I was born in Porter Hospital in Denver Colorado, part of the Rocky Mountains of the Western United States. Possibly because my mother was Japanese, and because I was an avid reader as a child, I grew up regarding the mountains as spiritual beings, with whom I communicated as friends. My mother had remarried a Japanese American, my stepfather, Jim, who introduced me to the Great South West, on trips that he, my mother and I, would take during holidays. I believe my mother, who, among other things, loved geology, loved the South Western Desert of the United States; I, as well, have come to regard this area as, 'magical'. My fondest memories of my mother are of her, wandering off the road by herself on foot, and disappearing into the desert....she would return after a long while, stepping carefully, and she always seemed, at these times, to be part of other worlds. ....
It was my stepfather who told me the legend of Red Rocks. I am fond of claiming that he taught me how to hunt and fish. Trout fishing, yes, perhaps, but hunting would be a far cry, though the imagination of a young child with a pellet gun can be forgiven its excesses. The guns my stepfather had in his gun cabinet were impossibly big and heavy for a child. He was an army corpsman, who had fought in Sciliy and Italy. His parents were from the city of Nagasaki. The legend I remember being told, was that an indian warrior could go to Red Rocks, to ask the meaning of life. But the warrior who did so had to be deemed worthy of this revelation, or else there was a terrible penalty inflicted of madness and death by the Gods. There is an area near Denver called Red Rocks....it is a natural amphitheatre carved into the mountains, just outside of Boulder, and is a venue for, among other things, concerts. ....
As a child, I prayed, oh, perhaps a handful of times. One of these few times, I had hot tears down my face. I was listening to Tchaikovsky, his sixth symphony, and asked God that I would be able to write such music. I am fond of thinking to this day, that God thought, "Well, if you are going to learn how to write music like Tchaikovsky, then you will have to learn how to suffer like Tchaikovsky." ....
My mother, perhaps rightly, felt my educational opportunities were better with my father, and so I met my father when I was ten years old. However, it was actually his younger brother, my uncle Jess, who confirmed what my mother had told me about my heritage on my father's side. My grandfather, an emmigrant tailor from Kiev, Ukraine, whose name was 'Bardovsky--with fourteen letters after it', (my uncle's words), arrived at Ellis Island in New York; and, as with many emigrants at that time, he was given a new name, perhaps to 'americanize' him, perhaps simply so that they could fit his name on a nameplate. The name that was on my grandfather's nameplate was 'Lieberman'. ....
And so, much to my amazement, I was to learn that I am Japanese with a trace of very old Dutch on my mother's side, and Ukrainian Jew on my father's, bearing a German name. It is ironic, that you are not considered Japanese unless your father is Japanese, and you are not considered Jewish unless your mother is Jewish. Most people are neither of both....I am both of neither.....
It would not be difficult to pinpoint a critical, or turning point in my life. While going cross country on a bicycle, I was hit by a truck. It occured near Sterling, Colorado, on highway 76, a two lane highway with unpaved dirt shoulders, not far from the border of Nebraska into Colorado. Hearing an unusually loud sound of a truck engine, I glanced over my shoulder to see a truck passing traffic -- on the dirt shoulder. What was alarming, was the fact that the wheels were spinning so fast, they were skidding over the dirt shoulder. It was very possible that this driver was not aware that he did not have control of his vehicle.
As an actor, I had once read a brief description of the technique of stuntmen, when they are about to receive an impact. "You take a deep breath, relax, and slowly expel the air from your lungs".....turning back towards the direction my bicycle was moving, I took a deep breath, and calmly, slowly expelling the air from my lungs, I heard the loud blast of a truck horn...and then another. My next sensation was of my body being slowly lifted off the bicycle...while my field of vision narrowed down against a black background to points of light, and then out. There is a sensation of a flow of energy from deep down in the earth, and what I can only describe as a visual sensation -- with the eyes closed, a heightened perception of the eyes "swimming". I opened my eyes....to be looking up into the faces of three men, staring down at me.
The fear of paralysis is a very real fear. Whether ill-advised or no, my first impulse was, quite simply, to get up and see if I could still walk. What one does automatically, however, now turns into acts that must be evaluated carefully beforehand. I did a slow sit up -- and stopped, literally holding my position midway into a sit up. Disregarding the pain in my head, (think volcanic), I carefully digested the information that my back was telling me -- my physical excellence, of which I had been so proud of as a youth, and as a young adult -- was gone. Forever. I continued my sit up, and slowly got to my feet, unable to turn or move my head, because of the pain, and fear of hurting myself further. To distinquish the difference between fear and pain requires an intellectual distinction simply not worth the effort, when you are severely hurt.
When I was on my feet, there was a smile on my face. I looked across the highway. There, a truck burned. A voice behind me, simply said, "The driver in that truck was killed." Realizing that there was more than just my life that had come to a critical turning point that day, I said, "Oh my God, "....and got back to the ground, on my back, and waited for the ambulance. I was first taken to Sterling Hospital. Reality has a filmic quality, as your consciousness blacks out from time to time, much like a film that is edited with bits of film left out. This wasn't pleasant, but the crisis, in terms of my attitude, and perhaps, my life, actually came that first night, after I had been taken to Lutheran Hospital, in Denver. Your body expends a prodigious amount of energy when you are hurt. Exhausted, I knew that sleep was going to be upon me soon. The sensation in my head, was like a knot -- highly tightened. A fear came upon me, that with sleep, this knot would loosen, and I would bleed to death. I noted, before I slept, that there was a nurse, sitting on a chair across from the door entrance to my room. She was reading a book. I took comfort in her presence, as I went to sleep. The first night of many I went to sleep, not knowing if I would be alive the next morning or not. ....
It seems incredible to me, that I did not learn until several days later, that the highway patrolman first arrived on the scene of the accident gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. It may just be the way that I remember it; at any rate, I take this opportunity to thank him, again, for saving my life.
I have experienced pain, pain that was....boundless, without bottom, day in and day out. For nine years of my life, I went to bed, not knowing if I'd be alive the next morning or not. With unremitting pain, the body expends great amounts of energy....exhausted I would lie down to sleep, and lying down, craving sleep, my head would make loud gurgling noises....I'm sure it was the effect of damaged nerves in my head, but the noises felt like they were in the center of my head. They could not be meditated away, and they not only deprived me of sleep, they made me feel helpless and would throw me into despair.
There is no real threshold of pain.... you merely go through whatever strategies you have for dealing with more than you can cope with. And Lord help you, if you or your body have no strategies.........
After time, I gained weight, because eating food became an outlet, a form of release. I became unattractive, but not just because I was overweight. After a few years, the pain had distorted my face....to other people it appeared I was constantly angry and unpleasant. And so I became more isolated. Pain eventually coarsens your personality. Sex takes on a particular quality, I think related to the prodigious amounts of energy your body is expending, perhaps to the fact that the physical act becomes no longer an expression of love, but a hunger....it is like a bright intense light inside of you, that somehow catches people....I didn’t so much meet people with whom later I had sex.....it was more like colliding with them on the street....one could actually sense the change of life-paths.....
With pain, after a long while, what you regard as your mind becomes reduced to a mechanical level....you filter ideas, and people, with a single criteria....does this help you alleviate pain?....does this help you live?.........
There are pictures of myself with the beautiful mountains of Yosemite in the background. I'm 57 now....I was 26 or 27 when these pictures were taken, some thirty years ago, and two to three years after my accident....I was in ferocious pain.....
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