Listen Up: We Have A Message For You

A photo from last summer that illustrates Pablo's message for cancer today: He's got the power and he's gonna win!

We are not gonna take this sitting down. F*** that.

After 48 hours of sorrow and confusion and walking into walls we have jumped off the Pity Express. It hurt when we hit the ground and tumbled to a stop. We held Pablo in our arms to protect him from the impact. When we opened our eyes, we were OK. The sun was shining on us. The air was calm and warm and nurturing. We were safe. We are safe.

As we stood up, we realized that we'd landed on a safety net made up of two thousand arms from a thousand friends, family, neighbors, colleagues, and people we don't even know who've found us on the net or through friends of friends. To feel supported and saved—a miracle. To know with every cell in our bodies that nothing can stop us—NOTHING—a miracle.

We have the baddest, toughest, most lethal goddamn gang anyone's ever seen. Nobody's gonna let Pablo get hurt. We're at the front of the line, chains and bats in hand. Pablo has a cowboy gun belt, a holster on each hip, two shiny silver guns, a pair of handcuffs and a pair of shackles. He ain't bringing no recycled butter knife to a gunfight. Look at that kid. He's armed up to the teeth. Look around—everyone's here: Jo Ann, Grady, Polly, Jimmy, me, Peter + Brie, Dean, Matt, Adam, Hrishi, Ben, Acacia, Francine, Dorrie, Sean, John + Shana, Rachel + Clint, Helen, JMJ + Corrine, Tony + Joanna, Dr Mascarenhas, Dr Marcio, Dr Stein, Dr Austin, Doug Ulman and the Lance Armstrong Foundation crew...the list goes on and on. And the list includes YOU and YOU and YOU and YOU. Thousands of YOU, all over the world. Who nations reprezentin? Check this: Antwerp, Paris, Berlin, Sacto, Sydney, Toronto, Montreal, Melbourne, Manchester, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Madison, New Orleans, Chicago, SF, Seattle, Philly + Portland, Toyko, Albuquerque, Dublin, Jersey—and not one, but all five boroughs of the NYC.

Our gang is so big we're organized in battalions—neatly formed lines, ready for action. The brain power at our disposal is unmatchable. Our collective soul power is radiating heat that would scare the sun into a permanent eclipse. We are vulnerable, emotional, authentic cos we know that those are the three main ingredients to actual human interaction. Everything else is for everyone else.

That said, we are a peaceful gang. We have only one mortal enemy—the unfair + unjust + invisible outlaw known by the name of CANCER. When it comes to this conflict, we shoot to kill. But the first tool in our arsenal is not a gun or a bat or a knife. What we got is far more powerful than some man-made fighting device. We laugh in the face of such crude objects. Our weapon of choice is comprised of love, intention, collective consciousness, action, connection, truth, authenticity....

And we have a special protocol to wake these inert elements, to make them actionable. In order to explain this protocol, I have a short story to tell.

The other day, I was chatting with Cliff Burnstein, one of Silversun Pickups' managers. We were talking about our shared ethos in biz and in life. We hit on a wonderful term that fits into the Pablove story so perfectly that I'm compelled to share it here. Cliff told me about a friend of his, a high-end business guru. This man has a maxim that he teaches his people—something that sits at the top of the list of all the cliches and easy-to-remember sayings that most people walk around saying. It's a maxim that, lo and behold, Cliff and I live by. And it's a maxim that WE (as in you + us) have all been living for the past 11 months and six days. Wanna know what it is? It's pretty intense, so get ready.... Ready?

Here you go:

Actually F***ing Do It.

A.F.D.I.—pretty easy to remember, huh? That's our secret protocol.

In order to live in the world of A.F.D.I., you have to live by one simple rule: stop talking about s**t and DO IT. Very simple. Very rare.

In the world of Pablove, at this very moment, we all have to put our AFDI into high gear. We have to turn our hearts and our minds and our bodies to contribute to our lives, the lives of others, and to goodness in every shape and every form. We all contribute to hope and possibility and kinetic positivity by suiting up and showing up, ready for action.

Part of my AFDI is to say that we are throwing a couple things in the toilet, right now.

The first thing to go is NUMBERS, statistics, predictions, and all that. The only number we're living by is 1—as in one day at a time, one moment at a time, one thing at a time, one simple action makes a long-term, huge difference. Now is another form on one. Now is the only thing that we can truly affect in life. So let's cut the fat and focus on now.

The second thing that's going down the hatch is darkness. My last post was filled with fear, sorrow, doom and gloom, all of which thrive in darkness. That's not me. It's just where I was in the hours following the news. But I am done with it, and Jo Ann won't have it. So it's done: no more darkness. Not from me, not from you. The only comments we want to see on the blog are words of Love and Hope and Dreams. Not that we're censoring you, but yknow what I mean.

Enough about that stuff.

Here's the latest: I am standing at the front desk of the MRI/CT department at CHLA. My laptop is on the counter. It's the perfect height for me—can't sit down, can't bend forward. My back is not happy. I have what's called a transverse function fracture. Adam drove me to my first physical therapy appointment today. It hurt, but it made me feel like I was doing something to get the recovery show on the road. The PT, Joy Torbett, is a friend of my cycling coach, Rick Babington, so we were fast friends. Adam sat with me as I wept in pain and helped me when I needed it.

Jo Ann just walked out of the MRI lab. After three hours of waiting, Pablo is knocked out, in the giant MRI machine having his brain scanned. He hasn't been able to eat all day. He did not like that. When he gets out, he gets to choose where he wants to eat, anywhere in LA. Grady and Jo Ann fasted with him. I can't cos I need the nutrition to heal.

Uncle Dean arrived this morning. I was sitting in my Lazy Boy in our bedroom, and suddenly Dean was standing in front of me. So cool! Our army is getting stronger.

Tomorrow morning at 9:30 a.m. we are due back at CHLA for Pablo's bone scan. And at 9:45 a.m., CHLA radiology department will have a special patient: ME! While we were waiting for Pablo's MRI to go down, one of Dr M's colleagues, Dr Marcio, stopped by to say Hello. He is part of Team Pablo—he's become a good friend, and is one of the world authorities of Wilms' Tumor. He's also a cyclist, so I filled him in on my crash. I asked him, half-jokingly, if there was any way for me to get my MRI here at CHLA. I offered to pay cash, whatever—anything to not have another hours-long medical appointment in creepy Beverly Hills. To my surprise, he said, 'Let me go and talk to someone.' A few minutes later, he introduced me to the head of radiology, who gave me the green light. So Friday morning, I will don a CHLA gown (and will probably look like David Lee Roth in his assless chaps), and have my brain, shoulder, and spine scanned. The whole thing will take two hours. I'll get to bring a DVD and watch it in these super cool virtual reality-style goggles.

We're in the recovery room with Pablo now. He is still asleep. He looks so precious, so cute. And we can see his new adult front tooth perfectly. Homie better wake up soon—I think Grady's about to eat a Styrofoam cup!

More later....