Days of Our Second Lives

My Avi is My Soul

About the time I understood the difference between a shape and a skin (shape being the equivalent of a body's bone structure and musculature, and skin being the outer wrapping) my relationship with my avatar began to change.  I noticed, for example, that I felt very protective of her personal space and privacy, taking care to avoid the common pitfalls of Second Life (SL) existence, such as accidentally removing critical pieces of clothing in public or crashing willy nilly into others.  Moreover, the practice of trying on every possible size, shape, and variation of avatar lost its appeal. I found, much to my surprise, that I not only didn't want to live my second life as a furry white fox with a purple tail or the "Lost in Space" robot, but that most variations on the human form no longer interested me either.  Contrary to my initial notion that looking and dressing like a blond bombshell might be fun, I discovered I felt ridiculous and didn't  enjoy the kind of attention this "look" provoked.

Then there were the reactions of my newfound SL friends to contend with.  These were people I was coming to like and respect, so comments such as, "where's the costume party, Jen?"  or "Hey!  This is a PG sim," were enough to send me scuttling back to "Edit Appearance" mode.

But what finally brought my relationship to my avatar into sharp and somewhat disconcerting focus was this definition of the word "Avatar," discovered while researching the history and development of virtual worlds:

"Derived from the Sanskrit word Avatara, Avatar means the descent of God, or simply incarnation.  In English, the word has come to mean an embodiment or bodily manifestation of the Divine."

Wow. For one long moment I sat perfectly still, letting the words and their meaning sink in - letting myself be recalled to my reasons for entering Second Life in the first place.  The belief that a clear and undeniable core of Light exists in every living thing - a little piece of the divine if you will - is fundamental to my existence.  It is what I strive to see and affirm in my clients, and what I know to be unequivocally true about myself.  Over time, I've discovered that helping others recognize and celebrate that Light in themselves is at the heart of my work as a writer and teacher. I'd come to SL to see how this work might unfold in a virtual world. 

So why, I asked myself,  should my avi be any different from my First-Life (FL) self?  In fact, given the almost unlimited possibilities for "manifestation" that exist in SL, wasn't donning an avatar the perfect opportunity to express that "Light?"  And what, I inwardly groaned, had I been thinking, dressing my avi up and parading her around SL like the proverbial Barbie doll? 

The next question, of course, was what did I want others to perceive and know about me when they met Jenaia?  The answer - as clear and solid as a pebble falling into still water - was simple.  I wanted others to see behind the mask that our modern world, with its judgments and roles, imposes on each of us.  I wanted Jenaia to reflect my soul.

Within hours of having this little discussion with myself, I was "body shopping" again - this time with a totally different goal in mind.  The shape and skin I instinctively chose did not come from the same shop, so I had no idea what would happen when SL worked its magic and merged the two. Therefore, I retreated to my house in the sky for some privacy while I dragged the new shape and skin folders onto my avi.

Unlike my previous shape and skin changes, which were accomplished with the ease of a quick change artist, the process of becoming Jenaia was not only slow but full of glitches.  For several minutes all I could see was my original "Girl Next Door" persona.  Then gradually, like warm wax melting and reforming, a blurry nose, monkey-like lips, and unfocused eyes formed and reformed on my screen. It was another 10 minutes before the "real" Jenaia emerged, looking out at me with her liquid brown eyes and quiet smile. I don't know who was happier to see whom, but I had no doubt that I was encountering a very real and special part of myself.

I've since given up trying to explain why the process of "rezzing" Jenaia is so difficult and tedious.  All I know is that on the rare occasions when I have succumbed to the temptation of trying on a different avi it has been many long and worrisome minutes before Jenaia returns.  My theory, as unorthodox and untechnical as it may sound, is that the difficulty is my soul's gentle reminder to stay focused on Jenaia's reason for being; or as William Stafford put it in the last stanza of his poem, A Ritual to Read to Each Other:

"...though we could fool each other, we should consider --
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake...
the signals we give - yes or no, or maybe --
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep."

Black Birds and Mentors

Everyone needs help now and again in Second Life (SL). It goes with the territory.  Seemingly simple tasks, such as buying a pair of shoes, become daunting (please imagine a shoe half the length it needs to be and skewed to one side) until someone explains that, unlike in real life (RL) you're expected to adjust the size and shape of your foot to fit your shoes.  Go figure.

And of course if you get bitten by the building bug (yes it is possible to build in SL) you've got another whole set of menus and tools to master.  That why, when I purchased a snowy owl to sit on my shoulder, and found it perched at a 45-degree angle on my elbow instead, I went looking for a mentor.

Mentors are the Monty Pythons of Second Life.  Enlisted and trained by Linden Labs, they volunteer their time to help anyone and everyone who requires assistance.  This training and experience mean that mentors have seen and done almost everything in SL.  Not much fazes them, but some of the most off-the-wall, noisy, and outright silly things amuse them.  Remind me to tell you about "asshats" and the mentor version of the Lord's Prayer some time.

Mentors can almost always be found on one of the many Help or Orientation Islands scattered throughout SL, and this particular day was no exception.  My owl and I teleported into the usual chaotic stew of avis - scantily clad dancers, faeries emitting clouds of sparkling lights, and a Pillsbury Dough Boy break- dancing beside a diminutive furry of some sort.  A quick scan of the area showed that there were three mentors  fielding questions.  The first two were clearly  swamped.  The third, a large black raven sitting quietly on the stone banister, appeared to be simply enjoying the show. 

Now I have a thing about animal avis - or I did at the time.  I am never quite sure what to make of someone who wants to walk around SL as a basset hound or dragon, never mind a large black bird with beady eyes. Then there was the whole thing about names.  As you know, SL residents are nothing but creative when it comes to choosing their names, and this raven's name was no exception.  The tag above the bird's head read "Das Wade," but I had no idea if the person behind the feathers was male or female.  In the end I decided it didn't matter.  I needed help and the bird (whoever or whatever he/she was) was a mentor.  I screwed up my courage and asked.

"Excuse me," I typed.  "Are you a mentor?"

"Yep," came the cryptic reply.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Yep."

Clearly this was getting off to a scintillating start.  Hurriedly I explained my problem and was asked where I purchased my owl.  "Gotta check it out," said the bird.  "TP over there and then send me a taxi."  A taxi?  Eventually, after arriving at the store and getting two IMs (instant messages) from the bird asking why I wasn't sending a teleport, I understood what "taxi" meant.  I fired of a teleport offer and the raven appeared, flapping its wings above my head.

It took the bird only a moment or two to understand my problem, but not before he morphed quite suddenly and dramatically into a broad-shouldered, good looking man with a bald head.  "Need my human avi for this one," he explained.  While he purchased his own owl and checked the scripts, we chatted  about RL jobs and our reasons for being in SL.  Within minutes my owl was back on my shoulder and a new friendship was established.

"How would you like to go skydiving?" he asked just as I was preparing to leave.  Looking back, I realize this  was one of those pivotal moments in life when two roads open before you.  Reason said I had no idea who this man was (or if he even was a man for that matter) and I would be better off refusing.  My inner child, however, sensed a kindred spirit and was itching to go play.  In the end, as Robert Frost would say, "I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

I would add that I have never regretted my decision to leap from the sky at Das Wade's side.  All newbies should have a a friend and mentor as zany and loyal as "The Bird."  Hugs to the power of 2 Das!

We're Not In Kansas Anymore

From the time I was a little girl sitting transfixed before the TV as Dorothy's black and white existence was ripped from its foundations and hurled into sky, I've been fascinated by the possibility of other, less earthbound worlds existing side-by-side with our own.  When no one was looking, I would pause at doorways where I imagined the veil was thinnest - closing my eyes and holding my breath as I stepped across the threshold - fully expecting the Technicolor world of OZ to materialize before me.

The fact that this never actually happened hasn't discouraged me in the least.  I still pause at entrances and doorways - both literal and figurative - to take stock of where I am and feel beyond the curtain to what might be. Imagine my excitement then as I completed my orientation and prepared to teleport into my new Second Life.

Technicolor doesn't even begin to describe the scene that greeted me at Help Island - my first stop after orientation.   I'd been told that Help Island was the place to go to get your questions answered, and boy did I have questions!  Virtual chaos reigned as I landed on someone's head, then stumbled full force into a red and black dragon emitting brilliant particles of white light.  Frantically typing, "excuse me," I backed away and discovered I was standing on the toes of a woman who looked like a cross between an elf and a cat. 

The tag above the elf/cat's head said, "Lina Pussycat," and she was my first real glimpse of what it means to create a "look" for your avatar.  With her perky black ears poking out of short white hair, gently swishing tail, and intricate tattoos, she was both elegant and intriguing.  Fortunately she also had a sense of humor, responding to my embarrassed apologies with  reassurances and polite questions until I regained my composure. 

Lina, as it  turns out, is the co-founder of Club Republick in Second Life and a computer whiz of the highest order.  And, though we were and are VERY different people, she kindly took me under her wing for the next few days as I learned to navigate the basics of my new life, answering my endless questions - why couldn't I see the front of my avatar; what was the difference between a shape and a skin; why did my clothes persist in coming off every time I changed (yikes!); etc., and counseling me on the finer points of SL etiquette. 

To Lina, then, I owe my gentle introduction to Second Life society and the "pay it forward" spirit that permeates so many interactions here.  She not only gave me my first new "skin," after commenting with some amusement that I looked like a pug-faced dog, but helped me take my first, uncertain and wobbly steps along SL's yellow brick road of adventure.   Thank you Lina, for helping me across the threshold and giving me my first glimpse of this marvelous, Technicolor world.  It is everything and more than I could have hoped for!

A Morane Is Born

Creating an Avatar (or an Avi as they are often called) in Second Life (SL) is a bit like preparing for the birth of a child.  Thankfully there is no morning sickness or nine-month wait, and the delivery is usually accomplished in a little less than 10 minutes.  All you're required to do is provide basic contact information, choose a name, and decide on the kind of account you want to open.  Since a basic account in SL is free, it's easy to see your virtual birth as painless and exciting.  After all, what's not to like about entering a world where it's possible to do everything from fly and teleport to shape shift from human to furry to robot to dragon and back again with a single click?

In my case, however, the birth process was a little more arduous.  As soon as I saw the "Choose Your Second Life Name" box, with Linden Lab's admonition to choose wisely because the name is set in stone, I knew I was in trouble.  Having re-envisioned and changed my given name in Real Life (RL)in my mid-thirties, I knew how important a name can be.  Words carry not only literal meaning - helping shape one's internal and external definition of self - but energetic potential as well.  Native Americans have always understood this, and bestow names rooted in nature and spirituality on their newborns.  Then there are the numerologists who convert each letter in a name into a numeric digit, believing every number has meaning.  I have a friend who swears by this system and chose her daughter's name based on its numeric significance.  Mulling all this over as I looked over the long list of almost 500 last names, I paused.  Who exactly did I want to be or become in Second Life?

In hindsight, with a little over three months of SL under my belt, I think this pause was my psyche's way of saying, "Heads up, lessons on the horizon."  At any rate, I took my time crafting a name.
The first was easy enough. I simply married my real name (Jena) with the nickname given to me by my Hawaiian friends (Naia).  Naia means dolphin in Hawaiian and embodies the joie de vivre they bring to life.

The second name was more problematic. With almost 500 names to choose from I was both intrigued and overwhelmed. Whoever is in charge of the Last Name Department at Linden Labs has clearly had a field day.  Catering to the many and eclectic tastes in SL, the list includes everything from punk and goth (Clawtooth, Dastardly, and Demonia) to whimsical (Fairey, Ninetails, and Wingtips) and just plain goofy (Ballyhoo, Mumfuzz, and  Moomintoog).  In the end, I compromised, choosing a name that was pleasing to the ear and vaguely familiar - Morane.

A moraine (spelled with an "i") is the material deposited by glaciers as they move.  The combination of immense pressure, cold, and slow but steady movement grinds the earth and stone beneath them into pebbles, sand, and clay.  Since this seemed like an accurate description of my own progress through life, I decided Morane wasn't a bad choice.  But just to be sure, I ran the numbers.  Here's what numerology had to say about the name Jenaia Morane:

Expression:7
Yours is the path of the mind.  Silence and solitude are your doorways into the deep recesses of the mind and the universe.  You are the philosopher, the analyst, the seeker, and if you're willing, the teacher.

Soul Urge: 2
You are the essence of individuality and independence.  You are intense and convicted when it comes to defending your beliefs, as you never doubt your inner strength and ability to handle any challenge.

Persona: 6
People and animals are attracted by your maternal nurturing and affection.  It feels good being around you as you are always looking for ways that you can make someone more comfortable. 

Since I couldn't find anything objectionable in that reading, I took the plunge and hit "continue."  Moments later, after selecting the "Girl Next Door" standard issue Avi (complete with mouse brown hair, baggy jeans, and gray flip flops) I was deposited on the shores of my new life.  Whether or not I'm living up to the promise of my name in SL remains to be seen, but you be the judge.  Join me for part three as I meet the bird who would become my mentor.