My friend died Friday. The 10th of May, 2013. He was 44. He’s survived by 3 beautiful children, a little sister and brother. His parents lived long enough to survive their oldest boys death.
Life. It certainly seems large and plentiful. Like there’s enough time for everything.
“Seems” that way, right?
I’ve been chewing on the idea lately that the poor decisions I make today that don’t bring function, happiness and performance to myself and others in my community, are actually burdening myself. They burden the future me and encumber him. I ask “Why wouldn’t I want to position myself to enrich that guy instead of make his present more difficult?” After all…it is ME.
I’ll diet later. My fight/competition/photo shoot/reunion/etc is WEEKS away.
Perspective. The Big Picture, as they call it. That’s a tool I must sharpen and hone daily. ‘Cause the truth is different than how I feel.
The truth is there is no time. None at all. I’m either demanding and moving towards excellence now/today, or else I’m actively living in the fairy tale called, Someday Soon I’ll Begin Valuing Myself.
The fact of every Eternal Moment is that I CHOOSE to either move towards decay and destruction of my function or I move towards empowerment and enrichment of my Soul. Gray area is a myth in this context.
My friend is dead. He stripped and poured gasoline over himself and lit his body afire. His beautiful father just told me he has what the doctors call “poor impulse control”. He gets a passing idea, like I get all the time, like, “what would it be like to step off this building?”, but Jeff didn’t have any brakes on his impulse motor. He steps off without any consideration of the result….or he just wanted to be free, perhaps. He was troubled and ill for a lot of years. I don’t know all the diagnosis’.
He was also beautiful and talented and a guy I’d always looked up to as a kid. His mind was in full technicolor and excitement about life and creating.
I’ll always remember him like that.
His mama is one of my surrogate moms. She was one that helped raise me. She has undergone 3 horrid sessions of chemotherapy and radiation. She is rarely up or awake very much. Struggling. Now this.
When we buried Rory, Mrs Wallace and I stood at his open coffin looking at a poor replica of him. The Rory I knew wasn’t there. We held hands and stared into the coffin. I laid a necklace, 6, 44 magnum shells(you either get it or you don’t) and a silver Wolf Head pendant. Maybe I was burying part of me…of my past, perhaps.
Then she spoke.
She squeezed my hand and slowly forced out these words with a cracking voice:”Tait.” Squeezing my hand for emphasis. “You’re not supposed to have to bury your babies.” Tears poured and we wept, arms around each other. I cry every time I think if those words and her tiny hand.
I’m crying now. “You’re not supposed to bury your babies.”
Although it occurs. And has again.
Rory’s body wasn’t him. That day I knew.
There is NO time. None. Yet we are immortal. Rory is etched in the hearts of all that he touched and that loved him. The ripples of his consciousness and energy manifest through me all the time.
So it will be with Jeff.
And me. And you too.
Energy never dies/flags/fades/falters. It’s constant in its power and integrity. Though it is a shape shifter. Stay on your feet. Mind the ciphers.
Zero time, although Immortality in Eternal Moments. I like that. I believe in it.
Love. Strive. Dedicate. Feel. Touch. Express. Manifest. LIVE….in each moment—the alternative is truly to kill time.
I don’t know that I should publish this or why I wrote it or if its in poor taste or offensive…I know it isnt “finished” and “not quite ready”…
That’s all just my thoughts though. I know Jeff would say. “Fuck it. Put it out there and see what grows. Anything from your heart has beauty and value. Do it now. There’s no other time.”
#staybulletproof, y’all…and do the damn thing. Every.Single.Day.