I was just writing a new post, an homage to Glenn, David and Prince when suddenly the screen blinked without warning. Every word, every sentiment, every notion of what I knew and felt immediately vanished. In that fraction of a fraction of an instant, eveything left me. Poof! That about said it all.
Gentlemen of creativity, of courage, of compelling complexity, of kindness and sexy kool, good night from here, from ground control. Thank you for playing your parts the way that you did. Lord knows, you went above and beyond. And maybe that's why.... But, how could anyone have asked for more?
For you to stick around so that we never cease to dream of doves, rain's magic, tequila sunrises and space like we did back when... this is all we hoped for! A short order for such giants of good or so we wanted to believe. Yes you changed earth's terrain when you arrived and again when you left. You showed us mountains and brought us to their peaks, above the clouds, over and over again. For this parting moment, however, how can we not feel dazed, lost in a crater's rubble with weighted wings? Who shall show us how to soar once more? Where shall we go to or lean tomorrow? Will you somehow manage to continue to muse and infuse us with titlating tonics filled with notes, riffs, lyrics and choruses of intoxicating visions? Or are we now simply left to bow down and witness man's silent fate? No! As the atoms of your artistry forever ricochet throughout our arteries, your magic that served so much meaning will forever move us. The fire of man's faith is what you fed. You not only rocked our feet and souls but our minds too, leaving us happier and stronger each and every time. Your visit demanded that our innate freedom, the joy and peace that grows from it, never ever falters. This concept underlined your music, the concerts that we shared.
Still, even as our stunned breaths plunge past our aching guts and buckling knees, we manage to give rise to a sageful smile for we all know that the greatest concert ever remains to be played!
Her name was Zita. We immediately befriended one another in 2009. Our meeting, in a medieval village in the south of France, was nowhere near a coincidence. Yes, a fiery light had been sent to me on one of the most difficult, weak moments of my burgeoning creative quest on the European continent. Earlier that morning I decided to walk away from an artist residency program that I had worked and prayed so hard for. I shan't delve into the details here except to merely say that I needed more than my two giant blue suitcases to lean on that afternoon. Under August's sun, beads of sweat slipped over my forehead and neck like the tender touch of a thoughtful geisha. Suddenly, the broken wings found lift as I quickly fell into Zita's zesty and occasionally zany aura. I found her cheery cheeks and yiddish giggle to sing of compassion, contentment and eventually, endless accounts of the golden age of Austrian art. When I learned that she had studied painting with Austrian artist, poet and playwright Oskar Kokoschka, my moistened eyelids blinked twice. In that instant, those hapless and hopeless clouds, over only my head, flew into the distance, far beyond the rich vermillion rust of the Estérel mountains. OK was one of the three legedary painters to lead Austria at the turn of the 20th century. Although I looked more toward the works of Egon Schiele, this common ground was sure and yet mysterious enough for me to stand straight on, enough to pump some lost breath back into my listless lungs and unfolding spiritual journey.
Reminiscing over tea and cookies was one of her favorite ways to pass time, along with reading, laughing and of course painting. At the age of 99, Zita left the azur sea and sky of the mediteranean for another surely even more sumptuous. One where infinite canvases, colour and inspiration awaited her, along with her adored husband.
So happy that I came upon our photo this ev e.
Do not ignore the homeless, the sick, the wealthy, the poor, strangers, friends, people in need, enemies, family, colleagues, competitors, assistants, the 'bag person' at your supermarket... anybody. When a being calls your name, serves or reaches out for you to collaborate in any manner, a gift is being offered for you to grow and evolve. Especially if that being seeks your assistance/support.There is one thing that I am 100% certain about regarding life on earth and that is, all beings are to acknowledge and learn how to communicate wholly, truthfully, effectively, compassionately and lovingly with one another. This is the daily mission at hand for each and every earthly spirit. In this age of technology, there is no excuse for ignoring. Communication may, for whatever reason, not be immediate, however, it must be. It must take place and not be denied regardless of length, thoroughness or eloquence.
So open your hearts, minds, mouths and hand-held devices if necessary. Put an end to one of the greatest divisive, destructive and dangerous dilemmas on this planet today. Ignoring is an act of war towards oneself and others that can ultimately only foster the individual and collective ignorance, impotence and isolation of all beings on earth. E~