Inspired by ‘The Weighing’ by Jane Hirshfield

Moments of joy -

Constellations splattered on a black canvas

How can such a minuscule swath of reality

redefine the whole?

The stars don’t complain about how much space is being occupied by darkness

They do what they were born to do

Without disclaimers

If the darkness would give me more room to do my thing, then I would really shine!

Written from the perspective of 50 year old Gino to present Gino:

How perfect everything is. How great of a job you are doing. How you are exactly where you need to be, with exactly whom you should be with, doing exactly what you need to be doing.  There are no dangerous mountaintops you must summit to prove your worth.  Your blood on the soil will not demonstrate your valor. 

Why are we alive in a time like this?

The EP "Chosen" explores this inquiry.  These 5 songs were created virtually during the pandemic, when making music together in person wasn't an option.

there’s nothing more dangerous 

than a dull knife

nervously perched above

the slick skin of an onion

unsure of its ability to go

down

to sever what is intended

Enormous amounts of information are communicated without words.

"You left it on the playground?!" He seethes through his teeth.

I can still feel the penetrating anger of my father as we drive home in his navy blue Nissan Sentra hatchback, the one I’m always embarrassed to be seen riding in because it’s so much older than the cars my friend’s parents drive.

When the goal is to be emotionally available, anything can spark an unexpected wave of grief.

I stepped out of the door and was engulfed in crisp winter air. A thin layer of ice crystals was beginning to thaw on the concrete pathway leading to our garage. I spotted our cat Reishi, apparently sleeping in the bushes. As I got closer, I started to laugh at the awkward way he was relaxing in the plants. Then, I got close enough for my laughter to stop abruptly. I saw his face frozen, as if he was caught off guard by a glacial flood and preserved in the ice. I recognized this pose from seeing other cats who didn’t reach their ninth life. Reishi was dead.

Bearing witness to frustration is frustrating. Taishan is so freely expressed that any disturbance in his field is met with an emotional tsunami that washes over everyone and everything in his vicinity. Today, the Trojan horse that delivered fuel for his rage is his newly acquired set of magnet blocks.

Some words are more destructive than sticks and stones.
“I'm not happy with our marriage,” Maya speaks softly, sitting curled up on a chair in the far corner of our kitchen.
She is framed by a steep mountain of dirty dishes to her left and rolling hills of food scraps on the countertop to her right. The tiny sound waves that slip from her lips are a tsunami by the time they reach the shores of my eardrums. She hugs her knees in front of her, as if they are a brick wall she has erected between me and her heart.

Life in Italy was so treacherous for my great grandfather that he accidentally immigrated to the United States. On a crisp spring day, Constante Pastori and his brother Carlo were goofing around on the docks of Genoa, sneaking in and out of boats, just as two teenage boys would be expected to do without adult supervision.  After burrowing through the musty intestines of a cargo ship filled with thousands of drums of olive oil, they emerged on the deck, gazing at the coastline which was now miles away. 

Before becoming a parent, the concept of having a virtual energy reading from a clairvoyant via WhatsApp would have provoked a feeling between skepticism and amusement.  After becoming a father, I eagerly accepted any and every opportunity to gain guidance, whether it be from a well known motivational speaker on YouTube or an anonymous drunk on a street corner, pontificating at the sky.

Babies are boring. Before becoming a parent, I would have never uttered those words. Back when I was still wrapped in a blissful blanket of ignorance, I thought babies were cute and entertaining after playing 5 minutes of peek-a-boo, which was the full extent of my baby exposure. I peered into their eyes, sure that I could glimpse the meaning of life in their pupils. I enthusiastically retrieved their toys as they tossed them to the floor, conducting their glorious experiments with gravity.

As we scratched and clawed our way through surviving the first year of Taishan’s life, Maya periodically attacked me, frustrated by our lack of transformation. “Where are those superpowers you promised?! It feels like we are just angrier, shittier versions of who we used to be.”

I agreed. I felt like a shell of my former self and desperately in need of intervention from some force beyond my own control to rise to the demands of fatherhood. I kept falling deeper into a pit of self loathing and despair, the opposite of what I hoped my superpower would be. It didn’t arrive when I wanted it or how I expected it, but eventually it was revealed, and it was undeniable.

As a teenager growing up in East Oakland and listening exclusively to gangster rap there are few life outcomes that would have been more surprising to me than becoming a certified yoga instructor.
At this point, I had been practicing yoga for 5 years, and I was beginning to see a plethora of benefits. I had deeply enhanced my body awareness and connection to my intuition.

Early in my fatherhood journey, several parents warned me that parenting was not going to get easier, and they were right. Before Taishan learned to crawl, I carried him on my body almost every waking hour of the day. Soreness in my neck and back became my new normal and I fantasized about a day when he could roam free range without being carried by his personal sherpa.

My baseball career lasted one season. This was a devastating blow to my projected life path, since I had spent the previous 5 years fantasizing about following in the footsteps of my idol Rickey Henderson and becoming the left fielder for the Oakland A’s.

Seeing my son squatting in a pile of trash on the side of a major thoroughfare is the perfect metaphor for how I feel I'm doing as a father. Maya and I have just departed the home of a family friend with the intention of taking Taishan to a nearby playground. He adamantly disagrees with being confined in a car seat, so we concoct a brilliant scheme to split up.

There’s no more beautiful way to depart a body than enjoying ravioli and chocolate cake for your final meal before going to sleep and giving up the ghost in your living room. This is how my Nono Frank Pastori joined the ancestors, just weeks after celebrating 100 trips around the sun. The only opportunity for improvement is if this didn't take place on Maya’s 30th birthday.

Taishan’s birth was like completing a marathon then realizing I’m actually in an Iron Man Triathlon in reverse. I trained for months and mentally prepared for the race, which I barely survived, but I made it to the finish line! Before I can even savor a deep breath or a sip of water, I’m told that I still have to bike for 112 miles and swim 2.4 miles. I don't know how to swim, and I don't have a bicycle.

Under no circumstances should a beginning surfer enter the water at the Lahaina reefs in Maui. Having never received this advice, I am now face to face with death.

I’ve been dating Maya for 18 months and garnered enough good will to be invited to the family’s annual winter vacation. Our destination is the surfer’s paradise of Maui. Prior to this adventure, I have surfed exactly 3 times, enough to be hooked on the thrill of becoming one with the ocean.

Maya shakes me from my slumber to reveal that she is engulfed in a mysterious, dark pink substance. To my untrained eye, her water has broken and Taishan’s birth is imminent. I enthusiastically change the sheets and attempt in vain to return to sleep. It’s an impossible task as I contemplate holding my son for the first time.