few times in my life, but right up there.  And I'm not trying to withhold anything here, but if I were to try and tell you my revelations, I'd need a much longer forum than this already-epic multi-series blog post.  Anyway, it's not really important WHAT all my moments of clarity were about, because it's about explaining the experience, so you can fill in your own moments - just think of the times, if you have had them, of being in a state of grace with meaning raining down upon you.  It was like that. 

And not, may I add, altogether pleasant - usually epiphanies are, but this was a lesser thing, and it was full instead of those "Oh God, I get it now."  Those things you know you have to admit are true and learn to do, in some lifetime, if not now, then someday - those little inevitabilities that you were hoping to avoid ever having to deal with, like the Buddhist truth that all of life is suffering. Or that you have to forgive everyone for everything.  And so on.  It wasn't those particular ones, but they were of that ilk.  You get it.

And I thought: where did this all come from?  My dreams, yes, disturbing until I understood them, and then uncomfortably clear - but why was this happening NOW?  What did it have to do with being at a Battlestar Galactica convention?  I didn't have to think for very long, because most of it had something to do with all the things Richard had said the night before - old lessons that I thought I already knew, but they were onion skin lessons, and they had to be applied to the next layer of self, and now, I could clearly see how.  No giving that information back - moments of clarity have their own obligation.  I had gotten fairly and squarely caught by Richard's acting class, and it occurred to me that perhaps, that's part of what it was all about, back then.  Maybe part of why I adored these guys back then so that later, when they literally appeared, I would be paying attention. 

There's a theory - it probably has a name, but I don't know what it is - that states that certain traumatic - or even just, important - moments in human history are SO momentous, such game-changers, that they reverberate not only forwards but backwards in time.  In Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood End, the Overlords that show up (spoiler alert, I suppose) look a great deal like Satan.  They don't show themselves for a few decades because that would freak out the humans, but they do upset the humans, in a good way - they usher in a new stage of human development, which ultimately leads to the utter transformation of the human race as we join the great Overmind - i.e. we grow out of our race's childhood.  The theory goes, this event was so traumatic to humans that the image of the Overlords echo back in time, and that's why our most evil concept IS the Devil.  Our collective unconscious that lives outside of linear time knows that devil-looking things are going to be big game changers - be afraid when you see THIS, because your life, as you know it, is over.  The evolution has irrevocably begun.

I love this idea, and so I like to think things like that happen on individual scales as well - on the personal level.  This concept is actually in the show, in the new Battlestar: the Opera House.  If you know the show, think about it.  It's basically foreshadowing, which supposedly shouldn't happen outside of fiction, but does; life foreshadows, especially if you pay attention.  And I think it happened with, of all people, Richard Hatch - I had my armour of Certainty on, as I usually do, but Apollo is from my childhood, which is a big chink the armour, and the message got right thru that chink.  (I won't go so far to stretch the metaphor to say the Arrow of Apollo....no pun intended).

And this mood, I got up and went off to set up my booth and don the persona of Oracle.  I was as ready as ever, it seemed, to attempt to meet and peer into the mind of strangers, and if at all possible, channel the divine  - via a set of homemade oracle cards based on science fiction television show.