Support Blaine's Road to Recovery

On the evening of Thursday, June 13, Blaine was in a serious motorcycle accident. 

We believe he was hit by a car at a busy intersection on his way home by an unidentified driver. He was taken to LA General Medical Center and has been in the ICU since arriving. As of June 22 (at the time of writing this), he is slowly recovering from surgeries on his left leg and has been receiving treatment to manage the dysregulation of his nervous system while in the acute phase of recovery from a serious TBI (diagnosis: diffuse axonal injury).

While he is awaiting surgery on his left arm and right hand, he is slowly improving in other areas, being weaned off supplemental oxygen and a feeding tube.

Once he is discharged from the hospital, he will be transferred to a neuro rehab facility where he will receive intensive daily therapies (OT, PT, ST) to begin addressing the after effects of his TBI. The extent to which his injuries will have a lasting impact on his wellbeing remains uncertain.

The road to recovery will be long with many unknowns. A few of the immediate expenses we are encountering include:

We are overwhelmed with gratitude for the generosity of Blaine's community in Los Angeles. Friends and coworkers have helped immensely in the immediate aftermath of the accident, communicating details and standing in for family, sharing their resources and allowing us a temporary space to sleep, meals delivered to the hospital, visits and thoughtful check-ins. As we all look ahead, the return of Blaine's health and strength, body, mind and spirit is our collective prayer and priority.

Please feel free to share this page with anyone who would like to receive updates and is interested in supporting Blaine's path to recovery. Thank you for taking the time to read – We leave you with something from one of Blaine's favorite poets.

To Begin With, the Sweet Grass

by Mary Oliver

I.

Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat

of the sweet grass?

Will the owl bite off its own wings?

Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or

forget to sing?

Will the rivers run upstream?

Behold, I say—behold

the reliability and the finery and the teachings

of this gritty earth gift.

II.

Eat bread and understand comfort.

Drink water, and understand delight.

Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets

are opening their bodies for the hummingbirds

who are drinking the sweetness, who are

thrillingly gluttonous.

For one thing leads to another.

Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot.

Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.

And someone's face, whom you love, will be as a star

both intimate and ultimate,

and you will be both heart-shaken and respectful.

And you will hear the air itself, like a beloved, whisper:

oh, let me, for a while longer, enter the two

beautiful bodies of your lungs.

III.

The witchery of living

is my whole conversation

with you, my darlings.

All I can tell you is what I know.

Look, and look again.

This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.

It's more than bones.

It's more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.

It's more than the beating of the single heart.

It's praising.

It's giving until the giving feels like receiving.

You have a life—just imagine that!

You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe

still another.

IV.

Someday I am going to ask my friend Paulus,

the dancer, the potter,

to make me a begging bowl

which I believe

my soul needs.

And if I come to you,

to the door of your comfortable house

with unwashed clothes and unclean fingernails,

will you put something into it?

I would like to take this chance.

I would like to give you this chance.

V.

We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we

change.

Congratulations, if

you have changed.

VI.

Let me ask you this.

Do you also think that beauty exists for some

fabulous reason?

And, if you have not been enchanted by this adventure—

your life—

what would do for you?

VII.

What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself.

Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to.

That was many years ago.

Since then I have gone out from my confinements,

though with difficulty.

I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.

I cast them out, I put them on the mush pile.

They will be nourishment somehow (everything is nourishment

somehow or another).

And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.

I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is.

I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned,

I have become younger.

And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?

Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.