Time slithers on like a poisonous snake. It creates new shapes, memories, and opportunities, but allows dust to settle over its path. Time is an entity we as humans cannot reverse nor fast forward – no matter how deep our vengeance. I choose to believe that our understanding of time is mostly veiled in the unknown – dimensions, lairs, and sheathes wrap around and layer him in clouded mystery. What makes up not even an inhale to time in turn has destroyed my best laid plans. What is a blip to him, is a life to me – a life lost.
It has been said that 'time heals all pain'. Maybe so. But what kind of time are we talking about? Decades? Centuries? Eons? Aren't we still experiencing the pain of the extinction of species? Aren't we still in a deep rut of hate that has been present for hundreds of years resulting from religious fear tactics, manifesting as tyranny and terrorism? Aren't we only beginning to understand the pain of the effect our ignorance and lack of care has had on the environment? I realize these grievous circumstances are immense chasms much bigger than my story – the death of one very important man – but to me, it's the biggest story. It's my life. My future. My broken heart. So time, you bastard, what are we talking about here? I don't feel like I'm healing. I feel bruised, raw, and like a scab that is ripped off repeatedly, leaving no time for recovery – only festering infection and eventual scarring.
Though, as if forced by the neck, I slither on with time. At some points I'm kicking and screaming along the way. At other times, my head is down and I walk aimlessly like a prisoner ankle-bound in shackles. Sometimes, I feel my feet beneath me again, my heart beating – reminding me of my own life – and my monkey-mind quivering in anticipation for something to create. Often, I do create – because it's my nature. Lately, I feel a need-for-speed. Struggling with my usual momentum, I'm wading in a puddle of mud. Searching for inspiration is a challenge when my feet are stuck in the quicksand of tarnished dreams. To be completely honest, I thought my next career move was to be a mother. Now, I'm still absentmindedly blinking at the abyss that sits where my swelling expectations had been comfortably nesting. I'm trying to carve out new beginnings and rousing continuations from tragically aborted dreams.
One unique way I've been dealing with my grief is to participate in life the way I imagine you would. I find myself hovering near the soundboard of a funk show, analyzing the layers of music, the production quality, and the passion of the musicians. I am in conversation with you the way we would be had we been there together, except now it's a silent one. I go to the shows that you would have wanted to be at – as if I'm somehow allowing you to live on through my experiences. I lock into my skis and take a run that I know you loved, daring myself to take on the mountain and the trees like you would. I try to tackle life with your gusto, especially when my own hope is waning. Also, I see your soul absorbed in the lives of those you loved. I remember you telling me about your best wishes for certain friends; and now as I see those desires materializing, through wary faith I allow myself to believe you're the gentle director of destiny.
I've developed a sort-of tunnel vision as I move through our house. Some days it's as though I'm sitting in a tear-stained tomb of shattered dreams. Other days, I am in a vault of treasured memories. I still feel trepidation about moving any of your belongings out of sight. It's still too soon. Too soon to box up what's left of you, label it 'the past', and put it in storage. Much too soon. I still find something every day that I know you were the last to touch. I still sip sparingly from a water bottle you filled up over five months ago, feeling comforted by knowing some of that liquid touched your mouth, your tongue, your teeth – physical parts of you I can no longer be touched by. We all move through the house in a bit of a haze. Beats has a new perch on the banister, near the front door. She stares out the window and often turns her head to me and meows quizzically. Although, she sleeps with me now. When I awake with mysterious scratches, she's made it very clear that I'm not her first choice. Kira sleeps sadly and at great length; she sighs mournfully and often. Kevin does the same thing.
One thing I've learned through this loss is that we never really 'have' anything. We often spend our lives acquiring. We gather and hoard as if we need to prove our status by the amount of stuff we have, the amount of friends we have, the amount of money we have, the amount of knowledge we have. We can lose everything so quickly – stuff, money, people, even our own will to survive. Who do we become we are stripped of what we thought we had? Perhaps true freedom is the understanding that we are able to let go of anything and keep going. With nothing but a heart that continues to beat in this vessel we have been offered, we can continue moving forward – with time in front of us, at our backs, and holding our hands through the march.
Showing posts with label career. Show all posts
Showing posts with label career. Show all posts
Twisted Knife
Our true nature comes out when we having nothing left to offer. Who will I be when things get really, really hard? And then, get even harder and more confusing. Right when I think I might be turning a corner, something else slaps me down. Today I lost my job.
Quick backstory: I'm the Creative Director of two national yoga magazines. I work incredibly hard and passionately. As I've said time and time again, it is my dream job. After you passed away, I requested three months off and was given the green light with full support. Apparently, I was replaced two months ago and not told until today, when I let my job know I was ready to return after the three months, as agreed upon. Rant, over.
Unfortunately, we can't always rely on other people being honorable. We live in a dog eat dog world. Those who succeed often do so by knocking people down along the way. And that's OK. Such is life. It may not be the method I would choose, but it's none of my business. I am not in control of other people's empires. I only can admire what they created, offer my appreciation, and help when it's accepted. When it's no longer wanted, I move on. I will not fight. If I want to be in control of my own empire, then I will have to build one myself.
I imagine myself like an onion. Layer after layer has been peeled away. Soul mate, best friend, lover, biggest fan: gone. Big, protective layers are peeled away, revealing raw flesh. Plans and security for the future: gone. More layers peeled away. Job: gone. Another layer peeled, leaving the core exposed. My eyes are teary as the delicate center of the root is left vulnerable. When that which makes me who I have become is taken away, what remains? When I dive in head first, give my everything, open my heart – and am robbed – how do I react?
As we arrive into this life we are born pure. Then, we start to pile layers on that shape who we become. But when those layers are ripped off, even at our most shattered, our pureness remains. We may really have to dig for it, beneath dirt and grime, anger and fear, disrepute and sorrow – I have faith that our virtuosity endures. So here I lay, shattered, broken, crying – yet somewhere, beautiful and pure.
The hardest part for me today, was that I needed you. You were the one who would know exactly what to say to make me feel better. You would give me the best, longest hug. You would kiss my forehead in a way that breathed peace into my chest. You would tell me you were sorry that this happened. You would take my side and talk a bit of shit. Then, you would explore the other side, being reasonable and fair. Together, we would discover that there is no right or wrong, there is simply what is and what is not. You would say something that gave me hope for the future. Then, you would hug me again - an even better hug than the first one. You would kiss my lips and love my body tenderly. You would hold me while I cried, not saying a single thing for a very long time except "It will be OK. I love you." As the knife that resides in my chest was twisted in deeper today, I really needed you. But you were not there. There was no you. There was no bear. There was no fox. There were no blinking lights. There were no visitors from the other side. There were no dreams. There was no hug. There was just me. I had to look at myself – raw, confused, hurt – and choose to be righteous, to be healthy, and to have faith.
You once told me about scream therapy. You had an ex-girlfriend who made you incredibly angry. You told me when she really pissed you off, you would get in your car and turn on Pantera or Marilyn Manson and scream at the top of your lungs. You would scream and scream and scream. When you told me this, I think my eyes were as big as my face. I never once saw you angry, so the whole scenario was beyond me. I couldn't believe someone made you angry enough that you would even want to raise your voice. You were always so gentle. But, we all go through shit and at the time, it had helped you.
So today, when confronted with what could be anger I decided to give scream therapy a try. As I drove home from yoga and up the long hill to our house, I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. I opened my mouth to scream... but nothing came out. I tried again. I gripped. I opened my mouth to scream. All that came out was a choked sob. And then another sob. And another. I pulled over because my eyes needed windshield wipers and they don't make those yet. I crumpled my head into my hands as I gasped sadness to the universe, 'Well I'm down, so you may as well just keep kicking me.' In that moment, I remembered times when I used to tell you, "I don't get angry, I just get sad."
The universe has me on my knees. She's stripped me of some of the most important things to me. Love. Security. Career. But she hasn't taken everything. In my practice tonight, I tapped into my strength. She can take my love, she can take my security, but for now, I still have my body. So I danced with my body on my mat. I practiced grace as I played, breathed, loved, and balanced. Also today, I reached out to my loved ones. She can take you, she can take my job, but I still have support. And friends helped to soothe my weariness. And now, I sit here and I write. She can take my best friend, she can take my stability, but she can't take my words. She can't take my freedom. So I kneel. I am naked, I am raw, and I am crying. But I am still here. And, dammit, I will not loose faith. And as my true nature is forced to be revealed, I will discover my identity.
Quick backstory: I'm the Creative Director of two national yoga magazines. I work incredibly hard and passionately. As I've said time and time again, it is my dream job. After you passed away, I requested three months off and was given the green light with full support. Apparently, I was replaced two months ago and not told until today, when I let my job know I was ready to return after the three months, as agreed upon. Rant, over.
Unfortunately, we can't always rely on other people being honorable. We live in a dog eat dog world. Those who succeed often do so by knocking people down along the way. And that's OK. Such is life. It may not be the method I would choose, but it's none of my business. I am not in control of other people's empires. I only can admire what they created, offer my appreciation, and help when it's accepted. When it's no longer wanted, I move on. I will not fight. If I want to be in control of my own empire, then I will have to build one myself.
I imagine myself like an onion. Layer after layer has been peeled away. Soul mate, best friend, lover, biggest fan: gone. Big, protective layers are peeled away, revealing raw flesh. Plans and security for the future: gone. More layers peeled away. Job: gone. Another layer peeled, leaving the core exposed. My eyes are teary as the delicate center of the root is left vulnerable. When that which makes me who I have become is taken away, what remains? When I dive in head first, give my everything, open my heart – and am robbed – how do I react?
As we arrive into this life we are born pure. Then, we start to pile layers on that shape who we become. But when those layers are ripped off, even at our most shattered, our pureness remains. We may really have to dig for it, beneath dirt and grime, anger and fear, disrepute and sorrow – I have faith that our virtuosity endures. So here I lay, shattered, broken, crying – yet somewhere, beautiful and pure.
The hardest part for me today, was that I needed you. You were the one who would know exactly what to say to make me feel better. You would give me the best, longest hug. You would kiss my forehead in a way that breathed peace into my chest. You would tell me you were sorry that this happened. You would take my side and talk a bit of shit. Then, you would explore the other side, being reasonable and fair. Together, we would discover that there is no right or wrong, there is simply what is and what is not. You would say something that gave me hope for the future. Then, you would hug me again - an even better hug than the first one. You would kiss my lips and love my body tenderly. You would hold me while I cried, not saying a single thing for a very long time except "It will be OK. I love you." As the knife that resides in my chest was twisted in deeper today, I really needed you. But you were not there. There was no you. There was no bear. There was no fox. There were no blinking lights. There were no visitors from the other side. There were no dreams. There was no hug. There was just me. I had to look at myself – raw, confused, hurt – and choose to be righteous, to be healthy, and to have faith.
You once told me about scream therapy. You had an ex-girlfriend who made you incredibly angry. You told me when she really pissed you off, you would get in your car and turn on Pantera or Marilyn Manson and scream at the top of your lungs. You would scream and scream and scream. When you told me this, I think my eyes were as big as my face. I never once saw you angry, so the whole scenario was beyond me. I couldn't believe someone made you angry enough that you would even want to raise your voice. You were always so gentle. But, we all go through shit and at the time, it had helped you.
So today, when confronted with what could be anger I decided to give scream therapy a try. As I drove home from yoga and up the long hill to our house, I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. I opened my mouth to scream... but nothing came out. I tried again. I gripped. I opened my mouth to scream. All that came out was a choked sob. And then another sob. And another. I pulled over because my eyes needed windshield wipers and they don't make those yet. I crumpled my head into my hands as I gasped sadness to the universe, 'Well I'm down, so you may as well just keep kicking me.' In that moment, I remembered times when I used to tell you, "I don't get angry, I just get sad."
The universe has me on my knees. She's stripped me of some of the most important things to me. Love. Security. Career. But she hasn't taken everything. In my practice tonight, I tapped into my strength. She can take my love, she can take my security, but for now, I still have my body. So I danced with my body on my mat. I practiced grace as I played, breathed, loved, and balanced. Also today, I reached out to my loved ones. She can take you, she can take my job, but I still have support. And friends helped to soothe my weariness. And now, I sit here and I write. She can take my best friend, she can take my stability, but she can't take my words. She can't take my freedom. So I kneel. I am naked, I am raw, and I am crying. But I am still here. And, dammit, I will not loose faith. And as my true nature is forced to be revealed, I will discover my identity.
You are the music
Last night I went to the 1-up for Roosevelt Collier's Colorado Get Down ensemble's show. I hope you were there with me because I know you would have loved the raw, funky show they threw down. It was exactly the type of music that made you move.
Tons of your friends were there. There was so much love and many two-armed hugs. And we all danced, because funk makes people happy, no matter how sad things are. Because even when people die, their music lives on.
I closed my eyes a lot last night while listening to the show. I imagined that you were standing to my left. I imagined that our arms gently brushed against one another as we danced. I could feel your body. I saw you shaking your hips to the beat. I imagined the smooth smile on your face, stoked on the music. There were so many times when a question or comment would arise in my mind and I would look over to my left to tell you. You weren't there when I opened my eyes.
There was also another part of the show that was really important. The Drunken Hearts were the opening act – your band. Well, kind of.
In the days leading up to your death, you and The Drunken Hearts had decided to part ways. The news was very fresh and you were heartbroken. Since you died very suddenly after the break up with the band, not many people knew about it. In fact, to many, you went to your grave still as the drummer in the band. But you, me, the band, and people close to you knew that was not the case. That night, we took a long walk. I asked if you felt hopeless. You said you did not. You said you felt like you lost a huge part of your identity. But you knew that you would rebuild. You knew this left space for something new. You felt empty, but not hopeless. I understand now too, how emptiness feels.
There were a lot of emotions in those few days for you obviously, and for me as well. I had gotten accustomed to rehearsals in the house every week. Often we would make dinner together for the whole band. Upon moving to Boulder, I spent a lot of the time at home, since I work from the house. I didn't have much time to make a ton of friends. But I did have time to get to know the guys in the band. And though I never told them, I fell in love with each guy in the band. I told you often that I had never had so many wonderful guy friends before. I knew I could call any of them if I ever needed something. I trusted them all. So your departure from The Drunken Hearts was the beginning of a break up for us all, in some ways. There was a dark path ahead. Though I wish more than anything that you were still here, I'm relieved that you didn't have to walk that path.
The reason I write about this today is NOT to bring up demons. It's not to 'out' the band. Your death had absolutely nothing to do with you parting ways with the Hearts – it simply was a dark shadow in the days that turned out to be your last.
Going to the show last night was incredibly challenging for me, but it was also cathartic. Because, Teddy, who you were in life was not dependent upon your position in the band. And while you may have felt empty due to your breakup with them, you went out of this world a lone man – an individual – which is a beautiful thing.
Your identity, to those who love you, had nothing to do with your career. And I know that if you were still here today, you would have recovered, strengthened, and found new passion in another project. I also know that your relationship with the members of the Hearts, in time, would also mend – your friendship and love would remain. Your bond with those guys was more important than business and you were not one to hold a grudge. And while you may have had angst, disappointment, and confusion in your final days – your legacy is not defined by the last three days of your life.
Some people who knew about this falling out questioned my attending the show last night. (And I don't mean with judgement, simply a question.) And the truth is, so did I! But then, I think about you. What would you want? And I also thought about me. What do I need?
You would want me to be surrounded by love. You would want me to be surrounded by music. The Drunken Hearts are what I know, they are familiar. I know every song. I know the dynamics of the sound, the epic solos, the rough spots, who needs to be turned up and who needs to be turned down, every place where you would hit the double bass, where I liked to stand in the crowd, and the girls I stood with. And that's where I needed to be last night. Standing with them, still. Because, despite the breakup, I need The Drunken Hearts. I need them more than ever. And I think they might need me too. Though, really, we all need you.
When I looked at the stage last night and saw a different drummer, it actually made things a bit easier for me. Because I knew, that even if you were still alive, you would not be sitting behind that kit at that show. The new drummer had nothing to do with your death – and that took some of the pain away. And when I looked on stage and into the eyes of the guys I love – I saw men struggling. As Andrew said last night to the crowd, "We're all just trying to figure out how to hold it together". It's true, none of us know quite how to manage without you. We're just doing the best we can and we're all thinking of you along the way.
You were the music, Ted. You didn't need to have a stick in hand or your foot on a pedal to make music – it was all around you because it was in you. Your words were the lyrics. Your thoughts were the cadence. Your movement was the rhythm. Your laugh was the tempo. Your loved ones were the beat. In your honor, my love, the music you made continues. We will never let your music die.
Tons of your friends were there. There was so much love and many two-armed hugs. And we all danced, because funk makes people happy, no matter how sad things are. Because even when people die, their music lives on.
I closed my eyes a lot last night while listening to the show. I imagined that you were standing to my left. I imagined that our arms gently brushed against one another as we danced. I could feel your body. I saw you shaking your hips to the beat. I imagined the smooth smile on your face, stoked on the music. There were so many times when a question or comment would arise in my mind and I would look over to my left to tell you. You weren't there when I opened my eyes.
There was also another part of the show that was really important. The Drunken Hearts were the opening act – your band. Well, kind of.
In the days leading up to your death, you and The Drunken Hearts had decided to part ways. The news was very fresh and you were heartbroken. Since you died very suddenly after the break up with the band, not many people knew about it. In fact, to many, you went to your grave still as the drummer in the band. But you, me, the band, and people close to you knew that was not the case. That night, we took a long walk. I asked if you felt hopeless. You said you did not. You said you felt like you lost a huge part of your identity. But you knew that you would rebuild. You knew this left space for something new. You felt empty, but not hopeless. I understand now too, how emptiness feels.
There were a lot of emotions in those few days for you obviously, and for me as well. I had gotten accustomed to rehearsals in the house every week. Often we would make dinner together for the whole band. Upon moving to Boulder, I spent a lot of the time at home, since I work from the house. I didn't have much time to make a ton of friends. But I did have time to get to know the guys in the band. And though I never told them, I fell in love with each guy in the band. I told you often that I had never had so many wonderful guy friends before. I knew I could call any of them if I ever needed something. I trusted them all. So your departure from The Drunken Hearts was the beginning of a break up for us all, in some ways. There was a dark path ahead. Though I wish more than anything that you were still here, I'm relieved that you didn't have to walk that path.
The reason I write about this today is NOT to bring up demons. It's not to 'out' the band. Your death had absolutely nothing to do with you parting ways with the Hearts – it simply was a dark shadow in the days that turned out to be your last.
Going to the show last night was incredibly challenging for me, but it was also cathartic. Because, Teddy, who you were in life was not dependent upon your position in the band. And while you may have felt empty due to your breakup with them, you went out of this world a lone man – an individual – which is a beautiful thing.
Your identity, to those who love you, had nothing to do with your career. And I know that if you were still here today, you would have recovered, strengthened, and found new passion in another project. I also know that your relationship with the members of the Hearts, in time, would also mend – your friendship and love would remain. Your bond with those guys was more important than business and you were not one to hold a grudge. And while you may have had angst, disappointment, and confusion in your final days – your legacy is not defined by the last three days of your life.
Some people who knew about this falling out questioned my attending the show last night. (And I don't mean with judgement, simply a question.) And the truth is, so did I! But then, I think about you. What would you want? And I also thought about me. What do I need?
You would want me to be surrounded by love. You would want me to be surrounded by music. The Drunken Hearts are what I know, they are familiar. I know every song. I know the dynamics of the sound, the epic solos, the rough spots, who needs to be turned up and who needs to be turned down, every place where you would hit the double bass, where I liked to stand in the crowd, and the girls I stood with. And that's where I needed to be last night. Standing with them, still. Because, despite the breakup, I need The Drunken Hearts. I need them more than ever. And I think they might need me too. Though, really, we all need you.
When I looked at the stage last night and saw a different drummer, it actually made things a bit easier for me. Because I knew, that even if you were still alive, you would not be sitting behind that kit at that show. The new drummer had nothing to do with your death – and that took some of the pain away. And when I looked on stage and into the eyes of the guys I love – I saw men struggling. As Andrew said last night to the crowd, "We're all just trying to figure out how to hold it together". It's true, none of us know quite how to manage without you. We're just doing the best we can and we're all thinking of you along the way.
You were the music, Ted. You didn't need to have a stick in hand or your foot on a pedal to make music – it was all around you because it was in you. Your words were the lyrics. Your thoughts were the cadence. Your movement was the rhythm. Your laugh was the tempo. Your loved ones were the beat. In your honor, my love, the music you made continues. We will never let your music die.
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