Apparition*

I thought I saw him the other night, out of the corner of my eye. I know that's impossible because he died three months ago. The man I saw dressed like him -- vest, cowboy boots, disheveled shirt. But more than that, he had the demeanor, the stance, the impish delight at the joke that life is. It is the dead, and how we remember them, after all, who best teach us how to live. He even smiled a gap-toothed smile and winked. I know he was telling me something. It was something I needed to hear. His appearance broadcasted the need to lighten up, teach well, read closely, meet with students, get the prison magazine together, care about my friends, give til it feels good so the hurt can escape. He was talking to me, that dog. It was not yet the message I wanted to hear. I am still too raw, too sad that he has died, has left me here, again, alone. The others, a poet, a lover,  someone, the only one, who saw me, have all gone too. Loss of one taps into the well of loss of others. I want just to be sad for a while. He said no, it's time to move on. There is work, good work, to do. He raised a cup, a sword, and a pen. There are demons to meet, sentences to frame, stories to carve. They will be pathways through the impassible wall, the words that part the waters, that shine a light in the dark chaos. But it is so hard I say. And no one seems to understand or care. He just smiles and says shut up and keep moving and find the right people. He says I know you want to, that on the other side of your wounds, there is a desire to become who you might become. I have shown you he says. Now it's your turn. Find the desire. It will lead you. I tell him about the water, about the serpents, about being lost, about the distractions. You know the way he answers. Don't be afraid of the work or the time or what you might lose. You will be given what you need as you need it. If you stay open and are brave enough to delight in paradox you will see the way. Your grief is a fire that might consume you. Your anger can turn to bitterness. They are traps you have to watch out for. Forgive me. Forgive yourself. You are only alone if you think too hard and look in the wrong places. Place your trust in the silver river that runs through you and all things. Let it carry you. A broken heart is all you need for passage. You have to light a fire and fuel it with your soul.Then the moon rose, the traffic backed up, and I turned to see him head on. Of course, he was not there then, in that light, that need for proof, that striving for some convenient flotsam, something palpable enough to ease the pain.

* This is a tribute to Chris Carroll, friend and mentor.