What is a cavity, really?

They told me I had 12 cavities and I was in shock. That part of my body could have been rotting away, dead and damaged and unbeknownst to me just baffled me. What other parts of me might be damaged? What mold am I harboring? What emotional pockets of decay might lie within the boundaries of this body I call my self? Too scary to imagine that a sharp metal object could probe my inner depths and reveal spaces of waste, festering within and poisoning the healthy, happy parts of my being. This is no longer physical. My body is not just flesh, but a curvy, cushy manifestation of my soul. If enamel from my gap-toothed mouth falls away, my soul is peeling. Whether shedding as part of a natural process or whether being ripped open by a mechanical tool, we are morphing.

Merriam-Webster online defines a cavity as

1 : an unfilled space within a mass; especially : a hollowed-out space
2 : an area of decay in a tooth : caries

What unfilled, hollowed-out spaces do we carry with us each day? How dangerous can these spaces be? How powerful? In the same way that they drilled the decay out of my mouth and replaced it with artificial stucco, can we clear out our emotional rot and replace it? And is it possible to replace with something genuine and sustainable, or is the replacement always slightly foreign, never fully part of our original selves? And which definition do we operate with when talking about emotional cavities? Is a cavity a void, or a space full of dying substance? What is a cavity, really?

Verbal Intentionality for the Sake of Others

Two days ago in Los Angeles a good friend that I made in Buenos Aires, who just happens to be a Santa Monica native, took me to Abbot Kinney. Abbot Kinney is a street in Venice near the beach that only houses independently owned shops and restaurants--chain businesses are a no-no. When I asked my friend if this was the street he had told me about one night in Argentina, where Pinkberry had existed before it was a chain, he was flabbergasted that I remembered. One night over wine he had explained to me that Pinkberry resided on Abbot Kinney when it was a small start-up, but when it became a chain, a mom-and-pop homemade icecream joint opened up next door, the community boycotted Pinkberry, and it went out of business.

As he mulled over the fact that I remembered his story, we continued walking towards a coffee shop. Several minutes later, he said, "I really shouldn't tell people that." Confused and intrigued, I asked why. "Because that's a little tiny space in your brain that was used up with information it didn't need."

What a thoughtful, different way of thinking about your words. Usually folks talk about intentionality for the sake of representation, for the sake of self-image or for upholding the honor and respect of your individual person, but also the multiple identities and communities your selfhood might stand for or be understood as. To be verbally intentional and deliberate for the sake of another's brainspace is such a beautiful concept. Then again, is it really my job or my place to decide what information another should be exposed to? Yet again, is not the very act of being, including speaking and acting, exposing others to information and experiences they have no choice but to interact with in some way? And we can not know why or how another brain will latch on to our words. I explained to my friend that my brain latched on to the information he deemed insignificant for me to remember because my brain has an anti-corporate sentiment; my remembrance of his Pinkberry anecdote is actually useful and not a waste at all.

This brings me to the politics of blogging, which I will expand on at a later date. Is the word-based intentionality I practice with my blogs done for the sake of others? What a self-less world my friend lives in, if he practices what he puts out into the world for the sake of the souls he is sharing space with. I have to admit that I am much more selfish than he. When I blog, it is because I think that these ideas I am processing and the experiences I am reflecting on are crucial, and that my personal relationship to them matters. Whether or not your brain chooses to latch on does not concern me, so much as the pure and simple fact that I am moving them beyond myself. Of course the hope is that my thoughts and ideas will link with another's, or with many others, and that collectively we will create a verbal, emotional, mental, and energetic forcefield that will propel us forward. For now, though, let me just say that I am practicing verbal intentionality. For whose sake, exactly, only time will tell.