Did you know that a common surfboard is 100 toxic? Everything about the process of manufacturing the board, its shiny resin, down to the foam core is the opposite of earth friendly.

“Despite its nature-boy image, the American surfing industry often relies on toxic manufacturing processes and generates tons of waste to make surfboards and other products,” says the NY Times.

This is very true. Until now.

Recently, the NY Times gave a nod to my friends at “Green Foam Blanks” for their effort to reduce the amount of waste that results from making surfboards.

Using recycled materials, mostly dust and particles of foam swept up from board shop floors, the environmentally considerate company based in San Clemente, California has created a high performance board that stands up to the rest.

Check out their blog and see my board as it was being finished. As my travels abroad finally come to an end this weekend I plan on being belly down until Christmas thanks to this beauty.

The following are excerpts from The NY Times’ story on a fantastic biological study on what makes us distinctly human. Can you guess what we have that separates us from the other primates? Like my friend Dougie here (whose parents I did not ask permission before posting his handsome steeze), we are born with an urge to help.

When infants 18 months old see an unrelated adult whose hands are full and who needs assistance opening a door or picking up a dropped clothespin, they will immediately help, Michael Tomasello writes in “Why We Cooperate,” a book published in October. Dr. Tomasello, a developmental psychologist, is co-director of the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany.

The helping behavior seems to be innate because it appears so early and before many parents start teaching children the rules of polite behavior.

“Children are altruistic by nature,” he writes, and though they are also naturally selfish, all parents need do is try to tip the balance toward social behavior.

“That’s why we have moral dilemmas,” Dr. Tomasello said, “because we are both selfish and altruistic at the same time.”

Already at a Café, I’ve been approached twice to confirm my identity - hopefully by generous listeners. But to be honest, I don’t really know what they’re expressing to me. I just smile and nod with an air of peace, accepting the unfamiliar language as it comes at me. It’s the best I can do to take in the polite and sexy mannerisms of strangers. I can only assume they’re being complimentary of my work. For all I know they could be playing a game called, “Who can say the most ridiculous thing to Jason and have him say thank you to it!”

Here in Paris, espresso is my pot, a chocolate croissant my ecstasy. The language itself is like a massage to my virgin ears, every twist of the tongue a temptation. The words are like whores luring me away to crave bad things. Even the common phrase from a man manages to rape my brain. Yet, it is all those things without the trauma or the drama. It’s more like an interpretive dance. Yet, it is simply France. And being here feels as though the rest of the world never existed.

But it does. I have such vivid memories of Argentina and Brazil that it will be a while before I get over audiences holding up signs like, “Be My Vegan Baby’s Father” or “I want a son of yours” or “Please have sex with my friend.” And then there was that woman who shouted, “Attractivo!... Talentoso!... Lollypop!” or the nice man at the airport and his congenial, “Hello Foreign.”

Paris is a perfumed city, bedazzled in lights, leather and legs. It is a city that inspires poetry, romance and leave-in conditioner. This is the one city where I’m neither bothered by cigarette smokers nor stinky cheese. Being here makes me want a chateau to claim as my castle. Being here makes me want to sleep in an expensive suit while I dream in black in white. Yet while the city consumes my imagination, I am content in the corner, a tourist observing the colorful world in a state of perpetual newness. Even in the busiest of places, I find solace as if the city were sound proof, the babble of voices being the drone of raw emotion, nothing more. My understanding of the language is so minimal that comparing it to a call of wild animals is the best I can do to apply any meaning to it. Therefore, everything I hear is magical, like ears listening to ballet. The whir of le scooter, the ding of the vino, the clop of the boots and unzipping of jackets supply the musical accompaniment to all of it including my clinking miniature spoonfuls of sugar into my annual espresso.

I come to this café every time I’m here as it’s right around the corner from my Parisian hotel away from home. It’s where I’ve purchased many journals and spent hours filling them. Being here is a wonderful feeling every time. And it’s times like these I pray a life like this lasts forever. According to the Champs Elysées, it will. Sustaining centuries and the pace of millions, she remains one of the great avenues. And just as the Arc de Triomphe has no plan to lose the staring contest against the Louvre, neither will I let myself lose this love for Paris.

As another season of touring comes to an end, I reflect on the thousands of unified voices that met us along the way, carried us rather, into our elevated state of grace. These voices sang in harmony night after night, keeping fresh what would otherwise be too familiar for us, and I can’t thank them enough. I am grateful to experience being provided for by such a peace-driven, love-fueled world community in action.

And - There’s one voice that stands out from all of them. I would like to acknowledge that voice and thank her for inspiring me on a daily basis.



Throughout 2009, Tricia Huffman, our resident Joyologist, now commonly referred to as Love Inspiring Tricia, brought vibe, joy, peace, and loads of love to myself, the Band, and our tireless Crew. She was my partner in transformation and together we took on waking up the world to powerful practices such as Gratitude, Generosity, Abundance, Creation and Being Love. Her compassionate care, combined with her incredible raw cuisine and yoga guidance created a touring experience like no other.

Some bands could hit the bottle before taking the stage. But thanks to Tricia, our team hit rich smoothies, elixirs and tonics. She was always one step ahead of us and with her a wealth of knowledge and supply. When you needed it the most, there would be Tricia with a shot of Wild Blue Green Algae, a Nori Wrap, or some Raw Coconut Cream Pie. If she were empty handed, she’d still be there full-hearted, attentive, listening, loving, being of service to the whole. Each day, she transformed backstage drabness into a sanctuary. She was my vibe counselor. She was my friend.



Road life has the tendency to break a man, to fool one into losing his sanity, as distance and time create separation from what others might call normal life. With Tricia always around the corner laughing, sharing inspirational ideas and quotes, asking us conscious-minded questions, we’re kept present to the powers we have as human beings living a life fulfilled. She is indeed who she says she is. She Inspires Love.

For more than 100 shows this year, she’s given each one of us a hug before we hit the stage. That’s not something we ever asked for. She just started doing it. Much like everything else her job entailed, she created it.

Consistency and the ability to endure the road as long as we have is a combination of three things: Having a superb crew maintaining the musical life, having a great audience to play to, and keeping a powerfully loving presence waiting in the wings.

As my tour comes to a close, I bow to Tricia, whose journey is just getting started.

Thank you, Tricia. You will be missed a great deal. I hold space for all of it knowing that this goodbye is just a set up for “great to see you again.”

In honor of her extraordinary gift of acknowledgment I am adding a new topic to my blog, The Awesome Person Bulletin. The APB will be a shout out to the totally awesome people in my life. Thank You Tricia, my muse, for all the inspiration.

If you would like to continue to be inspired by her awesome journey, you can follow her blog at IamBeingLove.Blogspot.com or on Twitter @beingTricia.



And Thanks for keeping the Empire from Crumbling. I love you.
Infinite and Prolific, Jason

12 kids from Rocinha Surf School stopped by the hotel with their coach and club founder, Ricardo Bocao along with members of Surfrider Foundation Brazil. For 15 years “Rocinha Surfe Escola” has enrolled little dudes from the favelas in the power of stoke as well as their own abilities. The kids could potentially have few luxuries outside of surfing. Their shanty metropolis, Rocinha, was designed without sewage in mind, and is thought to have the most polluted water in Rio. In the surf club, the kids learn more than just cutbacks and aerials. They get to be part of a team. This setting creates a new context for these kids, one that focuses on the importance of environmental issues while being of service to others.

With the help of translators we shared our enthusiasm for surf. One little man about waist high, spun around in tight 180-degree turns demonstrating how he gets into the tube, his spastic 5-year old limbs on their way to guiding a lifetime of long rides. You could tell by his eyes he was astral projecting himself into a wave from right there in the hotel lobby. Two more boys demonstrated their strength in a push-up exhibition, while two of the older boys sang me their own Portuguese rendition of I’m Yours accompanied by a harmonica.

I was moved by the visit. I’m not a competitive surfer. I just enjoy the float and the odd zing. Surfing is the greatest waste of time and a wonderful way to treat the mind, body, and soul. To be tapped by these kids – for them to gift me with a painting done on a chunk of recycled surfboard – for them to gather as a group to acknowledge me, a simple surf hobbyist, I bow to them with the utmost respect.
Anyone who’s experienced life in a line-up senses the ocean in every living thing. These kids are the real deal. They're sea creatures, a telling of the future, and a great hope at maintaining the purity of our recreational coasts.



Read more about Coach Ricardo Bocao’s extraordinary surf club and his effort to champion champions out of South America’s largest slum.

Or try this PDF version of a great story from Surfrider's Making Waves Magazine.

And for more info about how to assist in coastal programs near you, go to Surfrider.Org

When I plan a vacation, I usually don’t look to cities. I want country settings. I want to see the edge of the Earth. I want to feel closer to the stars with more access to those that fall; where talking with the omnipresent feels like I’m on a direct line. If my eyes can’t be zooming out hundreds of miles over open water or from a mountain pass, I want them to be set on macro exploring a thick and twisted jungle floor. In my journey I look for a few thrills now and then. Something to write home about.

In those moments I like to feel like Indiana Jones hanging over a ledge, being recklessly whisked away down a sorted highway in India, or lifted off the ground in a single prop plane in a spirited getaway over a grassy, near forgotten runway. In other moments, apart from the adventure, I prefer the kind of stillness that only nature can offer. Put me in places where the wind against my skin is all that powers my appreciating sighs - to hum, to buzz with delight. My lungs, like the rest of my being, hang light, regenerating perhaps, or resting at least, from its heavier duty sustaining life in the big cities.

So far on this excursion down south, I’ve seen only the cities. Rio De Janeiro, Curitiba, Sao Paolo, and Buenos Aires. They are all vastly metropolitan, sprawling cities. Only Rio so far has afforded me the mountains and oceans, which are built into the city’s extraordinary design.

Also in Rio, not unlike many cities in the world including New York and Los Angeles, posh neighborhoods and affluent avenues jut right up against slums. Communities built of scrap metal, concrete and recycled materials stacked clumsily like Jenga pieces. Blue hued glues hold them all together.

“This is not the beautiful part,” said one of our many rotating guides. But I choose to see the contrary. It was a slum, Rio’s largest in fact, but it is still home to hundreds of thousands of lives being lived out in every nook, cranny and crawlspace of the alleyway streets. Slum is merely economic jargon. The word itself has no status. Everything I could see was natural life. It was a typical human settlement. Earthlings clinging onto earthlings for life support, making art to entertain each other, painting walls to decorate or demonstrate. No matter how desolate, floors need to be swept, water pumped in and out. Creativity and ingenuity are hard at work. Children play and mind their pets. People dance and fall in love. Life does what life does no matter where you reside.

I am lucky that I have the freedom to be so mobile. Sometimes I forget that when I temporarily hold myself hostage in a holding tank, hotel, terminal, van, or dressing room. I am quickly reminded of my gift when I meet anyone new. They know I have traveled far to be there and that I will continue to visit many places even if only doing so in the effort to return home. I realize I am blessed and in a sense very powerful. I know I must walk with respect and honor those whose grounds I am effortlessly treading upon. I am here because I sing songs and share my understanding of love with large groups of people. That is all. My work isn’t taken lightly and I spend a great deal of time sweating over and reconnecting with it, not technically, but personally and spiritually. This is not a vacation for me. I would never choose many of the cities we travel to and I would certainly not choose the length at which we travel. But I accept that there is a special calling to abide to right now.

I choose the adventure. I choose my life as it is. Because of this I’m free to be on vacation at all times. That which is this magical mystery tour of life, both in and away from the music industry, is all there is all. My eyes are still the same eyes I had when I was a child. The movie I am watching doesn't pause for commercials. Even bathroom breaks are written into script. Even death.

In 6 days our tour will officially come to an end. The band and crew will pack up their gear and head home. I’ll meander to Europe for a few more promotional waves of the hand and look forward to a mouthful of French on my palette.

In 2 weeks time I will enter the studio and begin recording the next album. Only a handful of songs are written and slated but the momentum of love is with me. Every day new verses get added on. The songs are coming together piece by piece. The process is unlike any of the other records before this. It’s like I’m being gifted the album without having to do the work. I’m creating that in 6 months the project will be complete and then we’ll hit the road again with new sounds and new musicians. From today’s tired perspective I laugh at how soon that sounds, but I know there’s no better way to spend my time and no better way to share and practice what I am learning. We are of service to one another. Earthlings clinging to earthlings for life support, making up acts to entertain its Self. Translation: Being love.

Here are two great examples of Love being "Love Beings." Sting (pictured on the right) with Chief Raoni Txucarramae of the Kayapo people, taken last night at the About Us Festival in Sao Paolo.



20 years ago, Sting lived with the Kayapo's. He said they pretty much adopted him. Whatever they did to him, he looks and sounds amazing at 58.

Click here to read news on what Sting is up to, speaking out on behalf of the indigenous peoples while here in Brazil. The guy has certainly had some practice flexing his activist muscles. Long live the elegance of Lord Sumner!

In Bflat is the perfect Sunday kind of site to go well with rain and introspect. In Bb is a collaborative music and spoken word project conceived by Darren Solomon from Science for Girls, and developed with contributions from users.

Click here inJoy inBflat. Play the clips simultaneously. Get lost in the ambiance. Be your own Philip Glass.

Who else would be fun to be?

Try This:
Close your eyes and imagine being someone else... Feel what it's like inside their body... Listen to a new heartbeat... Hear with new ears... Open your eyes and feel yourself at an unfamiliar height standing upright with a different spine. Look at your hands and admire their operational capacity. Notice parts of the new you that are similar to the old you. Reach out and touch things as this new creature. Be in awe of your transformation. See what your new body and mind are up to.

After you've had a good run with it, consider that you never left your body but simply changed your perspective. This is a game no different than kids play. It's pretend. It's also a form of meditation and self-realization. And we do it through all of life. Only somewhere along the way we stopped admitting with others that we all live in the land of make-believe.

Come on, let's be authentic with each other. Let's be the kids we really are.

Everything we think about ourselves and others is made up. I make up that my constant friend is the most beautiful woman in the Universe. I make up that this blog is important to you. I make up that some people I travel with are bored. I make up that my cat actually thinks about me when I'm gone. I make up that my dreams mean something. I make up that it's too early today to be typing. I make up that with a new age comes a new status. Come on, in the grandness of the galaxy, has my 32 years made a significant sound on its own to stand out or even harmonize with the hum of the earth? I make up that it has, even if I am invisible from space; even if human life is just a fancy form of bacteria spreading on the surface of this life-loving planet. Humans have imagination, choice, and the will to be demonstrative or not.  

Today I'm going to make up that I’m 7. I'm going to be surprised by everything at the airport, especially the airplanes. I'm going to eat lots of sugar, draw pictures, and run a few miles. Why not? I now make up that I'm 7. 12-year-olds are old and anyone over 20 is ancient. I do what I want cuz I'm 7.


Starting now.






Bye.

Good luck on your project, said a woman after we took a photo together in the airport. I had pointed to IamSilent.com written on my t-shirt in sharpee after she tried asking a few different times about where and when our next show was. I had only prepared for yes or no inquiries.

I didn’t think to carry a pad and pen for I thought that too would be like using my voice. I only hit a wall once at the start of the day when a hurried airline attendant asked for my final destination. I froze. Panicked, I didn’t know sign language or how to nod “Curitiba.” After a lengthy pause I mumbled the word and cursed myself for not having had something to point to in that situation. I could’ve flagged down a friend to explain, but I didn’t.

Surprisingly throughout the day, my touring party began to move and speak differently around me, assisting me in a gentle and loving way, (which they usually do). But because I never asked for their help, I felt this enormous love from them as they directed me from flight to flight, van to room. I would laugh inside as I began to feel like an invalid. I would smile “thank you” with soft eyes, bowing, often with hands in prayer position. It was the best I could do.

Halfway into the long journey from Buenos Aires back to Brazil I connected the Vow of Silence to the very serious situation of starvation. Luckily I had a banana in my bag to tie me over, but once we’d arrived at the hotel late in the evening, I was without any supply that would satisfy. My stomach had been acting up earlier that morning and was now an empty pit bubbling with hunger. I thought to go and knock on someone’s door, hold up my room service menu and pray they’d come back to my room and order something for me, but I refrained. The luxury of my situation made me not so hungry anymore. Even the items in the mini-bar repulsed me for their convenience rather than their usual bite-sized absurdity.

As I sat with the lightness of being quiet and empty, the power of the Vow of Silence revealed itself in the final hours before sleep. My stomach began speaking up on the rest of my body’s behalf.

In my suitcase I found some Yerba Mate Tea along with some Biscochitos Materos, flavorless cookies to be enjoyed with the Tea. They were gifts I’m glad I stowed in Argentina and had a few cups and nibbles before bed. Barely a glutton but guilty as one, with appetite curbed I wrote in my journal about much I am thankful for…

Down the road there’s a man watching the water levels at a reservoir. He is sending us what he can, saving some for uncertain hours. Another man is keeping a keen eye on energy consumption. He gauges nuclear intensity or keeps track of how much coal is being processed, or he’s washing an array of solar panels or doing a routine check-up on the wind turbines. He’s so good at his job that he’s able to sell excess power to other cities in need.

A farmer walks out on her land just before dawn. Like a clock herself, she counts down to the second as the early morning irrigation system kicks on. In a few hours she and her team will resume their daily practice of picking, drying, milling, composting, removing weeds and shooing away insects from the crops so all the delicious food can arrive at a store where clerks will stock thru the night as maintenance men buff and polish floors to a spit shine for our safe and smooth stroll among mass quantities of eats and household treats. 

Past every lock and every turned key of any door we walk through - Every room we stand in - The clothes on our body - The safety of the city street – Traffic lights that blink off and on organizing the daily flow of your city’s thousands – Garbage that gets taken away, hauled out of sight, miles from smell – Public restrooms stocked with paper and soap… Everything in the western world set up by others before us makes it a pretty comfortable place to live.

It’s amazing to me that I can navigate from my home to the store or from store to store without ever having to stop my car. I can effortlessly cross an arid desert, climb snow covered mountains and propel over wide rivers all in the same day and the climate in my car will remain a breezy 70-me. 

I see how the guy who pours the concrete to make a new sidewalk does so with love and serious concentration. The plumber installs pipes and valves with such care that our houses, offices and streets don’t flood. A Roofer sweats without shade making sure the structure above us is sound. The last 50 elevators I’ve been in all worked perfectly taking my life to new heights. Doctors work days without rest in emergency rooms to see that friends and family have more time together while scientists continue to make breakthroughs further extending our lifespan. 

I think you see what I’m getting at. We’ve got it made. We ARE provided for. We ARE loved.

Our voice is a powerful tool. We can hold conversations. We can sing. We can shout. We can write. We can vote. We can make powerful requests. If you can do any one of these, we can change the world.

Did you know there are 27 million slaves in the world today? People forced to work without pay, under the threat of violence and unable to walk away. Many of them are entire villages trapped illegally as indentured servants by powerful landowners and successful companies.

Visit any of the sites below and lend your voice to the revolution…

www.FreeTheChildren.Com

www.IamSilent.Com

www.FreeTheSlaves.Net

Tomorrow is November 20th, the day I set aside to be silent acknowledging the millions of oppressed children around the globe who have no rights, therefore no voice to protect them.

Luckily our tour schedule aligned perfectly after making this promise and I will have no concert to use as an excuse to be vocal. I rescheduled all phone interviews and vow to not use email, twitter, texting, etc. Not talking will be easy. I actually look forward to 24 hours of introspection. What will you do to prepare?

For the kids waiting outside of my hotel for pictures and autographs,  I will have something inscribed on my t-shirt that will explain my silence and direct them to IamSilent.com. I invite you too to take this on. Give your community a real reason to talk. Wake them up about the severity of the issue. Let them ask questions and host a big conversation about it on the 21st. Your participation in this peaceful protest places you in the practice of being a global citizen. Empower yourself and join the movement.

Go to IamSilent.com right now and Take the Vow.

This event is being brought to us by the incredible movers and shakers at freethechildren.com

Zippin' it,
Jason

November in Argentina is late spring. I think it's wonderful that we as technologically advanced humans can jet around the world and reappear in a completely different season in only a matter of hours. Is it late here or am I just agreeing to whatever time I'm told it is? Regardless, my eyes are growing tired and I do feel like I ate dinner too late. But rather than return to the humidity within my hotel room to lie down and stick to the sheets letting all that delicious and adventurous Argentinean food go to waste, I stay up and digest with healthy doses of YouTube. Here’s some of what I’ve been watching.

Behold a fully expressed group of young persons. Say hello to PS22 as they perform one of my favorite songs, Joga - by Bjork.



SymphonyOfScience.com presents Carl Sagan and Stephen Hawking in this mind expanding auto-tuned creation, A Glorious Dawn.



This similarly enthralling track, We’re All Connected features Bill Bye the Science Guy whom I had the pleasure of connecting with recently. He stressed that the world has to start learning how to do more with less. We are a planet of 7 billion that really only has enough resources for less than 2 billion. And unless we can make two and half more Earths, we’d better start learning to save our scraps and make the most with what we got. If I were me, and I am, I'd listen to them scientists, which I does.



The Kings Firecrackers wow us with something different using just a piece of rope along with some remixed Kenny Loggins. I Love how the stunned Bear from 1:25 gets into it by the end. It's hard not to. These girls do some weird shit.



And lastly... While I hesitate posting this, it's too silly not to share. Last night we performed on Faustào, Brazil's biggest talk/variety-show where the average Sunday night viewership is 40 million. That's a lot of people watching TV! Way more than an American Idol Finale. The show has the tendency to last 3 hours and there are very few commercial breaks as Faustào, the grandiose Host, does most of the pitching. Take a look at everyone's favorite hippy song as celebrated by the Faustào Audience and His Solid Gold Dancers. Besides feeling like I was on a game show, I was present to wishing I'd worn a belt.



What are you present to?